If I die tonight, I was, absolutely and without question, haunting Krystal Jung.

A pair of stilettos clicked threateningly against the halls tile, and through the open door the feet came in to view. From under this desk, I could only see so much, but it was imperative that I not be discovered by the evil owner of those heels.

Well, okay, in all fairness the shoes probably did nothing wrong. Still, the owner is a loon, and I’m sure if diffused. Natural flow, high to low. Ah, science.

The shoes paused, and I tensed, my nails digging into the surprisingly plush carpet of whoevers office I was in. Have they always made carpet this soft? Why? Who takes their shoes off at a modelling agency? That seems kind of disgusting. Perhaps it was designed for this very purpose, so young women masquerading as men would have refuge from crazed stalkers.

In that care, said carpet maker should get raise.

“Liu?” Yoona called out, attempting to make her voice low and seductive, “Where are you? We need to spend some quality time together.” Instead of achieving the result she wanted, I shivered in fright. That woman was terrifying.

“Yoona,” a smooth, masculine voice called out, “the director says you’ll be working with Minho and Chanyeol.” When this earned a squeal of approval, the voice continued, “Be gentle to my nephews. They’re not interested,” the formerly suave voice took a cruel dip, “and frankly, I don’t think someone like you is worth their time.” Stifling a snort, I huddled under the desk, curious as to her response. Yoona was famous for her tempers, and I needed to see how this would pan out.

Sure enough, her next words were laced with self-righteous malice, "Cool it, old man. I get it, you want me. I'm just more into your nephews." There was nothing in that conversation that suggested the owner of the voice, Minho and Chanyeol’s apparent Uncle, had any attraction to the crazed brunette. Who was Minho and Chanyeol uncle, though?

"Very well, Yoona, have a good shoot," footsteps neared, elegant leather shoes making their way into the office I had been hiding in. That's when it hit me; I remembered a conversation that had taken place in what seemed like another lifetime. Minho had referred to JaeJoong as their uncle.

The ert.

I held my breath, silently praying that he would find nothing of importance in the office and make his way out. Unfortunately, the shoes slowed by the open gap, standing silently, as silently as death.

"Amber? You can come out from under there now." I tensed, nearly shrieking in fright. Not only was the voice definitely that of JaeJoong’s, he had used her real name. I stayed still, choosing to pretend that if I ignored him, he would wander away. I obviously didn't know these boys very well, because his feet didn't move an inch.

“Amber," he began again, sounding rather impatient, "I'm not an idiot. I can see blonde hair down there. Isn't that you?"

My lie dawned upon me. He might think I'm Amber at the moment, but he didn't know Aiden and I were one in the same. "Uh," I started, feigning my masculine voice, "Its Aiden. Amber didn't visit today." I only hoped I hadn't been truly exposed. JaeJoong was something of a womanizer, so perhaps he actually could tell. It was actually pretty insulting that no one figured it out. Granted, I've only been working here for a short while, but I'm feminine, dammit!

"Oh." The way JaeJoong said it spokes volumes of his disappointment, the distinct syllable clear and abrupt. It made me blush, thinking he had been looking forward to seeing the real me, who he had in actuality just met. Then I found myself insulted; wasn't my personality enough to make me good company either way? The ert must be into me for my body, then.

Sliding out from under the desk, I shot the older man a quick glare, before asking, "What brought you to these parts?"

"Well, I saw Yoona here, and heard her calling out your last name," JaeJoong offered a silky smile, one that made me unsure whether I could trust him. Still, as he continued, his voice made me want to, "And I admittedly got my hopes up. If it's not too forward of me, may I ask if your sister will be visiting these parts again soon?"

Firming my resolve, my famous temper reared its ugly head, and I sneered, "My sister doesn't want to visit a bunch of lousy playboys like you. They disgust her."

He was so serious, so somber in that moment, that I wondered if he'd dare hit me for the insult. I was technically a boy right now, so it wouldn't be against his morals. He could. I wondered if he was strong. I wondered if I could take him on; I'd put up a hell of a fight, if it came down to it. Probably break a rib or two, and laugh maniacally if I did so.

I was so busy assessing the legal damage of this possibility I missed half of what he was saying, ending in, "—seven tonight." So, of course, my response was an ever intelligent, "Hahhh?"

"We'll prove young Miss Liu wrong," JaeJoong started again, mischief flashing through his crimson eyes, "I assure you, Aiden, we can be perfect gentlemen. We will see your sister at seven o'clock sharp, at the Palace of Fans. Tell her to dress nicely, preferably in a little black dress."

"And if she doesn't want to go?" I snapped, incredulous. How dare they demand that of me?! This was definitely not how a gentleman asked.

"Then I assure you," his eyes visibly darkened, his voice never losing that suave, formal lilt, "we will make your life here hell, Aiden. And we'll begin be forcing one Yoona onto you, but trust me, it will not end there. You will see the wrath we have in store should you not comply with my wishes." As he turned, his thick-short hair swaying elegantly as he did so, he uttered one final command before disappearing around the corner.

"Be there, or else."

I swear JaeJoong was some sort of crime lord in a past life.