Page 122 of K-Pop Double Life

Around the table, several Starhouse executives exchanged frustrated looks. “What does that mean?” Eun-ji asked.

“It means she requested an attorney and has declined to answer questions.”

“So she hasn’t admitted anything?”

“No.”

The answer shouldn’t have disappointed me, but somehow it did. Weeks of attacks, sabotage, and fear had conditioned me to expect a dramatic ending. A confession. A moment when everything finally made sense.

Real life, apparently, preferred paperwork.

“We’re obtaining court orders for financial records,” the detective continued. “Bank accounts, wire transfers, electronic communications. The embezzlement case is moving quickly.”

“And the attacks on Pryzm?” Eun-ji asked.

The detective hesitated. “Most of those incidents occurred outside Korea. Different jurisdictions. Different investigators. We’ll coordinate with them, but those cases will have to be pursued separately.”

“So right now what do we actually have?” one of the executives asked.

“We have a suspect in custody who attempted to sabotage a major public event. We have evidence of financial crimes. And we have enough probable cause to keep digging.”

Not as satisfying as a confession.

But enough.

Liam reached across the table and squeezed my knee under the paperwork. It was a small gesture, but enough.

I looked at my husband. He had run into trouble head on, as I had as well. Ours was a love that thrived in danger, as stupid as that might sound. I hoped that wouldn’t be the case for Jin and Sang-hoon.

Liam and I left then and headed back to our hotel, where we snuggled close together and turned off all phones and alarms. When we woke, it was already ten o’clock in the morning. We took quick showers and went downstairs to get breakfast, where we found Jin and Sang-hoon just finishing.

“Everything was captured on stadium cameras,” I said, as we pulled up chairs at their table. “Liam diving on Jin, the rigging falling, Sang-hoon kneeling beside Jin.”

I turned my tablet so Jin and Sang-hoon could see. Twitter, Instagram, YouTube—videos from a dozen different angles showing the same moment.

The comments were exploding, everyone wanting to know who Liam and Sang-hoon were. Then someone wrote, Wait is that Jin’s stylist? He saved Jin in Cannes!

Then a bunch of messages reiterating the same point. They’re in love they’re IN LOVE.

“It’s trending worldwide,” I said. “Sang-hoon’s name, your relationship, everything. Fans are putting together footage from the entire tour.”

“And the response?” Jin asked.

“Overwhelmingly positive.” I showed him more screenshots. “They’re calling Sang-hoon a hero. Calling you brave for loving who you want. There are only a few negative comments, but they’re getting drowned out by support.”

Jin stared at the screen. “The fans… They’re okay with it?”

“More than okay,” I said quietly. “They’re protective. Defensive. There’s a petition going around demanding Starhouse officially support you both.”

Sang-hoon took a deep breath. “I’ve been terrified that if anyone discovered the way I felt about Jin, it would destroy Jin’s career. That fans would turn on him, that the company would drop him, that everything he’d worked for would disappear.”

“Instead, they’re celebrating you both,” I said. “And there’s more. As of last night, Eun-ji said Starhouse’s PR team is planning a statement.” I smiled. “Confirming your relationship. Expressing support for both of you. Framing it as ‘love and loyalty are values we support.’”

Liam laughed beside me. “Turns out when a million fans demand something, companies listen.”

“But the dating ban⁠—”

“Is being reconsidered,” I said. “Eun-ji said the industry is changing. Gen Z fans are different than previous generations. They want their idols to be happy, to be human. And you’re both untouchable right now.”