Chapter 1: Emergency Exit Heartbeat
The Grand Ballroom, Hotel "The Shilla", Seoul
Clara stepped into the glamorous ballroom of the Shilla Hotel. It was her first time at such an imposing event, and her heart was hammering so hard she could feel the pulse thrumming in her throat from pure excitement. Surrounded by such opulence, she felt almost out of place, a small shadow in a world of gold and silk.
Yet, a surge of pride washed over her. After years of living in isolation and hiding from the world, she was finally here. Thanks to her pseudonym, she could glide through the crowd anonymously, nearly invisible. Her only thought as she scanned the room was: "Don't stand out. Grab the prize and get out. Unobtrusive in, unobtrusive out. Simple as that."
She took a glass of champagne from a waiter passing by with a silver tray. The cold alcohol helped steady her fraying nerves. She looked up at the ceiling, momentarily hypnotized by the massive crystal chandelier that seemed to rain light down upon the guests. In that moment, she thought of Lukas, her best friend.
She missed him, especially now, when her nerves were making her teeth chatter. But Lukas was currently in Europe, hopelessly entwined with his new love, H.W. As it goes with the freshly smitten, the two were practically inseparable.
Clara smiled at the thought of Lukas, took a sip of her champagne, and continued her mantra: "Don't stand out. In and out." She took two steps forward, her gaze still fixed upward on the glittering chandelier.
Suddenly, she slammed into a wall of muscle wrapped in a designer tuxedo.
The impact was so sudden and powerful that the man, Min-ho, stumbled back. While trying to find his balance, he instinctively reached for Clara's outstretched hand. But Min-ho was too heavy. He fell backward, dragging Clara down with him.
Min-ho ended up half-sitting, half-lying on the polished floor, with Clara sprawled directly on top of him. He looked up, startled, straight into her face. Immediately, a thunderstorm of curses erupted from Clara's mouth like machine-gun fire.
"Verfluchte Scheiße! Putain de merde! Fuck, damn it! Jinjja maldo andwae!"
She was swearing in four languages at once: German, French, English, and Korean. Min-ho, still pinned to the floor, stared at her in utter disbelief. Only then did Clara realize the magnitude of the disaster she had just caused.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry! Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern.
"Yes... I'm fine, thank you," Min-ho replied with a faint, amused smile as he picked himself up. "My tailbone took the brunt of the fall."
Clara's face turned a deep shade of crimson. She let out a tiny, defeated "Mist," turned on her heel, and vanished into the crowd before he could say another word.
Mr. Kim, Min-ho's assistant, rushed to his side. "Sir! You fell! Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Kim," Min-ho said, smoothing his jacket while watching the spot where she had disappeared. "I just had a very interesting encounter. Very interesting indeed."
22:45 – The Elevator
The elevator glided silently upward. Clara stared at her shoe tips, her cheeks still flushed from the champagne and the embarrassing collision in the ballroom. Min-ho stood beside her—a statue of tailored evening wear and cool arrogance. He watched her out of the corner of his eye with an amused glint that made her skin prickle.
"You swear very... internationally," he said softly. His voice was deep, sounding like dark velvet brushing against bare skin.
Clara jumped slightly. "Oh God. I'm so sorry. I... when I'm nervous, I lose control of my tongues. C'est un désastre. I grew up multilingual; it's a curse."
He was about to respond, a teasing smile playing on his lips, when a hideous, metallic screech shook the shaft. The elevator dropped a few inches and came to a dead halt with a violent jolt. The lights flickered and died, leaving only the red emergency light to bathe the small cabin in an eerie, pulsating glow.
Silence. Heavy, thick silence.
Then she heard it. A shallow, rapid wheezing. She looked over at him. The self-assured god from moments ago was clawing his fingers so hard into the handrail that his knuckles turned white. His face was ashen; beads of sweat were forming on his forehead.
"Hey... are you okay?" she asked, stepping closer.
He didn't answer. He stared at the closed door, his eyes wide with naked terror. He was hyperventilating. "The walls... too close... they're moving in... James, get me out of here..." he muttered, completely detached from reality, his voice a hoarse rasp.
Clara realized it instantly: Claustrophobia. A severe panic attack. He wasn't in the hotel anymore; he was trapped in a nightmare. If he collapsed now, he would hurt himself. She tried words first. "Breathe. Deep breaths. It's okay. I'm here. We're safe."
Nothing. He was trembling violently; she could almost see his heart thudding through the fine fabric of his shirt. He was seconds away from losing consciousness.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, she thought. Screw it.
She stepped decisively toward him, grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo, and used her entire body weight to pin him against the cool mirrored wall. The sudden physical contact made him gasp. Before he could register what was happening, she cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips hard against his.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was an invasion. A total system reset.
The shock was instantaneous. His brain, which had been stuck in panic mode, was jolted back into his senses. He froze. Then, after two seconds of stunned hesitation, something shifted. His hands let go of the rail and found her waist. He pulled her flush against him, his breathing turning deep, hot, and hungry.
The "rescue" distraction turned into a wildfire in seconds. With a smooth, dominant motion, he spun her around, pressing her back against the mirror. His kiss became demanding, almost possessive. In that moment, there were no narrow walls, no fear, no awards ceremony—only the pounding of their hearts and the taste of champagne and desire.
Ding!
The elevator doors slid open.
Outside stood the janitor with a heavy ring of keys and his assistant, Mr. Kim, who was mid-sentence on an emergency call. Both stared into the cabin, mouths agape.
They broke apart. Clara panted, her lipstick smudged, her hair a mess. Min-ho looked at her as if he'd just had a revelation—the panic was gone, replaced by a dark, simmering obsession.
She straightened her dress, flashed him an irresistible, almost wicked smile, and said in German: "Nächstes Mal nehmen wir die Treppe, Schätzchen."
Then she sauntered past the frozen men as if she had just ordered a coffee.
Chapter 1: The Elevator Mystery (Ending)
Min-ho sat in the back of his limousine, his fingers still trembling slightly. He could still taste the faint hint of mint and cherry blossoms on his lips.
"Mr. Kim, find her," he commanded, his voice raspy. "She wore a midnight blue evening gown. She speaks German. She must be a guest at the hotel."
Hours later, Mr. Kim returned, visibly unnerved.
"Sir... it's nearly impossible. The security cameras in the hallway had a glitch at the exact minute she stepped out of the elevator. And as for the guest list... well, we've screened every foreign woman. There was only one match for a German woman traveling alone: a certain 'Frau Schmidt.' But when I had the room checked, it was empty. She vanished through the service exit. Paid in cash. No trail, no records. Nothing."
Min-ho stared out into the darkness of the Seoul skyline. "Nächstes Mal nehmen wir die Treppe, Schätzchen"—he had scribbled the sentence phonetically onto a coaster. He didn't know what the words meant yet, but he knew one thing for certain: this 'Frau Schmidt' had just changed his life forever.