The kiss? Yeah, that kiss? It haunted me.
Not in the tragic, dramatic, ghost-of-my-lip-gloss kind of way, but in the OH-MY-GOD-THIS-IS-REAL-LIFE way. I'd replayed it in my head a thousand times—each version more dramatic than the last.
There I was, starry-eyed heiress, kissed by a boy who had no right being that smooth.
I was in trouble.
"You're still thinking about it," Jihan said the next morning, sipping his smoothie like he hadn't completely ruined my emotional stability with his lips.
"Shut up. I'm not."
He raised a brow. "Your face is so red Monchi would think it's a tomato."
"I'm just sunburned!" I shouted a little too quickly.
Monchi, who was lounging by the pool in Gucci sunglasses, meowed like he didn't believe me either.
I sank deeper into my beach chair, oversized shades covering my not-sunburnt face. I needed a distraction—and fast.
"Let's do something fun," I announced.
Jihan blinked. "Like what?"
"Like... a challenge! A luxury-off!"
He narrowed his eyes. "A what now?"
"We each plan the most luxurious experience today and see whose is better. Winner gets bragging rights and loser has to write the next chapter of my webnovel."
He looked horrified. "That's evil."
"I know." I smiled sweetly. "Ladies first."
---
First, I took him to the Moonlace Bay Spa—aka heaven disguised in minimalist architecture. Think champagne foot baths, diamond-infused facials, and a custom playlist that only played romantic K-drama OSTs.
He looked suspiciously relaxed in his robe. "Okay, I'll admit. This is peak indulgence."
"Don't get too comfortable," I said, placing cucumber slices over my eyes. "Your turn next. Try to beat that, Mr. Simplicity."
---
His idea of luxury? A surprise picnic.
"You brought me... to a cliff?" I asked, heels wobbling.
"Not just any cliff," he said. "This one has the best sunset view on the entire coast."
I turned to the setup: a perfectly laid-out blanket, gourmet snacks, chilled soda in crystal glasses, and a Bluetooth speaker playing soft jazz.
Okay. Not bad.
"You made this?"
"I bribed the butler. But the effort counts."
We sat side by side, the ocean stretching endlessly before us. The sky turned watercolor pink, the wind messing up my hair in a way I didn't hate.
For a moment, everything stilled. No money talk. No cat drama. Just me and him. The boy who kissed me and then acted like nothing happened.
"So," I said, breaking the silence, "you think you're winning this challenge?"
He turned to me, face unreadable. "I already won."
My heart skipped. "How cocky of you."
"I meant the view," he said. "But sure, let's pretend I meant you."
I laughed, flicking a crumb at him. "Jerk."
"Romantic jerk," he corrected.
We watched the sun disappear below the horizon. I pretended I didn't want to hold his hand. He pretended he didn't notice.
---
Back at the mansion, Monchi was waiting at the entrance like a tiny royal judge.
"Meow."
"He says I won," I declared.
"He says your spa playlist was cringe," Jihan countered.
"YOU'RE cringe!"
"Admit it—you liked the kiss."
I turned to Monchi for help. He turned away.
Traitor.
"Fine," I muttered. "Maybe. But just a little."
He stepped closer. Too close.
"Celeste," he said, voice low. "You're blushing again."
"NO, I'M NOT—"
He leaned in—
"You have sand in your hair again."
He brushed it away. Again.
My heart didn't know whether to sue or sing.
This resort trip?
Best. Decision. Ever.
By the time we drove back to the city, I had 87 new sand photos, 12 mosquito bites, and one kiss I couldn't stop thinking about.
Yes. The kiss.
Which Jihan still hadn't brought up. At all. Like it never happened.
Like he didn't totally shatter my brain with one smug move.
"So…" I said as we cruised back toward Silvermist in my Lambo, Monchi snuggled in a tiny Gucci blanket in the backseat. "Are we just gonna pretend the beach kiss didn't happen?"
Jihan sipped his drink without looking at me. "What kiss?"
I almost swerved into a palm tree.
"You know what kiss!"
He gave me the most infuriating shrug in history. "Oh. That. I thought you said it was just sunstroke."
"I WAS BLUSHING, NOT DYING."
"You sure?" he said, grinning like a cat with secrets. "You looked a little woozy. Could've been heat exhaustion. Or maybe you faint every time a guy gets near your face?"
"Lee. Jihan."
"Celeste. Hwang."
I groaned, smacking the wheel. "You're impossible."
"And yet… you invited me again," he teased.
"I was under emotional duress!"
"That's what they all say after falling for me."
"I'm going to drop you on the sidewalk."
"You wouldn't risk scratching your car."
He was right, and I hated it.
---
Back at school, it was like we'd never left—except now I had 300 unread messages from fans on my webnovel account, half of which were screaming:
> "WHO IS BANANAWRITER'S INSPIRATION?!" "YOU BASED THE MALE LEAD OFF SOMEONE, I KNOW IT." "UPDATE OR I'LL RIOT. LOVE YOU."
I stared at my screen in the school courtyard, dazed. Jihan peeked over my shoulder.
"Are they threatening you or proposing marriage?"
"A little bit of both."
He chuckled. "Wow. Must be nice, having a fan army."
"It's terrifying," I muttered. "One of them sent me a screenshot of a shrine made of banana plushies. That's devotion."
He leaned closer, and I immediately felt my pulse pick up.
"You're lucky," he said quietly. "You get to do what you love."
I blinked, caught off guard. "You think so?"
Jihan nodded. "I mean, you're dramatic. And loud. And a little bit unhinged."
"Thanks?"
"But you've got passion. And that's rare."
I was blushing again.
This was becoming a problem.
"Also," he added with a wicked grin, "your dialogue is still cheesy."
I whacked him with my notebook.
---
Later that week, the school was buzzing about the upcoming charity gala—aka The Event Where Everyone Pretends They're Fancy Even Though They Just Want Free Food.
I wasn't just attending. I was headlining.
Which meant two things:
1. I needed a dress that screamed "Rich Girl With Main Character Energy."
2. I needed an escort.
Cue my dad barging into my room like a drama storm.
"You're going with Leejun, right?"
I choked on air.
"EXCUSE ME?"
"Chairman Kang's son. You know—tall, always wears turtlenecks, never smiles?"
"That's not a date, Dad, that's a funeral."
"Celeste," he said sternly, "you can't show up alone. There are investors. Media. And…"
He trailed off as Monchi padded into the room wearing a tiny tuxedo.
"…you're not bringing the cat again."
"He was a hit last time!"
"He attacked the finance director's toupee."
"He was provoked."
Dad sighed. "Just pick someone normal."
My brain went to one person. One annoying, smirking, kiss-stealing, sarcasm-wielding boy.
Lee Jihan.
He was the exact opposite of normal.
Which is exactly why I opened my phone, typed his name, and sent the message:
> You. Me. Gala. Dress code: expensive.
His reply came in ten seconds flat:
> As long as I'm not your second choice behind the cat.
> …Third. You forgot the mango smoothie guy.
> Wow. I feel so special.
> You are. But if you make fun of my speech, I'll stab you with a shrimp fork.
> Noted. Wouldn't miss it, Celeste.
---
And just like that, the next chapter of chaos began.
But this time?
I wasn't facing it alone.
Even if he was allergic to beauty.
And maybe—just maybe—a little addicted to me.