1. Seojun

CHAPTER 1

SEOJUN

" M ore champagne, sir?" I look up at the pretty Korean girl offering to top me up. Shaking my head, I touch the rim of my glass.

She holds my gaze for a moment before I say, "Screw it," and let her refill my flute. She smiles, nods, bows, and walks away, leaving me to stew in my thoughts.

Where are they? Why can't I find them? I've searched for them high and low. I've searched everywhere and found nothing.

I miss them so much. I thought maybe Korea was the answer. That perhaps I had been mistaken all this time. Maybe they'd returned home, and I was supposed to follow them there. But they weren't there either.

I'm not giving up. I'll search every country if I have to and I will find them.

"Mr. Walters, please fasten your seatbelt. We're about to land at JFK," the captain announces.

I follow his instructions, turning to the window as New York looms closer and closer, bringing me back to my failures. Back to the place I lost them. Back to haunted memories of how badly I screwed up.

Naturally, the captain is top-notch, so we land with minimal bumpage. I get up, sip the last dregs of my champagne, take my fur coat from the stewardess, and walk out of the private jet.

I barely take two steps before airport security surrounds me, guns aimed.

"Get down!" they shout in unison like a terrible choir.

"Me? On the floor? Darlings, I don't do that unless there's a pretty good incentive."

I scan the crowd of armed men and women, but no one tickles my fancy, and I am the Sinister Seomyeong. I don't get on my knees for just anyone.

"Get down now!" shouts someone behind me, and I turn to look at the man approaching.

"Have you seen these pants? Dior leather pants. Do you know how expensive they are?" I ask.

He's a big, burly man with more hair on his face than head, and oh girl, I would have him on my bed any time of day. If only he wasn't pointing a gun at me and was pointing something else.

"You are under arrest. For theft, violating international aviation laws, unlawful use of aircraft, and customs violations," he shouts, and I flinch.

"Who? Me?" I ask. "And do you have to be so loud?"

"I'll be as loud as I want. Are you Derek Walters?" he asks, approaching me with caution. As if I'm a terrorist threat or something. But I'm no threat. I'm just a small, innocent boy with a gorgeous fashion sense and a rather unfortunate fake name.

"I am indeed."

"Then I hate to inform you that you're under arrest."

"Yeah, yeah, you said that already."

A man walks up behind me, handcuffs at the ready.

"Ooh. Restraints, already? Kinky. We haven't even met yet," I say, but neither man I'm sandwiched between laughs.

Handcuffs guy tries to…well, cuff me, and I can't have that. Not only because I can't risk him scratching my perfectly good wrists, but also, the last thing I want after a fourteen-hour flight is to drag this charade on any longer than it has to be.

"Hang on!" I start and bring my hands forward to avoid Handcuffs Guy. "I own this private jet. I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't steal anything."

I lie, of course. I am the Sinister Seomyeong. I lie and steal and cheat. As supervillains do.

The man narrows his eyes, looking me up and down with disapproval.

I guess he's straight, if the dismissive grimace is anything to go by.

Shame. I wouldn't mind the challenge of trying to convert him. Once he's done giving me the once-over, he nods at the guy behind me, who makes another attempt to cuff me.

Jeez. I'm not in the mood for BDSM today. Get with the program.

"Why won't you listen to me? I own this jet. And I can prove it to you. Give me a piece of paper, and I'll sign for it."

I take a step forward to avoid Handcuffs Guy, who is literally obsessed with me, it seems, and land almost in Big Burly Guy's arms. Almost. Sadly, he doesn't close the distance between us. Sigh.

"I don't know how you think signing for something will prove anything." He grabs me by the shoulders, and I know my number is up. If I don't act now, I'll have to go through the whole arrest and bullshit before I can get out, and ain't nobody got time for that.

"Just give me a piece of paper. I'll do the rest. I'll prove to you I am no thief."

Big Burly Guy stares at me. I stare back. He raises an eyebrow, and I raise two. He huffs. I smirk. It's too hot for comfort between us. It's like we're flirting. I can so picture us in bed together doing the horizontal mambo, cha-cha, and tango combined.

But I also have business to attend to, and I'm too tired to convert a straight man…

"So?" I say, and he surrenders with a growl.

A female security guard approaches with a clipboard and a blank piece of paper.

I put my hand under my fur coat and freeze. Everyone's guns rise back up, and a dozen lasers dot my body.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Relax, won't you? I'm just getting my pen," I tell them and remove my hand slowly. So slowly. I don't want to get shot. Do you know how much I paid for this coat? I don't want to get blood on it.

Under everyone's gaze, I take the cap off and put pen to paper, staring at Big Burly Guy.

"Like I said, I am the owner of this private jet. I have paid for this flight. We have all the appropriate aviation permissions to be here. Do you believe me?" I sign the paper and hand it to him.

As soon as he looks at my signature, his eyes go wide, his posture goes rigid, and his jaw shakes.

"I…I am so sorry, Mr. Walters. I don't know what happened. We were told this jet was stolen and there was an unauthorized passenger on it. We didn't… I don't know what to say. Please forgive us. We must have made a mistake." He gestures to the rest of the airport security people, and they lower their guns.

"No, darling." I smile at Big Burly Guy and drag my index finger across his face. "You've been signed. By the Sinister Seomyeong…sexy." I whisper in his ear and walk away.

I know for a fact he is staring at me, despite finding me positively despicable only a moment ago. What can I say, my signature comes with some charm. Naturally, I drop my fur coat so Big Burly Guy can have a full view of my ass. You never know when we could meet again. Might as well lay the groundwork for our torrid affair.

I spot the small, discreet limo at the hangar and a man dressed to the nines, cap and gloves included, standing to attention in front of it.

"What was that about?" he asks.

I shrug it off and smile at the man.

"Oh, nothing. Just a hitch."

"Mr. Hank, I presume?"

"The one and only," I respond, and the chauffeur opens the door for me.

Now, this is more like it.

This is how I should always be treated. Like a king. Or queen, depending on the mood.

The door shuts behind me and I find another glass of champagne waiting for me.

I guess being back has its advantages. It's so much easier to manipulate people in New York than anywhere else in the world. It's as if New Yorkers are more susceptible to lies and manipulation. Everyone is so desperate to make their dreams come true in the Big Apple that they'll do or believe anything.

"I hope the temperature is to your liking, sir."

I glance at the chauffeur through the rearview mirror and purse my lips.

"It's acceptable. Now go. Get us out of here. I've got business to attend to."

And an arrest to avoid.

I don't know how long the effects of my signature will last, and I'll have to go through the same shenanigans to get out of this.

"Right away, sir," he replies, and we set off to the City.

As soon as we're out of the airport, I relax against the seat and wipe the smugness from my eyes.

Being the Sinister Seomyeong can be exhausting sometimes. Especially when there are guns aimed at me. Which happens more often than I care to admit.

I just need my bathtub and a good, long soak. Then, I can resume my search.

Halfway through Brooklyn, I fish out my phone from my back pocket and check my notifications. My screen is flooded with welcome-back-to-the-country text messages and pointless app updates, but one catches my attention.

An email.

Ever heard of SPAM ? the subject line reads.

"SPAM?" I mutter under my breath. "The canned meat?"