17. The Cost of Love
THE COST OF LOVE
SANG-HOON — AMSTERDAM
The last note of the encore faded beneath a roar that seemed to shake the rafters of the Ziggo Dome.
I stood in the wings with a towel draped over one arm, waiting where I always waited. Jin was laughing as he waved to the audience, sweat glistening under the lights, his smile bright enough to convince twenty thousand people that nothing in the world could touch him.
Only I knew how exhausted he really was.
The members gathered for their final bow. As they turned to leave the stage, Jin looked toward me. Not just a glance. He smiled.
The smile lasted less than a second before he disappeared into the darkness backstage. “Nice show,” Aidan said quietly beside me.
“It was. Maybe the worst is behind us. No explosions, no panic, just music.”
Exactly what we’d wanted.
Backstage dissolved into organized chaos.
Du-ri collected jackets. Wan-suk hurried forward with blotting paper. Sun-hee-noona was already confirming departure times while Jason coordinated the security bubble around the group.
Jin stepped off the stage breathing hard. “You were amazing,” I said automatically, handing him the towel.
“You watched?”
“I always watch.”
His fingers brushed mine for a heartbeat longer than they should have. Then he moved on toward the dressing room.
I didn’t think anyone noticed. I was wrong, though.
Grace appeared beside me carrying two phones. “You should probably see this.”
She held up the first screen, with a TikTok clip. The caption read: WHO IS THE GUY JIN KEEPS LOOKING AT?
The video zoomed in every time Jin glanced toward stage left.
Another clip, this one a split-screen. One side showed Jin during rehearsal. The other showed tonight’s performance. Arrows circled me standing in exactly the same place.
Same staff member every city.
She showed me another. Someone had slowed the footage until it almost froze.
Look at his face when he sees him.
My stomach tightened.
“There are hundreds already,” Grace said quietly. “The algorithm picked it up.”
I swallowed. “They’re only guessing.”
“For now.” She shook her head. “Be careful, Sang-hoon.”
I left her and walked to the dressing room, where Woo was waving his cellphone madly. “We’re trending!”
Min-kyu looked over his shoulder. “Not the concert. Jin looking at Sang-hoon.”
Silence settled over everyone, and Woo held up his phone so everyone could see. The video replayed, Jin’s eyes drifting toward me, my smile back.
Then again and again. Someone had edited together nearly thirty separate moments from concerts across Europe.
None of them meant anything by themselves, but together they looked like a love story. One between an idol and his stylist.
Tae let out a low whistle. “Fans notice everything.”
Sun-hee-noona stepped into the room. “Phones down.” The members obeyed immediately. Then she looked directly at me. “Sang-hoon. A word.”
I followed her into the hallway, where Jason, Aidan and Liam were waiting. Jason handed Sun-hee-noona another phone.
“This arrived five minutes ago.”
I read the Korean, but Sun-hee-noona translated for Aidan and Liam. The center has forgotten where to look.
Another line appeared beneath it, once again in Korean, and once again Sun-hee-noona translated. Perhaps we’ll teach him.
No signature, no number.
Jason slipped the phone back into his pocket. “The police already have it.”
Liam frowned. “I’m sure that’s going to be from another burner phone. They’re watching the performances and studying behavior.”
“They could simply be fishing,” Aidan said. “Trying to make the idols suspicious of each other, cause trouble for Jin and Sang-hoon without actually knowing what’s going on.”
“Maybe,” Jason said. “But they know what this is going to do. Fans will go crazy, creating a relationship between Jin and Sang-hoon. And we can’t fight that, because it’s true.”
“Starhouse management is going to be very upset,” Sun-hee-noona said. “With me first. I’m supposed to manage the team.”
Jason put his arm around his wife and hugged her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I can stop watching him.” The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left my mouth.
Jason didn’t smile. “No. You can’t. My wife says you’ve been watching him for years now. And he watches you. This was going to come out eventually.”
“I was hoping we could hold off until the end of the tour,” Sun-hee-noona said. “Control the narrative back in Seoul.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Sun-hee-noona spoke softly. “The fans are beginning to identify you by name. It isn’t hard, your name is all over the Starhouse website along with the other stylists, the wardrobe mistresses, the makeup artists.
It was a strategy to make fans think we are all one big family. But now it’s going to backfire.”
“What are we going to do?” Liam asked.
“I don’t know,” Sun-hee-noona said. “I need to coordinate with Eun-ji. See what she thinks is best.” She looked at me. “You stay in your own room tonight, okay? Don’t give these people any more ammunition.”
“What will I tell Jin?”
“I’ll take care of him. He needs to rest and focus on the music. If Eun-ji has to get involved, I’m sure she will have stronger ideas.”
I felt deep shame. My actions had brought problems to the very people who had helped create my career. And I’d put Jin in an uncomfortable position. “Whatever you wish, Noona,” I said.
That night, alone in my hotel room, I opened my laptop. The cursor blinked, but I could barely see it through the tears in my eyes. But I typed anyway.
Sun-hee-noona,
After careful consideration, I believe it would be best if I stepped away from the tour...
I stopped.
Deleted After careful consideration.
It wasn’t true. I hadn’t considered anything since the moment in Cannes when I saw Jin stumble on stage and rushed toward him.
I deleted what I had written, and started again.
Sun-hee-noona,
I need to request immediate leave from the tour. Personal emergency. Mina is very talented and has been observing everything. She can take over for me, and Du-ri can help her.
My hands were shaking. I’d spent five years building a career at Starhouse, working my way up from intern to senior stylist trusted with the company’s biggest acts. Long days learning the rhythms of the industry, the politics, the careful balance of ambition and loyalty.
And I’d spent all that time loving Jin from a distance I’d convinced myself was safe.
But it wasn’t safe. It had never been safe.
Whoever was behind the threats had been watching him for months. Aidan and Liam weren’t sure if the threats were directed at him personally, or simply because he was the center and if they knocked him down, Pryzm and Starhouse would suffer.
Now that the fans had discovered the connection between Jin and me, things could only get worse. It wouldn’t take much for someone to discover the clause in Jin’s contract that prevented him from getting involved with a staff member, and using that to hurt him, Pryzm and Starhouse.
Fans would dissect every interaction we’d ever had.
Anti-fans would invent the rest. Reporters would camp outside Starhouse headquarters.
Sponsors would ask questions. The company would investigate how both of us had violated policy.
Even if they eventually cleared us, the story would become bigger than Pryzm’s music.
Jin had spent years earning the love of millions of people. I couldn’t be the reason that love turned into suspicion, gossip, or disappointment.
If I went back to Seoul, there would be nothing to see. Mina would stand beside him instead of me. No one would wonder why I always hovered just outside the camera frame. No one could build a story around glances that no longer happened.
The logical solution was obvious: remove myself from the equation.
I’d lose the career I’d spent five years building.
I’d lose Jin.
But he’d keep everything he’d worked his whole life to achieve.
It was the right thing to do. The smart thing. The thought of it made me want to vomit.
I went back to the email, my fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard.
I believe my continued assignment to him creates unnecessary risk for him, Pryzm and Starhouse. I know this request may seem abrupt. I’d appreciate the opportunity to leave the tour as soon as it’s practical. Mina can handle London.
Professional. Rational. The kind of language that made a devastating decision sound like a simple business matter.
I stared at the words for a long time. Then I hit send before I changed my mind.
The swoosh of the outgoing message felt like a door closing.
My phone buzzed immediately. Sun-hee-noona’s response came through faster than should have been possible.
My room. 9 AM.
I set the phone down. Down the hall in his own room, Jin was sleeping, unaware that I’d just set in motion the end of everything we’d barely begun.
In Cannes, I’d run onto a burning stage for him. Then I’d told him how I felt about him. And now I was leaving.
I couldn’t make sense of it and I knew Jin wouldn’t be able to either.