Global Weaponization
The cliffside sanctuary had transformed from a refuge into a command center. The large glass walls that once offered silent comfort now reflected the constant glow of strategic monitors. Lee and Leejoon had spent the last week in a cocoon of fierce intimacy and relentless planning. Their relationship, cemented by the shared secret and the chaos of the ambush, had become the engine of their vengeance.
Lee sat at the granite table, a secure satellite feed projecting the detailed portfolio of Aether International, a powerful European talent and luxury brand conglomerate Leejoon's network had leveraged into a partnership.
"Aether is clean," Leejoon stated, leaning over the table, his breath warm against Lee's ear as he pointed to an encrypted file. "They have zero financial connection to Han Doyun's APAC network. They are geographically and politically safe. They believe Lia is a genuine, high-value asset fleeing a difficult Korean contract situation."
Lee traced the lines of the contract, his eyes gleaming with a focused, almost clinical intensity. He was wearing an identity that was neither Lee Jae-wook nor Lia, a man focused solely on strategy. "Their terms are aggressive. They want an exclusive three-month commitment, starting with the Vespera Luxury Gala in Paris next week. It's high profile. It's Doyun's target demographic."
"It's exactly what we need," Leejoon confirmed, pushing a hand through his dark hair. His voice was low, intimate, yet laced with a predator's focus. "The goal is not to sign contracts, Lee. The goal is to make Doyun realize he can no longer control the narrative. When Lia appears in Paris, untouched, untainted by the Lee Jae-wook scandal, it proves to his investors that his power is regional, not global."
Lee closed the file, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He looked up at Leejoon, his expression suddenly vulnerable. "I understand the strategy. But... I haven't been Lia in months. I shed that armor. Putting her on again, knowing she's bait, feels different. It feels like I'm willingly becoming a target for his scrutiny."
Leejoon pulled a chair close and sat down, taking Lee's hands in his own. This physical closeness during strategic planning was now their norm, a blend of lover and commander.
"Lia was always a target, Lee," Leejoon reminded him, his thumb stroking Lee's wrist. "The difference is that before, she was your secret target. Now, she is our weapon. You are not performing for survival now; you are performing for justice."
"But the emotional cost..." Lee began, trying to articulate the psychological barrier. "Lia was born of fear, Joon. She was aloof, cold, unreachable. I spent years perfecting that distance. Now I have to wear that coldness, knowing my heart is here, with you."
Leejoon leaned in, his eyes holding Lee's with absolute sincerity. "You will wear her differently this time. You will project unbreakable defiance. You are not running from men anymore; you are walking towards a war, secured by the knowledge that I am the only man who owns your loyalty. When you are Lia, you are simply the beautifully executed promise of Han Doyun's ruin."
He paused, lowering his voice. "And if the scrutiny becomes too much, if the coldness starts to consume you, you will send me a signal. A phrase, a look. And I will extract you, mid-gala, if necessary. You are never, ever alone in that performance, Lee. I will have eyes on you, always."
Lee nodded, feeling the anxiety ease, replaced by a fierce resolve. He wasn't resurrecting a terrified alter-ego; he was deploying a highly advanced disguise for a mission of shared revenge. "The signal will be simple: I'll touch the necklace. The silver tether you gave me. If I touch it in public, you get me out."
"Agreed," Leejoon confirmed, a triumphant, possessive smile breaking through. "Now, we finalize the disguise. Lia is famous for her subtlety. This time, she will be famous for her unpredictable evolution. We need to send a message to Doyun that we are three steps ahead of him."
Scene 2: The Rebirth of the Icon
The transformation took place in a customized studio Leejoon had installed in the house's lower level. It was Lee's last bastion of independence, a space where his creative talent reigned supreme.
Lee focused on the mirror, the familiar ritual of transformation grounding him. But this time, the reflection of Lia was sharper, colder, lacking the frantic energy of survival. She was calm, lethal, and undeniably magnificent.
"The old Lia was focused on blending in, on being perfectly beautiful but forgettable," Lee murmured, applying the last touches of contour to his cheekbones, emphasizing the high, severe angles. "The new Lia must be a singularity. She must be the only thing anyone sees."
He chose a wig that was dramatically different, not the flowing, dark cascade he'd used in Seoul, but a short, striking silver cut that framed his face with aristocratic precision. It was an aesthetic declaration of war.
Leejoon watched from the doorway, observing the meticulous process. He hadn't interfered, honoring the silent, artistic space Lee needed.
"The name we're using is a temporary alias," Leejoon stated, finally stepping into the room, holding the bespoke garment bag. "The European press will know you as 'The Phoenix.' The narrative is that you burned your past and rose again. It's heavy-handed, but effective."
He opened the bag, revealing the gown, a work of calculated cruelty. It was structured, black silk armor, designed by a small, avant-garde European house Leejoon had financed. The back was a complex web of sharp metal detailing, referencing the possessive silver necklace that lay underneath Lee's skin.
Lee felt a jolt of power as he slipped the garment on. It fit like a second skin, radiating confidence and danger.
Leejoon approached from behind, his hands resting lightly on Lee's shoulders. He looked at the reflection, the silver hair, the severe makeup, the deadly gown.
"She is magnificent, Lee," Leejoon whispered, his voice thick with possessive pride. "She is everything Doyun feared. Remember who built this armor this time. Not fear, but love."
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Lee's ear. "I have men positioned throughout Paris. They are invisible. Minho is your immediate security detail, disguised as Aether's lead creative director. He is yours to command. If Doyun's men get within three meters, he will vaporize them. Understand this, Lia: You are the General on the field. I am the artillery command."
Lee turned in his arms, the sleek silk of the gown rustling. He raised a hand and gently touched the silver necklace hidden beneath the collar. "I know. And I am ready to perform."
Scene 3: The Vespera Gala and The Invisible Strike
The Vespera Luxury Gala in Paris was the epitome of global wealth and excess, a perfect stage for a comeback. Lia entered the ballroom, and the noise level dropped perceptibly. She was an immediate, stunning scandal. The silver hair and severe beauty cut through the established monotony of the European elite.
The immediate reaction was overwhelming success. Paparazzi flashes blinded the entrance; European press clamored for interviews, and high-end designers swarmed Minho, offering millions for an exclusive. Lia was a phenomenon, proving that the destruction of Lee Jae-wook had only enhanced the myth.
Lee, performing as Lia, moved through the crowd with practiced ease, radiating an unattainable cool. He spotted Minho, posing as the nervous, proud director, always maintaining that crucial three-meter buffer. He felt utterly secure, knowing Leejoon's shadow was everywhere.
He signed a contract extension with Aether's CEO, the triumphant scratch of the pen on paper feeling like a direct slap to Han Doyun's face.
Phase One: Success. The asset is officially untouchable.
It was during the interview session, under the glare of international lights, that the unpredictable strike came. It wasn't physical. It was information.
A veteran French journalist, renowned for his ruthless digging into personal lives, stepped forward, his camera flash temporarily blinding Lia.
"Lia," the journalist drawled, his French accent heavy with insinuation. "You are quite the Phoenix. But one must ask: Is the past truly burned? We have confirmed reports of a close relationship you shared with a woman named Choi Areum, a former music major at the Seoul Arts Conservatory. A relationship that ended abruptly and publicly five years ago. Did you leave South Korea not because of a contractual dispute, but because of a devastating personal failure that you couldn't escape? Are you running, or simply performing?"
The question slammed into Lee, tearing through the Lia persona like a blade. Choi Areum. The memory of the woman he had loved, the one he had betrayed when he chose the security of his disguise over her future, was a deep, agonizing wound. It was a secret so private, so painful, that not even Han Doyun had known it, only Lee's innermost circle, shattered years ago.
The blood drained from Lee's face. The Lia mask faltered, eyes widening in genuine, raw shock.
How did Doyun know? This was not corporate espionage. This was an intimate, calculated cruelty designed to shatter his composure. Han Doyun hadn't simply retaliated; he had found the deepest, most vulnerable piece of Lee's history and used it as a psychological weapon.
The journalist pressed the microphone closer. "Was the disappearance of Lia merely a cover for the destruction of Lee Jae-wook's personal life? Are you a tragic victim, or a calculated fraud?"
Lee's breathing hitched. The room, seconds ago a celebration, had become a suffocating prison of scrutiny. He saw Minho's face tighten, ready to intervene, but the damage was already done. He couldn't afford a scene.
Lee's hand, against his will, reflexively lifted. His index finger touched the smooth, cold surface of the silver necklace hidden beneath the silk collar.
The signal was sent.
Lee took a deep, steadying breath, fighting the sudden, paralyzing wave of pain and guilt. He forced the Lia mask back on, colder, sharper than ever before.
"My past is irrelevant to my present success," Lia stated, her voice icy, perfectly controlled, yet shaking slightly on the final syllable. "I am here because the world needed a new icon. If others choose to drag up old, painful history to sell a scandal, they are merely proving my necessity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a very powerful man waiting for my company."
Lee turned on his heel, the black silk rustling like a serpent's scales, and walked straight through the crowd, heading for the emergency exit.
Minho followed, clearing a path with brutal efficiency. "He got to you, sir. That was Doyun. It had to be a deep dive, a personal strike."
Lee didn't answer. He was already running on pure adrenaline and rage, the thought of Choi Areum burning in his mind. He reached the secured car and threw himself inside, ripping off the silver wig, his head pounding.
"Take me back to Joon," Lee commanded, his voice raw. "Now. He needs to know: Doyun didn't just target my career. He targeted my deepest shame. He knows the one thing I risked everything to protect."
The war had just become terrifyingly personal. Han Doyun was not chasing a model or an assistant; he was chasing the ghost of Lee's past, proving that even in the most secure fortress, Lee's soul was still exposed.