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“Options?” The executive sighed.

“We can send a notice to her and her publication to demand nothing be published, or distributed, and seek an emergency injunction if necessary. But I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

“Why?”

Monsieur Lallouche smiled thinly, his lip curling slightly, but conveying plenty.

“From what Miss Thompson has described many times, the footage shows nothing but a distressed, young British woman, crying in the back of a locked car, while a stranger shouts questions at her in a language she does not speak. It seems unlikely that would benefit them.”

The room fell silent, the executives in Seoul exchanging looks before fixing their stares on me while I tried not to squirm. Eventually, they looked away.

“Can you send the notice anyway, please?” I said to Monsieur Lallouche.

He gave me an inscrutable look before nodding.

“What else do we know at this stage?” The executive said.

Monsieur Lallouche cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, sparing me a glance before looking back towards the screen.

“Very little. We know the occupants of the car are under police investigation and have secured legal representation. We know Ms Park remains in police custody, but no decision has been made yet regarding prosecution. We may know more by tomorrow, but…” he trailed off, shrugging in that nonchalant manner he seemed to have. “The police are under no obligation to keep us apprised of their investigation. Given her actions thus far, I would recommend continuing your security arrangements for Miss Thompson.”

The executives looked at each other, nodding, and though this conversation sounded like it directly involved me, it also felt I didn’t need to be in the room.

“Gentlemen,” Monsieur Lallouche said, bringing their attention back to him. “Is it true that ENT has a protection order for Ms Hana Park?”

Then, on a screen, a face I recognised as the camera focused on him. Mr Yang. The lawyer that had been present when Jihoon and I had been called into ENT when the footage of us kissing in the Pisces boardroom had been leaked. A sense of déjà vu slammed into me so viscerally that my stomach cramped as if physically struck. This kept happening. The past and the present colliding, arcs coming full circle. It felt like I was stuck in a loop. Or perhaps, completing a circuit.

I pulled my focus back in, trying to concentrate on what Mr Yang – speaking in English – was saying.

“A protection order was obtained shortly after she was terminated from ENT,” he said.

“When?”

Mr Yang briefly shuffled some papers on the table before replying. “January. We will send your office the paperwork.”

Monsieur Lallouche made a noise in the back of his throat, and I studied the look on his face. Under the practised professionalism there was a gleam in his eyes that made me glad he was on our side.

“I will explore grounds for an injunction. The existing order and her international travel may help to establish a pattern of behaviour.”

“But she didn’t go after them,” I cut in, albeit quietly, and immediately regretted my words as every eye in the room, and the boardroom in Seoul turned on me.

“I mean...” I swallowed hard but forced myself to sit upright. I would not shrink under the weight of their gazes. Not again. “She approached me. Not GVibes.”

“The order states she must remain one hundred yards from GVibes, directly,” Mr Yang stated, his voice clear over the speakers. “We know from the footage from the airport that she was well within that boundary. Additionally, the order specifies she not directly contact employees of ENT. You, Miss Thompson, although only a contract worker, are currently employed by ENT.”

“Monsieur Yang, please send my office the court order, any supporting documents and a certified translation immediately. It will not be immediately enforceable, but as it shows demonstrable evidence of malicious intent, I will bring it to the prosecutor’s office immediately.”

Mr Yang leaned forward. “To be fully transparent, it is our intent to apply for extradition so that she be prosecuted in Korea.”

Monsieur Lallouche nodded, looking down at his papers. “Oui, but the French prosecutor may want to proceed here in France before handing her over. We will need to see how much appetite they have for this. They may be inclined to keep her here, considering the high-profile nature of the incident, and the international reach of it taking place at Charles de Gaulle airport.”

Mr Yang sighed, but nodded. “Very well. We leave that to you, but ultimately this is our intent.”

I looked between the two lawyers as they went back and forth like this for a while longer, but after a while, my brain just sort of… stopped. Filtering the words through a layer of incomprehension where I technically understood, but the meaning stopped coming through. Everyone in the room began to sound like the teacher from Charlie Brown. It was fortunate I wasn’t called on again, because I doubt I would have been anywhere near useful.

Eventually, the meeting ended, and I was allowed to leave, albeit in the presence of a manager, and a security guard.

“Where’s the food hall?” I asked, as we filed back into the well-appointed lobby of the hotel, and again I took notice of how much nicer this place was than most of the ones we’d stayed in before. The manager turned to me.