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I looked at him through my lowered lashes, watching the play of emotions cross his face, fascinated and hungry for any expression, any feeling.

“I need to leave,” he murmured.

“I know.”

I’d known from the second I’d woken up that this brief moment would pass because he was a part of something bigger. So big that it swallowed entire days, weeks, months. Moments.

“I can’t be seen sneaking out of your room,” he said, lips quirking in a way that made butterflies take flight in my stomach.

“We didn’t do anything,” I pointed out quietly.

“Didn’t we?”

His eyes searched mine, and whatever he was looking for, he looked like he’d found it. His breath hitched for a moment before he composed himself.

“Where will you be today?”

I shrugged, not having considered it. “The company doesn’t like me spending all my time in the same place on the same stop so I won’t be backstage.”

His mouth pinched, but he nodded. “Tell me where you go, okay? I’d like to know.”

I considered responding with something sassy, but he’d asked it in a tone that made me think that he wanted to know for peace of mind, and if I was honest, it would give me peace as well.

“Alright.”

His eyes traced down my face, and for a moment, for a languid second long enough for molten heat to pool in my centre, I thought he would kiss me. But he squeezed his eyes closed, let out a breath and rolled out of bed while I could only blink after him.

“You’re leaving now?”

“I have to.” His voice was strained, almost a rasp and he didn’t turn around.

I sat up in bed, drawing my knees to my chest as I watched him move towards the door. He hesitated, hand hovering over the handle.

“Tell me where you are later. Please.”

“I will,” I promised.

He nodded, shoulders relaxing before he opened my door and slipped out.

I waited a moment before I collapsed back on the pillows, throwing my hands over my face.

Later, as I was brushing my teeth, I checked my emails to find one from Monsieur Lallouche. It was brief, and to the point.

The taxi driver had been released following police questioning but remained part of the investigation. He maintained that he’d been booked for an airport transfer, and that the reason the doors had been locked was due to the instructions in the booking for my supposed security. The details on the booking form provided by his firm seemed to back this up.

The paparazzo was apparently less innocent, but consistent enough that she’d also been released, pending investigation. According to her lawyer, with whom Monsieur Lallouche was in contact, she was promised an exclusive opportunity to confront ‘Jihoon Baek’s secret girlfriend’ but maintained she believed I would be getting in the car of my own volition. Her equipment remained in police custody, but what was perhaps most important was that her lawyer had confirmed she’d signed an agreement not to publish, sell or otherwise distribute copies of the footage.

The next part of his email was less cut and dry, though, and left me with a sense of anxiety that made me feel vaguely sick.

Hana remained in police custody and would shortly be taken before prosecutors for the French authorities to decide how to proceed. This, he explained, was normal. As though I had any idea how this kind of thing worked in any legal system.

He signed off the email by saying he expected ENT to provide the protection order and certified documents later today, and would pass them on to the French authorities, but not to hold my breath for any quick resolution.

Again, as if I’d had any expectations of any such resolution, quick, or otherwise.

I was out of my depth. I had no idea about legal systems, French or otherwise. I had no idea what an extradition order looked like.

I felt just as helpless in this as I had when I was in the back of that taxi, banging my hand against the headrest and begging to be let out.