Chapter Five
◆◆◆
Aria
The private car pulled up to the sleek Gangnam high-rise, the engine humming softly to a stop under the covered entrance.
Lena had insisted on riding back from the airport with her, chatting lightly about the flight delays and the latest industry gossip to fill the silence, but now she glanced at Aria with that familiar concern in her eyes.
“You sure you’re okay going up alone?” Lena asked, handing over the suitcase handle. “I can come in, help unpack or just… hang out.”
Aria shook her head, forcing a small smile. “I’m good. Go run your errands—you’ve earned a break after babysitting me through Singapore. I’ll text if I need anything.”
Lena hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But seriously, unnie—call me. Even if it’s just to rant about jet lag.”
With a quick hug, Lena headed off toward the subway, her ponytail swinging as she disappeared into the bustling street crowd. Aria watched her go, the isolation settling in before she even stepped inside.
The apartment door closed behind her with a soft, definitive click, sealing in the quiet that now felt permanent and oppressive.
Seoul’s late-afternoon light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting long golden shadows across the polished hardwood floors and catching dust motes in their lazy, indifferent dance.
The city hummed far below—traffic snarling on Teheran-ro, distant sirens piercing the air, the low thrum of life that never quite reached this high—but inside, the silence was deafening, broken only by the faint tick of the minimalist wall clock Min-Jae had bought on a whim during a Tokyo trip.
Min-Jae’s absence had carved itself into every corner.
His side of the walk-in closet gaped open like an open wound, the custom walnut hangers bare and swaying faintly from the draft of her entry.
The built-in shelves where he’d kept his prized vinyl collection—rare imports he’d hunted down in the hidden record shops of Hongdae and Itaewon, spinning them late at night while they shared wireless headphones and whispered lyrics into the dark—were now starkly cleared, leaving only faint rectangular outlines in the dust like ghosts of albums past. Even the subtle imprint on the living-room rug from his ergonomic gaming chair had begun to fade, the high-pile fibres slowly reclaiming their shape as if the apartment itself was already erasing him.
The air still carried a faint trace of his cologne—woody and clean, the kind he’d spritz before studio sessions—but it was fading too, overpowered by the sterile scent of the cleaning service that had come through while she was away.
She set her Louis Vuitton suitcase down with a thud that echoed too loudly through the open-plan space, her Louboutin heels clicking sharply against the herringbone floors as she wandered through the rooms like a ghost in her own home.
Fingers trailed absently over the cool white marble walls, the smooth granite countertops in the kitchen where they’d once attempted disastrous fusion dinners—kimchi jjigae laced with overpriced truffle oil, laughing until tears streamed down their faces—and the edge of the oversized island where they’d danced badly to old Vortex tracks, bodies pressed close amid scattered takeout boxes from their favourite late-night spot.
She paused in the bedroom doorway, staring at the king-sized bed they’d shared.
The pillows were arranged just as he liked—his stacked higher for propping up while he scrolled through fan edits or late-night lyrics on his phone.
She hadn’t touched them. Couldn’t. Disrupting that last remnant of normalcy felt like admitting he was truly gone.
Her chest tightened with the familiar ache—a vicious mix of sorrow, frustration, and the sharp sting of betrayal that made her throat burn and her eyes prickle.
She swallowed it down, forcing deep, controlled breaths as she shook her head.
No more wallowing. This wasn’t her. Aria Moon didn’t crumble in empty apartments; she conquered stages, topped charts, broke hearts and mended them with songs that resonated across oceans.
She pulled her phone from her Chanel handbag, fingers steady now as she scrolled to Robert’s contact and hit dial.
Robert answered on the first ring, his voice warm and steady like always. “Aria? You home safe?”
“Yeah.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt, though exhaustion from the sixteen-hour flight lingered in every syllable. “Just walked in.”
A brief pause on his end—the faint rustle of papers, the soft click of a pen, the background murmur of his LA office bustling with assistants and calls.
Robert Kang—mid-fifties, jet black hair always impeccably styled in a sharp fade, wardrobe of tailored Tom Ford suits that screamed “Hollywood power broker meets K-pop visionary”—had been her constant since she was twelve, belting out show tunes at a tiny Koreatown open mic.
He’d seen the raw potential immediately: bilingual, photogenic, a natural songwriter with a voice that could shift from crystalline English ballads to razor-sharp Korean rap verses.
He’d built her career brick by brick—first with Lumina, the girl group that dominated charts with infectious synth-pop anthems like “Neon Signs” and sultry R he was the surrogate father who’d stepped in when her own had quietly disowned her for choosing pop stardom over the classical piano training he’d so meticulously orchestrated since she was five.
Her father—a stern conductor in LA’s symphony scene—had seen her talent as a path to prestige, not pop charts, and his disapproval had fractured their family, leading to the slow breakdown of her parents’ marriage.
Now, she still talked regularly with her mother back in LA—warm video calls filled with recipes and encouragement—but her father made little time for her, his responses curt and infrequent, a silent reminder of the rift.
“I’ve heard the whispers,” Robert said now, tone laced with concern. “Paparazzi caught the moving van yesterday. Boxes labelled with Vortex’s logo. You holding up, kid?”
“I’m fine.” The lie came easily, practiced. “It’s just… the place feels hollow without him.”
Robert exhaled, heavy with years of knowing her too well.
“This isn’t the first rough patch, Aria.
His jealousy over your trajectory—it’s been simmering.
That solo EP of his last year barely cracked the top 50 despite the hype.
Yours went triple platinum, critics calling it genre-defining.
Men don’t always handle that imbalance gracefully. Especially not in this industry.”
“He’s not jealous,” she defended automatically, though the words felt thinner now.
“He’s proud. Always has been my biggest cheerleader.
We’re soulmates, Robert. We’ve been through everything—debut jitters, comeback pressures, those early tabloid rumours that nearly tore us apart. This is temporary. We’ll fix it.”
Another pause. Robert weighing how hard to push, his paternal instincts kicking in like they had so many times before—when her father’s cold shoulder left her reeling, Robert had been the one to encourage her, to remind her that talent like hers wasn’t meant to be caged in concert halls.
“If you say so. I won’t argue today. What do you need from me? ”
She paced to the window, the sprawling Seoul skyline glittering below—towering glass skyscrapers piercing the twilight, neon signs flickering to life as dusk crept in, the Han River winding like a silver ribbon through the urban sprawl.
“Reach out to Jax Callaghan’s manager. Set up a dinner.
Next few weeks—maybe when I’m in Mexico for the luxury brand endorsement event, the photoshoots and gala. ”
“Jax Callaghan. The F1 driver.” Robert’s tone lifted, a hint of amusement creeping in. “That Singapore rooftop photo is still circulating like wildfire. Fans are shipping you two harder than any K-drama. Good-looking guy—tall, built, that easy Aussie charm. Rebound material?”
“No.” She protested, but a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips as she recalled Jax’s easy grin, the way he’d towered over her yet made the conversation feel effortless.
“We just… clicked. Our talk got cut short amid the party chaos. I want to finish it. Hear more about his world. And yeah—the photo got attention. Min-Jae’s been texting me jealous nonsense ever since. ”
Robert chuckled softly. “Understatement. It’s trending in three countries. I’ll make the call. Stay strong, Aria. You’ve got this.”
She hung up, staring at the city lights beginning to bloom. The photo had done its job—Min-Jae’s jealous texts proved he was watching, still caring enough to sting. If a little jealousy could jolt him back…
She’d give him more to think about.
◆◆◆
Jax