Logan Carter
The venue had mostly cleared out by the time I made my way back toward the security wing. Most of the crew was packing up, the post-show adrenaline fading into exhaustion. It had been a successful night—no disturbances, no threats, no Brotherhood—and the girls had made it off stage without incident.
I'd call that a win.
Still, I wasn't ready to clock out just yet. There were final protocols to wrap and a meeting to finish.
I knocked once, then pushed open the door to the private conference room set aside for post-show debriefs.
Inside, Mr. Lee was already seated at the head of the table, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, speaking with someone on the phone in rapid Korean. At his right was Han Si-woo, leaning slightly back in his chair with one arm resting across his middle.
He was pale. Tighter around the jaw than usual.
The stab wound he'd taken wasn't life-threatening, but it was bad enough to keep him from moving like himself. Still, he was dressed, presentable, and—because this was Han Si-woo—completely composed.
"Carter," Lee said as he ended the call. "Glad you're still here. Please, come in."
"Wouldn't miss it," I replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.
Min-hyuk was there, too, slouched in a chair like he had something better to do. Probably texting someone irrelevant about how annoyed he was to be stuck in a meeting with "the help."
I ignored him.
Lee stood and offered his hand. "Thank you. For everything."
I took it. "Just doing the job."
"No." His gaze sharpened. "You went beyond that. And I'm not the only one who noticed."
He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out an envelope—thick, sealed, and plainly not part of any company protocol.
"This isn't for Archangel," he said. "This is personal. You kept my girls safe when everything went to hell. That means more than you know."
I accepted the envelope without hesitation, slipping it into my vest. I'd argue about taking payment later.
"Much appreciated, sir."
Lee nodded, then glanced at Si-woo. "He's already been stitched up, but he's too stubborn to stay in bed."
Si-woo gave a small shrug. "Wasn't going to miss the debrief."
His voice was a little rougher than usual. Not weak, just edged with fatigue.
"I brought you something," he added, reaching behind the chair with his uninjured arm.
From beneath the table, he pulled out a sleek black gift bag and slid it across to me.
I opened it—and paused.
Inside was a boxed bottle of Hwayo X Premium 41, one of the rarest and most expensive soju labels in Korea. Smooth, high-proof, made from 100% rice, and aged in traditional earthenware. Probably a collector's bottle. Easily five hundred bucks, minimum.
"Damn," I said. "That's serious."
"It's from my father's cellar," Si-woo said simply. "I figured you'd appreciate something with a little bite."
"I do." I nodded. "Thanks. This is... incredible."
He gave me a tight smile. "You ever end up working in Seoul, give me a call. I've got a list of venues that actually give a damn about their security teams. Seoul Olympic Hall would kill to have someone like you on the ground. We've also been talking about the Wamu Theater in Seattle. Smaller, but high profile. Also a spot in Boise—Morrison Center. Bit off the radar, but decent size, big name acts."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're scouting me already?"
"I'm practical," he said. "And I don't want amateurs around the girls again."
That landed. I could respect that.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim black card, sliding it across the table. "That's my direct number. Don't hesitate."
I took the card, slipping it next to the envelope. "Thanks."
It was quiet for a moment—comfortable, professional.
Then Min-hyuk ruined it.
"You two done bro-hugging, or should we leave you alone with a bottle of wine and a sunset?"
Lee's expression barely changed, but his disappointment was loud.
Si-woo didn't even turn his head. "Try shutting up."
"I'm just saying," Min-hyuk went on, clearly enjoying himself. "We're bringing in real professionals tomorrow. Guys with actual credentials. Maybe Carter can go back to guarding parking lots."
I smiled slightly.
Lee stood, turning to his son. "You're excused."
"What?"
"I said, leave."
Min-hyuk scoffed, rolled his eyes, and muttered something under his breath as he stormed out, his shoes echoing across the tile.
The second the door clicked shut, Lee turned back to me. "Apologies. He's... not involved in anything that matters."
"Didn't take it personally," I said.
Lee nodded. "Good. Then let's finish up the last details."
And we did.
We went over the full timeline, the exits, the morning transport schedule, and the addition of private contractors at the hotel. Everything had been accounted for. Every scenario.
And by the end of it, I had one clear objective in mind.
Make sure this chapter ended clean.
Because something told me this wasn't the end.
Not by a long shot
I stepped out of the main admin building with Mr. Lee and Si-woo, the night air hitting me like a sigh I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Most of Nova's crew had already packed up. Gear cases were loaded, cables coiled, tents broken down. The venue was emptying fast, swallowed by the dark stretch of the Columbia Gorge.
Si-woo limped slightly as one of his men helped him toward their transport, his usual precision dulled by the pain he pretended not to feel. Mr. Lee slid into the back of a matte black SUV, his son trailing behind him like a sullen shadow, muttering something under his breath. One of the junior stylists laughed too loudly, her voice vanishing into the distance as she disappeared around the far side of the lot.
That should've been it.
But someone was still here.
I turned—and saw Ji-an.
She wasn't talking. Wasn't moving.
She was just… watching me.
The overhead lights painted long shadows across the parking lot, and for a second, I thought she might just wave goodbye and leave it at that.
But she didn't.
Instead, she walked right up to me—head high, shoulders squared, her movements deliberate. She looked more like the woman I'd seen on stage earlier, all grace and power… but with something else simmering beneath the surface.
When she reached me, she didn't say anything. Just looked up at me for a heartbeat too long. Then, without a word, she grabbed my hand.
I didn't resist.
She tugged gently, leading me behind one of the massive transport trucks parked near the edge of the lot—out of sight, out of earshot. The roar of the river was louder here, the wind carrying the scent of sage and dust and maybe a hint of rain. The hum of the stage crew, the chatter of staff, the shuffle of closing time—all of it fell away.
And for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Ji-an stopped walking. Turned to face me. She released my hand.
The moonlight caught in her hair. Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.
I kept my hands in my pockets, trying not to think about how close she was. Trying not to think about how good she looked in that oversized hoodie, makeup off, eyes bright.
"You know," she said softly. "I probably won't see you again."
I glanced at her. "Not unless you play here again. I was hired for this venue. That job's done."
She nodded, lips pressing together. "Right."
A long pause. Then, "So that's it?"
I looked at her again, really looked at her. "Was there something else?"
She glared. "You're not going to ask for my contact information, phone number, nothing?"
"I hadn't planned on it."
"Why?"
I cocked an eyebrow. "You seem to have a knack for pulling me into uncomfortable conversations."
She put a piece of paper in my hand. "My personal cell. If you don't text me I am going to announce on social media that you are my boyfriend and you've asked me to marry you."
I gawked at her. "You do realize that will do more damage to your reputation, then mine right?"
"Maybe." she shrugged. "But it will annoy you and I know how you hate to be annoyed."
I snorted. "This seems totally unnecessary."
She smiled and her face lit up the night. "Logan."
"Yeah."
"One more thing."
And then—
She reached up.
Her fingers curled into the collar of my jacket, light at first, then firmer. She stepped in again, close enough now that I could feel her breath against my throat.
"I told myself I wouldn't," she murmured, almost like she was talking to herself. "Told myself you're too calm. Too rational. Too different. Too... American."
I raised an eyebrow. "Those are your deal-breakers?"
She smiled. Just barely. "Apparently not."
And then she kissed me.
Not a brush. Not an accident.
She kissed me with reckless abandon.
Her mouth met mine with a rush of heat that hit me straight in the chest. I didn't move at first—maybe out of surprise, maybe because if I did move, I wouldn't stop. But then her hand slid up into my hair, fingers curling at the base of my neck, and my body betrayed me.
And lord help me. I kissed her back.
One hand slipped to her waist, then higher, finding the curve of her back. I pulled her in just enough to feel her against me, solid and real and infuriatingly perfect. She made a small sound—half sigh, half gasp—and I swallowed it like it was oxygen.
And then just as quickly, she pulled back.
Her breathing was uneven. Her lips were slightly parted. Her fingers were still fisted in my jacket.
"Yeah" she said, voice quiet and rough, "I bet you regret flicking me now."
I smiled in spite of myself. "Ji-an, I–"
She stepped back, just a fraction, and put a hand up, cutting me off.
"No speeches. No questions, no awkward pauses," she whispered. "In fact. Shut up. Not another word. Thank you for saving my life and the lives of my friends."
Then she turned toward the waiting cars.
I stood there, heart thudding harder than it had all night, watching the woman who had just turned my entire sense of control into dust walk away without looking back.
And for the first time in a very long time—
I didn't know what the hell to do next.