Chapter 1

The Seoul International Airport bustled with excitement as reporters and fans crowded around the VIP exit, cameras flashing like a swarm of paparazzi fireflies. They whispered among themselves, eagerly anticipating the moment when the most talked-about celebrity in Korea, Zane, would make his grand appearance. His charismatic persona was the heartthrob of the nation, and today was no different. Yet, amidst the chaos, a slender figure slipped out unnoticed, eyes cast down and clutching a tattered suitcase.

Flora, a girl with a heart full of secrets and a mind brimming with untold stories, emerged from the same airport, invisible to the frenzied crowd. She had a way of blending into the background, her shyness acting as a chameon-like shield. The soft fabric of her dress fluttered in the breeze as she scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces, looking for a brief moment of solace. Her eyes caught the neon glow of a taxi sign, and she hurried towards it, eager to escape the suffocating grasp of her recent past.

Meanwhile Zane's driver, a burly man in his mid-thirties with a stern look that matched his no-nonsense demeanor, marched through the airport, scanning the line of taxis outside. His boss, the enigmatic Zane, had called in a panic—his luxury sports car had broken down on the way to the airport, leaving him without a ride to his next photoshoot. The driver's mission was clear: secure the best vehicle available, no matter the cost. He approached the same taxi that had caught Flora's eye, his hand already reaching for his wallet to entice the driver with an overly generous tip.

Flora had just managed to stuff her luggage into the trunk of the taxi, feeling a brief sense of relief that she had found a way out of the chaos, when the driver's voice sliced through the air. "Ma'am, I'm sorry but I've already booked this car for someone else."

Her eyes widened in shock, and she turned to face him. "What do you mean?" she stuttered, her shyness briefly forgotten in the face of her new predicament. The driver, noticing the desperation in her eyes, offered a quick apology. "My apologies, but I have another appointment. Let me see if I can arrange another car for you."

While the driver was busy on the phone, Flora felt a sudden surge of panic. What if he couldn't find another car? What if her pursuers had already arrived at the airport? Her thoughts raced like a runaway train as she tugged at the handle of her suitcase, trying to pull it back out of the trunk. It was heavy, filled with her life's essentials and the weight of her secret. In her haste, she stumbled and hit her head against the metal edge of the trunk with a loud thunk. The world around her spun, and everything went dark.

When the driver turned around, he found the trunk open, Flora's luggage half in, half out, and no sign of the girl. He frowned, assuming she had decided to leave without further ado. He slammed the trunk shut, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being able to help her. Without a second thought, he handed the keys to the waiting Zane's driver, who had been observing the scene with a mix of curiosity and urgency. "Here you go," the cab driver said gruffly, "Your car is ready."

The Zane's driver took the keys with a curt nod, his mind racing with thoughts of his own. He had a job to do, and it was a critical one—his boss was not a man to be kept waiting. He climbed into the driver's seat, the leather upholstery cool and inviting against his skin. As he started the engine.

Zane emerged from the airport terminal, his eyes shielded by a sleek pair of aviator sunglasses, a sea of fans parted before him like the Red Sea for Moses. His smile was dazzling, a perfect blend of charm and mischief that could make even the most stoic of hearts flutter. He waved to his adoring public, his hand moving in a graceful arc that seemed to capture the light itself. The air was thick with the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and citrus that seemed to make the very air shiver with anticipation.

He approached the taxi, the epitome of confidence, his every step broadcasting that he was the star of the show. When he saw the driver, a flicker of recognition passed between them. "I've got it from here," he said smoothly, taking the keys from the surprised man's hand. "Why don't you go home and take the rest of the night off?"

The driver blinked, his eyes widening. "But, Mr. Zane..." he began, but Zane cut him off with a dismissive wave. "It's fine. I need some alone time. Besides, I can't have you driving me around looking like you just saw a ghost." He flashed a grin, and the man, still in shock, could do nothing but nod and watch as his celebrity client slid into the cab.

Zane revved the engine and pulled out of the airport, the scent of leather and gasoline filling the car. As he drove, the tension of his earlier call began to melt away, replaced by the thrill of the open road. He reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the names of his two latest conquests, both eager to spend the night with him. With a smirk, he sent them a text, telling them to meet him at his penthouse.

Minutes later, the car pulled up outside a sleek, modern building. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their high heels clacking against the pavement like the beat of a drum. Both were stunning in their own right, one with fiery red hair and a figure that could make a saint swear, the other with raven locks that fell like a waterfall and eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. They spotted Zane in the taxi and squealed with excitement, racing towards the car.

The red-headed girl was the first to reach the car, throwing open the back door and sliding in gracefully. Before the second girl could follow, Zane leaned over, whispering, "Why not both of you stay with me tonight?" The girls' eyes lit up, and a playful rivalry danced across their faces. They giggled, the sound like tinkling bells in the enclosed space.

Flora, who had been lying unconscious in the backseat, suddenly stirred at the sound of their giggling. Her head pounded, and the world was a blur of light and shadow as she fought to regain her bearings. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the two figures leaning over her. When she saw them move closer, their lips puckered in an attempt to kiss the same boy, she couldn't help the scream that tore from her throat.

The car lurched to an abrupt halt, and Zane's head snapped around. His eyes narrowed, and he demanded, "Who the hell are you?" His voice was a mix of surprise and irritation, the smoothness of a moment ago gone. Flora, still groggy from her fall, pushed herself up to a sitting position and took in the scene before her. The two stunned girls froze in their tracks, their mouths hanging open like surprised fish.

"How did you get in my car?" Zane repeated, his tone sharper now. The redheaded girl looked at Flora with a mix of curiosity and jealousy, while the raven-haired beauty took a step back, her eyes wide with shock.

Flora, still reeling from the pain in her head, managed a weak smile. "It's a long story, but I'm just as surprised as you are. The taxi driver must have accidentally left the back door unlocked." She rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the ache.

The two girls, however, were not so easily deterred. The redhead took a step forward, her eyes narrowing into slits. "What's going on here, Zane? Who is this?" she hissed, her voice like a serpent in the dark. The raven-haired beauty took a step closer to Zane, her arms wrapping possessively around his.

Zane, his patience wearing thin, tried to calm the situation. "Ladies, this is a misunderstanding," he began, his voice firm yet measured. "Flora is not my girlfriend."

But the girls were not in the mood for explanations. They began to argue with each other, their voices rising like a crescendo in a soap opera. "How could you do this to me, Zane?" the redhead spat, her eyes flashing. "You promised me tonight!"

"Back off, he's mine!" the raven-haired beauty snapped, her grip on Zane tightening.

Flora, feeling utterly out of place in the midst of this love triangle turned catfight, tried to slip out of the car unnoticed. But as she moved, her dress caught on the door handle, and she yelped in pain as the fabric ripped.

The commotion grew louder, and Zane, his patience now fully exhausted, yelled, "ENOUGH!" The girls turned to him, their faces a mix of anger and surprise. He took a deep breath, his handsome features etched with annoyance. "Flora," he said, pointing at her, "is not my girlfriend. She's just a...a..." He paused, searching for the right words. "A fan," he finished lamely.

Flora blinked, the accusation stinging like a slap across the face. "What? A fan?" she echoed, her voice trembling. "I don't even know you, Mr. Zane. This is all just a big misunderstanding."

The two girls looked at each other, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and anger. They turned to Zane, who was now looking equally as bewildered. "What is she talking about?" the redhead demanded.

Zane's jaw clenched, and he met Flora's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Look," he said, his voice tight with irritation, "I don't know how you got in here, but you need to get out. Now."

Flora, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, hastily gathered her torn dress and slid out of the car. She reached into the trunk and pulled out her suitcase with a grunt, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. As she straightened up, she met the icy glare of the two beauties who had claimed the model as their own. They sneered at her, their contempt palpable in the air.

"You two have terrible taste," she murmured under her breath, her voice shaking with anger. "To think you'd fight over such a... a... jerk." She spat out the last word with as much venom as she could muster, her grip on the suitcase handle tightening.

The redhead's eyes narrowed into slits, and she took a step towards Flora. "What did you just say?" she demanded, her voice a low growl.

The raven-haired girl placed a hand on her friend's arm, a smirk playing on her lips. "Let's not bother with her, she's not worth it," she whispered, her voice dripping with condescension.

Zane rolled his eyes and turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. He threw the car into gear and sped off, leaving Flora standing on the sidewalk, feeling more alone than ever. She watched the taillights disappear into the night, the sound of their laughter echoing in her ears.

"What a rude person," she murmured to herself, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. She had always heard rumors about the arrogance of celebrities, but experiencing it firsthand was a whole other level of humiliation. Her heart raced as she tried to process what had just happened.

With a heavy sigh, she lugged her suitcase down the street, searching for a quiet place to collect her thoughts. A nearby hotel caught her eye, its neon sign flickering like a beacon of hope. She decided to book a room for the night, hoping the solitude would help her figure out her next move.

Upon entering the lobby, she felt the cool embrace of the air conditioning, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the night outside. The hotel was a small, cozy establishment, with a hint of old-school charm that made her feel slightly less out of place. She approached the front desk, where a friendly receptionist offered her a warm smile. "Welcome," he said, his English slightly accented but fluent. "Do you have a reservation?"

Flora's eyes scanned the lobby, her thoughts racing. She realized she didn't even know the name of the hotel. "No," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was hoping to book a room for the night."

The receptionist's smile didn't falter. "Certainly," he said, typing away at the computer. "We have a few rooms available. Would you like a single or a double?"

"Just a single," she murmured, her gaze drifting to the floor. The weight of her decision to run away from her wedding felt heavier with every passing second.

Once she had the key in hand, she took the elevator to her floor, the numbers ticking down like the moments before a doomsday clock strikes midnight. The hallway was dimly lit, the carpet a faded pattern of flowers that had seen better days. She found her room, inserted the key, and pushed open the door.

Inside, the room was a welcome reprieve from the chaos outside—small but cozy, with a queen-sized bed that looked heavenly after her long journey. She placed her suitcase at the foot of the bed and took a deep, calming breath. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, her heart racing as she saw the barrage of missed calls and texts from her worried parents. Her thumb hovered over the call button, her heart aching with the weight of her decision.

But before she could dial, the phone in her hand began to ring. She recognized the number immediately—it was her editor, the one person who knew her better than anyone else in the world. The one person who knew about her secret life as an adult story writer. She took a deep breath and answered, her voice shaky. "Hello?"

"Flora!" The editor's voice was a mix of panic and annoyance. "Where have you been? You're supposed to upload the next chapter!"

Flora's knees gave way, and she sank onto the bed, her hand trembling as she held the phone to her ear. "I...I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had to...I ran away."

The line went silent for a moment before the editor's voice returned, softer this time. "You did what?"

"I ran away from my wedding," she said, the words feeling surreal as they left her mouth. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry someone I don't love."

The editor took a deep breath, the static on the line the only sound for a few moments. "Look, I know this is a big deal, but we can't have this affecting your work. You have a deadline."

Flora nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I know," she said, her voice small. "I'll do my best."

The line was quiet again, and she could almost hear the cogs in her editor's brain turning. "Alright," he said finally. "But you need to get back to writing, and soon. Your fans are waiting."

She nodded again, feeling the weight of his words settle on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. "I know," she repeated, her voice stronger this time. "I'll get started now."

Her eyes scanned the room, looking for a place to write. She had always found comfort in her words, in the worlds she could create with the stroke of a pen. But as she reached into her bag to retrieve her notebook, her hand closed around empty space. Her heart skipped a beat as she frantically searched, tossing aside clothes and toiletries. Her notebook, the one that held her latest manuscript, was nowhere to be found. Panic set in, and she felt the walls closing in around her.

Flora's eyes darted around the room, searching for any clue to its whereabouts. Could it have fallen out in the taxi? In the rush to escape, she had been so focused on getting away that she had forgotten the most precious item she owned. Her heart raced as she retraced her steps in her mind, trying to remember the last time she had seen it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden realization that the notebook could be anywhere—on the airport floor, in the trunk of the taxi, or even in the hands of someone who had found it. The idea of her intimate thoughts and stories being exposed to the world was more terrifying than the prospect of facing her angry parents. She had to find it.

Zane, meanwhile, had arrived at his penthouse, the luxurious suite high above the glittering cityscape of Seoul. He instructed the two girls to wait in the bedroom, eager to be rid of them. They pouted but complied, their high heels clicking against the marble floor as they retreated. He couldn't be bothered with their dramatics tonight; he had more important things on his mind.

As he stepped out of the taxi, the cool night air washed over him, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. He noticed something peculiar—a notebook, lying on the floor of the backseat, half-hidden by the shadows. Curiosity piqued, he bent down to pick it up. It was small and well-worn, the pages filled with scribbled notes and what looked like the beginnings of a story.

Before he could peek inside, his phone blared to life, the screen lighting up with the name of his agent. He sighed, tucking the notebook into his pocket. He knew better than to ignore her calls—his schedule was her domain, and she was notorious for her lack of patience. He took the call, listening intently as she rattled off a list of appointments and photo shoots that awaited him in the coming days.

Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Zane's penthouse, painting the room in a soft, warm glow. He stirred in his bed, the luxurious sheets tangled around his legs as the incessant ringing of his phone pierced the tranquility of the dawn. With a groan, he reached over and picked up the device, his eyes barely open. "What is it?" he murmured into the receiver.

"Zane, you need to turn on the TV—right now," his manager's voice was urgent, cutting through the fog of sleep like a knife.

Zane sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice still thick with slumber.

"Just do it," she insisted, the line going dead.

With a huff, he tossed aside the covers and padded over to the entertainment system. The flat-screen TV flickered to life, the news playing on mute. The headline stopped him cold: "Zane Caught in Compromising Situation with Multiple Women." His heart skipped a beat as he hit the volume button.

The stark white walls of the meeting room were adorned with framed photographs of Zane in various modeling poses, each one seemingly more perfect than the last. The heavy oak table was laden with documents, contracts, and a half-empty coffee cup that had gone cold. Zane's manager, a sharp-faced woman with a blunt bob and a no-nonsense attitude, sat with her arms crossed, glaring at her client as if he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The TV in the corner of the room played the news on a loop, the same image of Zane's taxi encounter flashing on the screen over and over. The reporter's voice was a dull drone, but the words were etched into Zane's mind like a tattoo—his reputation, his career, all hanging in the balance.

His manager's eyes bore into him, the weight of her stare as intense as the caffeine in her cold coffee. "What were you thinking, Zane?" she barked, her voice a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You're all over the news, the tabloids, social media—do you have any idea how much damage this could do?"

Zane leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as he took a deep, calming breath. "I can handle it," he said, his voice laced with the confidence that had made him a star. "I'll just pay them off. It's what we do, isn't it?"

The manager's glare didn't waver. "This isn't a simple payoff," she snapped. "This is a scandal. And what about that girl you just left on the side of the road? Who is she?"

Zane's eyes snapped open. "What girl?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"The one in the video!" she exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the TV screen. "The one who looked like she'd just seen a ghost. Who is she?"

Zane's eyes narrowed as he recalled the shy, unassuming girl from the taxi. "I don't know her," he said, his voice a tapestry of annoyance and confusion. "It was just a mix-up."

His manager leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a new idea. "But what if we didn't let it be just a mix-up?" she mused. "What if we made her your fiance?"

Zane's eyebrows shot up. "My fiance?" he echoed, incredulous. "Why would we do that?"

The manager leaned back in her chair, tapping a manicured nail against her teeth. "Think about it," she began, her voice a calculated purr. "The media loves a good love story. If we spin this right, we can turn this scandal into a publicity stunt that will have everyone eating out of our hands."

Zane's eyebrows furrowed as he processed the proposal. "But why her?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "I don't even know her name."

"Exactly," the manager said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "She's a blank slate, someone we can mold into the perfect celebrity girlfriend. Plus, she's obviously not used to the limelight, so she'll be grateful for the chance to escape her mundane life."

Zane frowned, the idea still not sitting right with him. "But what about the two of them?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction the two models had retreated to. "How do we explain the picture?"

"Easy," the manager said, her tone cool and calculated. "We say they're just friends, eager to surprise you for your homecoming. You'll hold a press conference, introduce her as your fiance, and the public will eat it up. They love a good love story, especially one with a twist."

Zane leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The idea was ludicrous, but he had to admit there was some merit to it. It was a way to control the narrative, to ensure that his career didn't go up in flames. And if he had to have a fake relationship, why not with someone who didn't know any better? "Alright," he said, his voice a begrudging acceptance. "But how do we find her?"

The manager smirked. "Leave that to me," she said, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. "I have my ways."

Zane walked into his penthouse, the day's events playing on repeat in his mind. The scent of their perfume still lingered in the air, a sour reminder of the chaos he had left behind. He tossed his phone onto the couch, the news of the scandal still a buzz in his ear. He was tired, both mentally and physically, and just wanted to sink into the plush cushions of his favorite sofa and forget the world outside.

As he sat down, his eyes fell on the notebook, lying innocently on the table. It was the one he had found in the taxi, the one that had been a brief distraction from his manager's tirade. He reached out and picked it up, his curiosity piqued once more. He had never been much of a reader, but the scandal had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he needed a distraction.

As he opened the cover, the pages fluttered like the wings of a captured bird, revealing handwriting that was both delicate and bold. The title page held no name, only the words "Untamed Desires." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—it was definitely not the type of book he would have expected to find in such a mundane place.

"Interesting indeed," Zane said with a smirk, his eyes scanning the pages of the notebook. The handwriting was feminine and confident, the words a jumble of English and what he assumed was Korean.

The next evening, the manager called Zane with an update. She had found the girl from the taxi, and she had agreed to come to dinner. A meeting was set for the next evening at a seven-star restaurant in the heart of Seoul, a place where the walls whispered secrets and the food cost more than most people's rent.

Flora stepped into the opulent dining room, her heart racing. She had never been anywhere so fancy, and the thought of facing the man who had called her a "fan" in such a public place was nerve-wracking. She clutched her purse tightly, her knuckles white with tension.

The maître d' led her to a private booth where Zane and his manager were already waiting. He looked up from his phone as she approached, his eyes widening slightly when he saw her. She had showered and changed into something more presentable, but the memory of their last encounter was still fresh in her mind.

The manager stood, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "Thank you for coming," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Please, have a seat."

Flora sat down awkwardly, the plush velvet of the chair enveloping her like a trap. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "What is this about?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Zane leaned back, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. "My manager thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You see, we're in a bit of a situation."

The manager picked up the thread. "The photos from the other night," she said, her voice a purr. "They're causing quite the stir. And we thought, why not turn a negative into a positive?"

Flora's eyes widened in horror. "What are you suggesting?" she squeaked.

"We want you to be his fiancée," the manager said, her smile never wavering. "It's simple, really. You're already caught in the scandal, and the public loves a good love story. You play along, and we'll make sure your life is more than comfortable."

Flora felt like she was in a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. She had run away from one set of expectations only to be thrust into another. "No," she said firmly, pushing her chair back. "I'm not interested."

But before she could stand up, Zane's voice stopped her. "Untamed Desires," he said, holding up the notebook. "Really nice book."

Flora's eyes went wide as she saw her notebook in his hands, the one she had thought lost forever. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest. How had he found it? "That's mine," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Zane smirked, his eyes never leaving hers. "I noticed you dropped it in the taxi," he said, flipping through the pages. "It's quite... steamy. Did you write this?"

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***