There was something different about Aran these days.
It wasn't obvious. He was still the same Aran to the rest of the world.....cold, exacting, razor-sharp in meetings and unnervingly calm under pressure. But to Kanya, it was as if something had shifted beneath the surface. And not just shifted, tilted, rewired, and realigned itself in the most maddening ways.
She first noticed it on a morning much like any other. She had walked into Mind Entertainment dressed for a day filled with client meetings and chaos.....pencil skirt, matching coat, hair pulled into a sleek bun. Professional. Focused.
Aran had been waiting near the elevator.
He didn't say "good morning" like everyone else. No. He gave her a once-over, eyes sliding slowly from her shoes to her neatly tied bun, and said, "Are you trying to kill someone today?"
No smirk. No wink. Just those infuriatingly flat words that somehow managed to coil around her nerves and tug.
The elevator ride was silent, save for the sound of her tapping the screen of her tablet. But she could feel him beside her.....close enough that her skin was aware of him. Of the scent of him. Of the way his suit jacket brushed her arm ever so lightly whenever the elevator shifted.
It didn't help that, during meetings, he had taken to watching her speak with a kind of indulgent amusement. Not dismissive.....no, never that but like he was observing a private joke only he was in on. He never interrupted her. If anything, he deferred to her. But the glint in his eye every time she corrected a staff member or pushed back on a strategy... it was new.
It was subtle, but it was there.
And it was driving her absolutely insane.
One evening, long after the rest of the PR team had gone home, she remained at her desk, finalizing statements and handling a tricky last-minute sponsorship fallout. She was tired. Her coffee had gone cold. Her head was pounding.
Aran appeared without warning, as he often did now, slipping into her office without a word.
He didn't ask how much longer she would be. He didn't offer help.
He simply leaned over, plucked a sticky note from her stack, scribbled something quickly, and set it down next to her coffee cup.
Then, just as quietly, he walked out.
It took her a full minute to stop typing and read the note.
You're cute when you're bossy.
She scoffed. But her lips curved upward before she could stop them.
The others had started to notice, too....well....sort of. Jack kept side-eyeing them during meetings, whispering ridiculous theories to June, who only responded with a cryptic hum. Nothing concrete yet. Just a strange, lingering sense of something in the air.
Later that week, as she left the building late at night, her tote hanging from one shoulder, Aran's car pulled up beside her.
He rolled the window down, resting one arm along the frame as he looked at her.
"You shouldn't walk alone at night" he said. His tone wasn't stern. It was… almost lazy, like he was stating a fact rather than expressing concern.
She rolled her eyes. "Why? Are you going to stalk me too now?"
He didn't laugh. Just stared for a moment, as if seriously considering it.
"No" he said finally, lips quirking. "But I'd like the exclusive rights if someone ever does."
She didn't reply. She didn't need to.
The tension was different now. Less barbed, more charged. Less like enemies, more like a match held too close to gasoline.
That night, as she sat behind the wheel of her car, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. There was a glimmer in her eyes she hadn't seen in a long time.
Hope. Curiosity. And something dangerously close to anticipation.
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The sound of heels echoed down the executive hallway, each click of step, measured and crisp. Kanya had been up since six, running media briefs and prepping for the upcoming fashion gala that would put Mind Entertainment in the center of Thailand's entertainment map once again. She had sent over the draft sponsor list and final venue selection to Aran that morning, and he'd told her to drop by his office post-lunch to review final details.
Business, as always. Efficient, clean, professional.
But the moment she turned the corner toward Aran's office, something shifted.
The first thing she saw was the flicker of movement inside through the glass partition. The door wasn't fully closed....just slightly ajar, an accidental oversight. And through that sliver, she caught a glimpse of someone she recognized instantly, even before the full image registered.
Pakpao Chayanan.
The darling of Thai dramas. Social media's favorite face. Rich, influential, unafraid to flaunt it. Her golden skin glowed under the soft lighting of Aran's office. Long waves of hair fell effortlessly down her designer blazer, and her manicured hand was… latched tightly onto Aran's wrist.
Kanya's steps slowed to a halt.
Aran, however, did not look like a man enjoying the attention. His expression was cold. His brows slightly furrowed in irritation, jaw set, lips flattened into a straight line. The kind of face he made when he was mentally rearranging murder scenarios for PR disasters.
She wasn't sure what made her chest feel tight.....the hand, the woman, or the fact that Aran wasn't pushing her away. Not yet.
Still, Kanya's voice came out perfectly smooth. Deadpan.
"Boss. You busy?"
She stepped into the room like she owned the place, tablet in hand, eyes unbothered. Or at least pretending to be.
Aran blinked, startled for half a second. Then his eyes settled on her. For a brief moment....no more than a breath and something flickered across his face. Not guilt. But something raw. Panic. Relief. Gratitude. Kanya couldn't place it.
He straightened.
"She was just leaving" he said firmly.
Pakpao barely moved. She turned, lips already curled into a dismissive smile. "I wasn't aware CEOs took appointments with… secretaries during business hours."
Kanya's eyebrow lifted, but her expression remained unchanged. She didn't need to look offended—Pakpao was doing a good enough job looking stupid all on her own.
"I'm the Head of PR" she said with clinical precision. "And I was here before you were relevant."
Pakpao blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Aran bit back a laugh...Kanya didn't miss the twitch of his lips.
Pakpao rolled her eyes, turning toward Aran again and placing a delicate hand on his chest. "Come on, Aran. I'm the showstopper of your fashion gala. Of course, I'm important."
He stepped back.
"I already have a showstopper."
The room went silent.
Kanya's eyes jerked up, meeting his.
He wasn't looking at Pakpao.
He was looking at her.
Pakpao's expression twisted, the smile vanishing completely.
"Are you serious?" she scoffed. "That's rich. Her? In what world?"
Kanya didn't react. Her posture remained straight, tablet now placed neatly on the desk as she flipped open the screen.
"Don't worry" she said smoothly. "You are safe. I'm not a desperate second-tier actress trying to climb my way up a ramp."
Pakpao's cheeks flushed with fury. "You should be grateful someone like me is even attending this washed-out company's events. Everyone knows the only reason you're on the guest list is because of your tragic backstory and a few fake sob interviews."
That hit low. And Kanya felt it. But she didn't show it.
Aran, however, did.
The room temperature dropped a degree.
"Pakpao" he said quietly, voice ice-cold now. "You've overstayed your welcome."
Pakpao opened her mouth to argue again, but this time, Aran didn't bother being subtle.
He stepped to the side, opened the door fully, and gestured to it with a blank expression.
"Leave. Before I change your title from showstopper to blacklist."
Her jaw dropped.
"I—You wouldn't dare—!"
"I would" he replied flatly. "And I don't need a reason. But if you want one… insulting my staff and trying to get handsy in my office is more than enough."
Silence stretched again. The weight of his words hit like iron.
Pakpao looked from Aran to Kanya, as if still hoping for some backup. She found none. Instead, she scoffed, flipped her hair dramatically, and stormed out the door in a blur of expensive perfume and fury.
The office door slammed shut behind her.
Silence again.
Then… Kanya exhaled quietly and continued swiping through her tablet like nothing happened. Aran watched her for a long beat before running a hand through his hair with a sigh.
He folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the desk now. "You okay?"
Kanya's lips twitched, just slightly. "You just watched a grown woman try to unbutton your shirt in broad daylight. I should be asking you that."
He smirked faintly. "You jealous, Kanya?"
She looked up at last, face perfectly blank.
"I don't do jealousy" she said. "But I do handle PR disasters. And you're a walking one today."
He laughed under his breath, the sound low and genuine. And even though they both returned to business seconds later, the tension didn't vanish.
It just simmered under the surface.
Like something waiting to ignite.
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The morning of the gala began like any other.....Kanya buried under a pile of schedules, soundchecks, sponsor verifications, and last-minute fitting issues. The venue, an open-roof marble-and-glass event space along the Chao Phraya River, was dressed in elegance. The red carpet gleamed under the afternoon sun, waiting for the guests to begin arriving. Everything had to be perfect. It would be perfect.
She had no time to think about what she would wear.
Or rather what she should wear. Until a box arrived.
Delivered by Korn, wrapped in midnight blue silk with no card, just the distinct label of one of Korea's top haute couture houses embroidered in gold at the center.
Kanya blinked at it like it had personally insulted her.
She peeled back the cover slowly, only to have the breath stolen right out of her lungs.
Inside lay a dress.....no, a masterpiece.
An asymmetric black gown crafted from layers of delicate sheer silk, hugged at the waist with intricate embroidery of silver vines that shimmered subtly under light. The neckline swept into a sharp off-shoulder cut, clean and bold, one sleeve long, the other left bare. It wasn't loud. It wasn't overdone. But it was impossible to ignore. Iconic in its elegance. Strong. Fierce.
Her...but elevated.
It came with silver heels and a single custom earring....a vine-shaped cuff that curled up the side of the ear like armor. Statement. Unapologetic.
There was a note tucked inside. Not handwritten. Printed. Probably on purpose.
You're the final showstopper. And no one else deserves that title.
— Aran.
She stared at it for a long time, unsure whether she wanted to burn the dress or wear it to war.
By the time she saw him, she was still holding the lid.
"You think this is funny?" she asked without preamble as Aran stepped into the hallway.
He gave her a small smirk. "No. I think it's necessary."
"I wasn't walking the runway."
"You don't need to" he said, tone calm. "You just need to exist. In that."
Her brows furrowed. "This dress is from the designer headlining the final walk. If I show up in this—"
"People will talk" he finished, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Let them. You're the reason the entire evening is running. You deserve to be seen."
"I don't like being a statement."
"You already are."
That silenced her.
In the end, she wore it.
And when she stepped into the venue—hair swept into a sleek high ponytail, eyes lined dark, lips painted a soft wine red—every head turned.
Kanya didn't notice. She was already holding the walkie-talkie in her hand, eyes scanning the team as she moved through the backstage crew, ensuring every spotlight, every timing, every lineup was executed without flaw.
The event had been broken into three core segments: the rising BL stars of Mind Entertainment opening with a bold, casual collection, followed by the live performances of their contract singers, and lastly—the elite models and fashion influencers of Asia walking for the crown designer collection.
Everything ran like clockwork.
Until Pakpao still hadn't arrived.
Her stylist was in tears. The timing board was flashing red. The designer was pacing. And then, like some twisted force of chaos...
She arrived.
Two hours late. Draped in a robe, coffee in hand, sunglasses still on. She breezed past security and strutted inside like royalty gracing peasants with her presence.
And the moment her eyes landed on Kanya....everything shattered.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Kanya looked up, calm despite the brewing storm. Her walkie-talkie was still in hand, mid-conversation with the lighting team, but her focus shifted as Pakpao's voice rang out loud enough to draw attention.
"That's Min Jae's Sakura Eclipse piece" Pakpao hissed, storming forward with her robe still half open and hairpins dangling from her untouched updo. "The limited edition—the one that was locked from public view! Why the hell are you wearing it?"
Kanya didn't flinch. She simply clicked off the walkie and tucked it at her hip, tilting her head slightly. "Because I can."
Pakpao's eyes narrowed with fire. "You had no right. That dress was meant for the final walk—"
"No" came a voice colder than winter rain.
Everyone turned.
Aran stood by the curtain entrance, his jaw tight and expression unreadable. His gaze, however, wasn't on Pakpao.
It was on Kanya.
"The dress was never meant for the runway" he said flatly, stepping further in, his presence soaking into the space like oil. "It was never made for a segment. Never intended for a spotlight."
Pakpao scoffed. "Then why was it here?"
"Because it was designed like a second skin" he replied, voice low. "For someone who could wear it like it belonged to her. Not perform in it. Own it."
He paused, eyes flickering down the length of Kanya's form before lifting to meet Pakpao's glare.
"She's the one."
Pakpao looked stunned—her anger stalling for a moment at the boldness of that statement.
But Aran wasn't done.
"Besides" he added with a bored glance toward her, "the final model will be wearing a coat over the piece anyway. So what are you crying for? Scared someone might upstage you without even trying?"
The jab landed like a slap.
Pakpao's face turned a shade deeper. "You're humiliating me for her?"
Aran's lips quirked in the barest smirk. "I didn't need to. You're doing just fine on your own."
Gasps and whispers broke out among the stylists and assistants.
Pakpao bristled, jaw trembling with rage. "You know what? Fine. If she's your favorite little doll, let her have her spotlight. I'm done. I won't walk this show."
The air went still.