Page 1 of From Paris to Seoul

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Seo-yeon

The camera flashed for what felt like the hundredth time. I shifted poses, tilting my chin just so, plastering on a smile that barely reached my eyes. The designer dress was gorgeous—sure—but it clung a little too tightly, like plastic wrap stretched over a supermarket rotisserie chicken.

“Perfect, Seo-yeon! Just like that,” the photographer gushed, practically buzzing with excitement.

I resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow.You sure?

I knew the routine by heart: tilt, smile, hold. Repeat. And yet, all I could think about was how exhausting it was to play pretend. Working in this industry—model, actress—was supposed to be all glitz and glamour, right? So why did I feel more like a mannequin than a person?

My phone buzzed from the makeup table, snapping me out of my thoughts. During a brief pause, I grabbed it, blinking against the lingering glare of camera flashes. A message from my sister.

“Don’t forget about tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

Oh, right. The charity gala. Another night of smiling, waving, playing my part.

I exhaled and typed a quick message to my boyfriend, Cho Min-seok.“Oppa, are you going to pick me up after my shoot?”Not that I expected a fast reply—he was probably in a meeting,as always. Still, I waited a second longer than necessary before setting my phone down.

“Seo-yeon,” the photographer called. “You’re thinking too much. You’re crinkling your forehead—very dangerous habit. Might cause wrinkles,” he added with a wink.

I forced a polite laugh. “Got it.”

Another hour. More poses. More flashes. By the time we wrapped, my smile felt permanently stuck to my face. I muttered thanks to the crew and checked my phone.

No reply.

I sighed. Why do I even bother hoping?

“Ji-a,” I called, showing her the address. “Could you give me a ride to the hotel?”

She barely glanced at the screen before smirking. “Suuure.” The knowing tone in her voice said it all.

Ji-a’s been my assistant-slash-caretaker-slash-best-friend for the past couple of years. Honestly, she does everything for me. I even call her “Mommy” sometimes because she takes better care of me than my own mom—despite being two years younger.

A few minutes later, I heard a quickbeep-beepfrom outside. That had to be Ji-a. I changed out of my dress as fast as I could, said goodbye to the photographer and his crew, and hurried out the door.

Just as we hit the road, my phone buzzed again. Min-seok’s name popped up on the screen with his usual lukewarm response:“Sorry, I had a meeting all day. Meet you at the gala?”

I let out a deeper sigh, bordering on dramatic. It was always like this—his texts felt more like they were coming from my accountant than my boyfriend. Six years together and a future ahead of us, but lately, it felt like I was the only one invested in it.

As we neared the hotel, I grabbed my vanity case and checked my makeup in the tiny mirror. A quick spritz of settingspray—more for my sanity than anything else—and I braced for what was to come.

I could already picture the next few hours: me, smiling and nodding, playing the role of the perfect daughter, paraded around the room by my parents and clinging to my boyfriend’s arm like a trophy, while pretending to enjoy endless small talk with a crowd of old geezers.

Okay, maybe calling them old geezers was a bit much, but honestly, I’d rather be at home watching some trashy TV show, reading a book, or playing the piano. Even a trip to the dentist sounded more appealing than this.

But, ever the good daughter, I accepted my fate.

With the venue now in sight, I absentmindedly checked my makeup in the mirror, smoothing my lipstick and adjusting my necklace. A few deep breaths, and I was ready—or at least pretending to be.

“Ya, Seo-yeon-ah! Hurry up! There are cars waiting behind us!” Ji-a’s voice snapped me out of my little beauty ritual. I glanced out the window and realized we’d already reached the hotel lobby.

I quickly jumped out of the car, careful not to trip over my heels. I waved at Ji-a, who gave me a thumbs up before driving off to park.

A concierge greeted me at the entrance and took my coat, guiding me toward my parents.

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