The waiting lounges inside COEX were a living diorama of fashion, money, and clout. Velvet ropes separated the international VIPs from the next tier of brand reps, influencers, and media, but it didn't stop the subtle drift between groups. Waiters circled with trays of smoked salmon, champagne, and miniature desserts. The hum of anticipation grew with every new arrival—names whispered, cameras flashed, old scandals rehashed in undertones between bites of caviar.
Seo Yura had already claimed her place near the window, bathed in the white-gold evening light, a tailored Lumina suit sharper than any blade. At her side hovered Harin, keeping her tablet tucked close, updating Yura quietly between each wave of guests. A French brand ambassador bent low to kiss Yura's hand; an American beauty exec asked, only half-joking, if she was accepting new business partners "now that she was back on the market."
