Kim Joon-ho never quite got used to the sensory onslaught of Min-Kyung's boutique, though he'd stepped through its doors more times than he could count. This time, the buzz was amplified—runway music thumped softly through the ceiling speakers, racks of silk and mesh cluttered the narrow walkways, and everywhere he looked, models milled about in varying states of undress. It was a temple to female beauty and chaos, and today, he was the only man on the schedule.

One of the assistants spotted him and grinned. "Mr. Kim, your fitting set is ready. Room three."

He followed her through the crowd. Girls waved, some called out his name, others shot sly, knowing looks. He smiled back, not quite sure if the rumors swirling around him and Min-Kyung ever bothered him anymore. Probably not. He'd long ago accepted that in this world, secrets were only as safe as the people who wanted to keep them.

He ducked into the assigned fitting room, stripped off his shirt and jeans, and dressed in the day's look—a sharply tailored suit in deep navy, crisp white shirt, collar open. The pants hugged his hips and thighs just so, fitted for movement, but cut for the runway. He tugged on the jacket and turned to the mirror. The reflection was familiar—broad shoulders, dark hair falling over one brow, just enough of the night's bruises on his collarbone to suggest a private war well fought.

A quick knock, then the door swung open. Min-Kyung entered without waiting, tape measure around her neck, a pin between her lips. Her eyes roamed over him, sharp as ever.

"You're early," she said, voice muffled by the pin. "Good. Let me see."

He pivoted, letting her circle him. She adjusted the hem, smoothed the line of his sleeve, brushed her hand across his chest more than strictly necessary. "The jacket's perfect. Maybe I should design more for men, if they all look like you in a suit."

He grinned, catching her gaze in the mirror. "Only if you fit them all yourself."

She snorted, pulling the pin from her lips and tucking it behind her ear. "I'd never get anything done. Stand still." But her hands lingered at his waist, thumbs slipping beneath the edge of his shirt. It was a small, private moment—gone as soon as a peal of laughter echoed from the hallway.

"Are you hiding him from us, Min-Kyung?" a voice called out in accented English.

Before Min-Kyung could reply, Alina swept into the room like a storm. Tall, fair-skinned, hair piled up in a careless bun, she wore nothing but a pair of low-cut black panties and the glint of silver nipple rings. Her breasts were full, tipped with peaks that seemed to defy gravity and shame. Two other models trailed behind her, one in a silk robe, the other in little more than lace and confidence.

"Ladies," Min-Kyung said, trying for stern, failing utterly.

Alina ignored her, perching on the arm of the nearby chair and staring openly at Joon-ho. "So this is the mysterious Joon-ho," she said, letting his name roll off her tongue. "You look even better in person. How does it feel to be the only man here today?"

"Terrifying," he said, with just enough humor that the girls laughed.

The silk-robed model grinned, elbowing Alina. "Min-Kyung, you never said your boyfriend was this handsome. Were you trying to keep him a secret?"

Min-Kyung flushed, more annoyed than embarrassed. "He's not my boyfriend. He's a client. Now please, some of us have work to do."

"Work?" Alina echoed, drawing the word out, her Russian accent thickening. She slid down from the chair and sauntered over to Joon-ho, stopping just close enough that he could smell her perfume—jasmine and musk. "You call this work?"

She looked him up and down, then up again, not hiding her interest. "You wear that suit very well, Joon-ho. But you look a little tense. Maybe you need someone to help you relax."

The other girls giggled. Min-Kyung rolled her eyes. "Alina, don't start."

But it was too late. The models had already encircled him, curiosity and mischief alight in their faces. One pressed close to his left, her hand on his shoulder. Another draped herself across the back of the sofa, whispering conspiratorially, "Are you going to walk with us at the show, Joon-ho? Or is Min-Kyung afraid you'll steal too much attention?"

He matched their energy, shifting his stance, letting one girl tug his arm while another fussed with his collar. "I'm not sure I can keep up with all of you. Some of those heels look lethal."

Alina laughed, the sound deep and wicked. "You have good instincts. Many men wouldn't survive this room."

A brunette model, Japanese by the sound of her accent, pouted at Min-Kyung. "It's not fair. He moves better than most of the professional guys. You should have him partner with us more often."

"Maybe he's just a natural," said the silk-robed girl. "Or maybe he's had a lot of practice."

Alina reached out, tracing her finger along the line of Joon-ho's lapel, then lower, lingering on his chest. Her nipple rings glinted as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "You know, in Russia, it is tradition to welcome new friends with a kiss. But maybe that is too forward here?"

Joon-ho caught Min-Kyung's eye, watching for her reaction. She stood arms crossed, lips pursed, not quite sure whether to intervene or enjoy the spectacle.

He turned back to Alina, smiling. "I wouldn't want to disrespect your culture."

Alina grinned, then pressed her breasts lightly to his chest. The piercings felt cool even through his shirt. "Is good, yes? Natural. All mine." She drew back, letting her hands trail lower, dangerously close to his belt.

The room erupted in laughter. The Japanese model snapped a photo on her phone, earning a glare from Min-Kyung.

"Enough," Min-Kyung said, exasperated. "If you girls don't leave him alone, I'll cancel the fittings and you can all go home in your underwear."

That got their attention, but only for a second.

"Don't worry, Min-Kyung," said the silk-robed girl. "We'll give him back. Eventually."

Alina, not to be deterred, posed beside Joon-ho, arm draped around his waist, the side of her bare breast pressed against him. "Let's take a photo for memories, da? You, me, all the girls."

He played along, letting them arrange themselves, smiling for a half-dozen shots as the models crowded in, some leaning into him, others wrapping arms around his shoulders. Alina took center stage, grinning wickedly, her hand wandering lower, fingers brushing the front of his trousers. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Strong man," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "Maybe later, you show me how strong?"

Joon-ho chuckled, not rising to the bait. "Maybe later, if you behave."

The other girls hooted at that. Min-Kyung, at her limit, stepped forward and clapped her hands. "That's it! Out, all of you. Back to work, or I swear I'll call security."

The models scattered, some still giggling, others blowing kisses. Alina lingered, hand still resting on Joon-ho's hip.

"You let me know if you get tired of her rules," she said in a low voice, eyes flicking toward Min-Kyung.

Min-Kyung glared, but there was a hint of laughter in her voice. "Alina, if you don't move, I'll fit your dress with sandpaper."

Alina stuck out her tongue, then sashayed out, hips swaying, grabbing her dress from the rack and throwing a kiss back at Joon-ho as she went.

The door swung shut, leaving just Min-Kyung and Joon-ho in the sudden quiet.

Min-Kyung let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "They're impossible. You're impossible. And now I have to listen to them gossip about you all day."

He grinned. "You could always fire me."

She rolled her eyes, stepping close enough that only he could hear her next words. "You like this, don't you? The attention. The chaos."

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Maybe a little. But only if you're the one waiting for me at the end of the day."

For a second, the tension between them simmered—unsaid words, lingering touches, memories of last night's bruises just beneath the fabric.

Then Min-Kyung pulled back, all business again. "Get changed. I need to fit the next model, and if you distract her the way you did these girls, I'll never get through the schedule."

He raised his hands in surrender, backing toward the fitting room. "As you wish, boss."

She threw a pin at him, missing by a mile, but her smile lingered as she turned away.

As he changed, he could still hear Alina's laughter echoing down the hall, the nervous excitement of Fashion Week pulsing in the air. The chaos would continue, but for now, he let himself enjoy being the center of the storm, surrounded by beauty, competition, and the ever-present promise of something wild just beneath the surface.

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