Faces in the Crowd
The city of Seoul didn't just sleep; it pulsed. Neon signs in Gangnam bled bright, restless colors across the wet streets. Luxury cars, their lights blurring into streaks of silver and ruby, wove through the tightly packed traffic. Amidst the chaos of wealth and haste, Lee stood utterly still, his gaze fixed on his own reflection in the darkened window of a high-end boutique.
The woman staring back at him was Lia.
She was breathtaking, sculpted from silk and deceit. She wore a silk crimson dress that felt like a second, dangerous skin, tight over the firm binder Lee wore beneath. The binding, which compressed his chest, was a constant, physical reminder of the disguise; it dug into his ribs with every breath, a small, persistent ache he had learned to ignore. The long black wig, a heavy, expensive thing, cascaded past her shoulders in glossy waves.
Lee felt the cold reality of the transformation settle over him, the way the high heels forced a careful, almost balletic curve into his calves, the subtle change in his center of gravity, the meticulous, three-hour ritual he completed alone every morning.
She is beautiful, Lee thought, flexing his crimson-tipped fingers. And she is a weapon. But she isn't real.
With delicate fingers, she applied a final, precise touch of cherry gloss. The scent of the perfume, a high-end jasmine layered over the metallic tang of his own anxiety, clung to the expensive silk. Her almond-shaped eyes, lined with a sharp, dark wing, flicked to the crowd behind her, watchful and calculating. Every gesture, every tilt of the head, was rehearsed. Lia had to be perfect because Lee couldn't afford for her to fail.
He leaned closer to the glass. Lee's breath fogged up the reflection for a moment, blurring the boundary between the successful model Lia and the anxious boy Lee beneath. He tasted the gloss on his lip and felt a cold flash of resentment. This persona, Lia, demanded a price higher than any modeling fee: it demanded the erasure of Lee.
Every day, he slipped between two worlds. One was the life of Lee, the boy who had long outgrown his innocence, struggling to pay rent and keep his head low. The other was the life of Lia, the poised, sought-after woman adored by high-end designers and fashion editors alike, a persona that paid his bills and kept his true identity safe. No one suspected. Not the talent agency that booked Lia's lucrative jobs, not the demanding clients, not even the few people he cautiously called friends.
He had played his role perfectly for almost a year. Until him.
The Encounter: Leejoon
It happened on a rainy Friday evening, the air thick with the smell of ozone and exhaust. Lia had just finished a high-pressure photoshoot modeling an evening gown for a luxury brand. Her heels clicked against the wet pavement, the sound sharp and vulnerable in the downpour. A large, black umbrella shielded her delicate makeup and the expensive wig from the rain.
She was waiting for the agency driver to pick her up when the silence was torn apart. A sleek, black, armored-looking sedan screeched to a stop just inches from her feet, splashing water onto the already damp hem of her gown.
The door flew open.
A man stepped out. He was tall, commanding, and dressed in all black, a bespoke suit beneath a sharp, dark trench coat that seemed to absorb the light and billowed like a cloak behind him. His presence felt less like a person and more like an impending storm. His eyes were shadowed beneath a fringe of dark, wet hair, and Lia registered a small, elegant scar that curved beneath his left eye like a dark crescent moon.
He wasn't merely handsome; he was dangerous. His entire posture radiated a stillness that felt more threatening than any shouting.
Their eyes met. And for a fleeting, impossible moment, the chaotic sound of the city was silenced. The rain seemed to fall in slow motion. Lia felt a strange, cold pull in her stomach, a magnetic force that recognized danger and yet could not recoil.
Leejoon.
The name felt like a brand, and it would soon burn itself into Lee's mind like a fever dream.
"Watch where you're going," Lia snapped, instinctively slipping into the persona's smooth, melodic voice. She needed to maintain the icy, untouchable façade. Don't let him see the fear, Lee. Don't let him see the binding.
Leejoon didn't move. He stood there, letting the rain kiss his face, his focus utterly fixed on her. He looked at her, at Lia, with something unreadable flickering in his eyes: not lust, not curiosity, but an intense, almost philosophical scrutiny.
Did he know? The thought was a jolt of pure panic. Did he see the lie?
Then, a slow, predatory smirk curved his lips. "You're not from around here, are you?" he said, his voice a low baritone, deliberate and far too close. "Too pretty to be standing alone on a street like this, getting splashed by mere cars."
Lia forced herself to hold his gaze. "I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. And you're mistaken if you think I'm waiting for a compliment."
Leejoon tilted his head, his eyes crinkling just slightly with genuine amusement. "Oh? Then what are you waiting for, Lia?" He used the name as if tasting it.
"My ride," she replied, her voice tightening only a fraction.
He took a half-step closer. The cold air around him seemed to carry a strange, metallic scent, like rain mixed with something coppery and sharp. "I'm always fascinated by people who have the world in their eyes but choose to stand alone in the rain."
He sees too much. Lee's heart hammered violently in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against the tightly bound ribs. No one had ever looked at him that way before, not as Lia, and certainly not as Lee.
"You don't know me," Lia managed, turning away slightly, her grip on the umbrella handle white-knuckled.
"I know enough," Leejoon murmured. "I know a lie when I see one. But some lies are more beautiful than the truth."
Lee's lips parted to protest, to deliver a cold, cutting retort that would send any other man walking, but Leejoon had already straightened and begun walking toward the building behind them, a discreet, imposing fortress of smoked glass and steel. His presence lingered like smoke, heavy and intoxicating.
The encounter should have meant nothing. Just another flirtatious, dangerous stranger in a city full of them. But it didn't. Lee's driver pulled up, but as Lia stepped into the warmth of the car, she looked back at the imposing structure Leejoon had vanished into, a feeling of fatal inevitability washing over her.
The Double Life: Golden Media Group
That night, Lee couldn't sleep. Not just because of the shock of Leejoon's smile, or the haunting scar beneath his eye, but because, for the first time in a long while, he felt seen, not as a disguise or a label, but as something raw and in-between. He didn't know who Leejoon really was yet: a mafia heir, a man whose hands were stained with blood, a protector of dark secrets. Nor did he realize this man would become the most dangerous, yet most compelling, person in his already complicated life.
By day, Lee pulled off the crimson silk and the wig and became the quiet, sharp-eyed assistant stylist for Golden Media Group. The company was a titan of Korean fashion and media, owned by the cold and calculating CEO, Mr. Han Doyun, a man of intimidating presence and piercing, watchful stares.
In that world, Lee dropped the heavy dress, the uncomfortable heels, and the flawless makeup. He moved like a ghost: keeping his head low, listening more than he spoke, observing everyone. He cultivated an air of competence mixed with an almost painful shyness, the perfect way to ward off unwanted attention.
It didn't work.
Mr. Han Doyun took a liking to him almost immediately.
"You," the CEO said one afternoon, cornering Lee in the breakroom where Lee was carefully arranging sample fabric swatches. The room suddenly felt very small. "I find you different, Lee. Most young people here are hungry, but you're starving. Starving for something more than a paycheck."
Lee met his gaze briefly, then looked down at his clipboard, struggling to keep his composure. "I'm just focused on my work, Sir."
"Good answer." Han Doyun stepped closer. "I see potential in you. Genuine, raw potential. And frankly, your taste is impeccable. It's almost feminine in its detail, yet sharp in its execution."
His gaze lingered longer than necessary. When he passed Lee to leave the breakroom, his fingers brushed Lee's shoulder, a simple, fleeting gesture, yet it made Lee's stomach clench with cold unease. It wasn't lust, not exactly, but a terrifying sense of possession. Han Doyun was a collector, and Lee felt his power settling over him like a suffocating shroud.
The Rivalry: Han Jisoo
If only the CEO were the end of it.
Han Jisoo, the CEO's only daughter, had been watching him too.
Jisoo was the company's rising star, a fashion photographer with boundless ambition, cutting-edge style, and a notoriously volatile temper. She was beautiful in a fierce, untamed way, and Lee knew to treat her like a live wire.
One late evening, after an exhausting outdoor photoshoot that had left Lee's back aching, she cornered him in the empty, cavernous wardrobe room. Lee was putting away the last of the jewelry cases.
Jisoo walked toward him slowly, a mischievous, predatory glimmer in her eye. She was biting her lip, a habit Lee had noted signaled focused interest.
"You're always so quiet, Lee," she whispered, leaning against a rack of silk gowns. "It makes me want to know what you're hiding."
Lee straightened, clearing his throat. "I have to inventory these pieces, Miss Jisoo."
"Don't bore me with logistics," she countered, walking around the table until she was directly behind him. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck lightly, sending a shiver of pure anxiety down his spine. "Why do you always look so sad, Lee? It makes me want to protect you. To take you away from here."
He pulled away from her touch, forcing his voice to remain steady. "I don't need protection."
"Oh, but you do," she murmured, stepping closer again. "You definitely are my type, you know. It's boring when I sacrifice my time and energy to get your attention, and you give me the silent treatment. I see the way you move, the way you almost glide when you think no one is watching. It's elegant. It's captivating."
She pressed the point of her finger lightly against his chest, right where the binder would be if he were Lia. "I'll leave you to your dull little inventory for today, but trust me, Lee: I'll get you at all costs. You can't hide forever." She winked, turning on her heel, her exit as dramatic and absolute as her entrance.
Lee stood rigid, letting out a shaky breath only when the heavy wardrobe door clicked shut. Two separate dangers. One, a calculating father who wanted to own him for his utility. The other, a jealous daughter who wanted to possess him for his mystery.
And neither knew they were competing for the same soul.
Lee didn't want anyone's protection. He didn't want affection that wasn't earned, or love built on lies. But what choice did he have? Every day, he was forced to walk a line so thin it could cut him in two. A boy who lived as a girl. A girl who attracted too much dangerous love. A single heart pulled in three separate, terrifying directions.
He just wanted to survive.
The Interception
Back in his apartment that night, the walls felt thin and the air felt cold. Lee pulled off the wig, the heavy, itchy hair falling away. He watched himself in the mirror as Lia disappeared and Lee emerged. His shoulders slumped with relief. He used a thick cream to carefully remove the intricate makeup, washing away the facade. His eyes, bare now, looked hollow, exhausted.
He sank onto his couch, the silver of the forgotten necklace he'd modeled earlier that day glinting on the coffee table.
Then, his phone buzzed.
A message. Unknown Number.
Unknown Number:You looked stunning tonight.
Lee froze. His heart stuttered, the panic from the encounter with Leejoon flashing back. How? The encounter was brief, private. How did a mafia heir get a civilian number so quickly? The sheer ease of it terrified him.
He typed a reply, demanding to know who this was, but deleted it. He typed again, a short, polite Thank you, and deleted that too.
Before he could send anything, a second message came in.
Unknown Number:Who are you really?
Lee stared at the screen, throat tightening until he could barely swallow. The black silk ribbon from the peony bouquet he never received suddenly flashed through his mind.
He sees the lie.He saw the lie from the start.
Lee slowly turned toward the mirror, his face looking down, then slowly lifting it. He looked at himself, just Lee, now, and spoke the desperate question aloud to his own reflection.
"Who am I? I'm the world's anonymous being that will never be understood."
He reached for his towel, went to the bathroom, and tried to wash the fear away, but the image of Leejoon's calculating eyes and the shadow of the silver necklace stayed with him until he finally fell into a restless sleep. He had to go to work the next morning, and he had a terrifying feeling that the easy part of his deception was finally over.