The premise of bravery is simple: to forge ahead even if you’re uncertain of what is to come.

Likewise, the premise of trust is simple: to take a leap of faith in something, or even a person, on the hope that you won’t be disappointed at the outcome.

Unfortunately, however simple the premise of love, I can’t even begin to fathom what it is about it that I just cannot grasp.

What is love?

A feeling, an experience? A fantasy, or a living nightmare?

Most importantly, why should I be trying to find it among these twenty contestants to ease my own past?

If I can’t help myself move on from my past, what makes Mother so sure one of these girls can?

This time, it was her, in the middle of the road.

Surrounded by cars that whizzed past like flashes of lightning, the sounds of their car horns and screeching tires ringing loudly in her ears, she was disoriented, terrified, afraid.

She fell to the ground, felt the rough tar of the road under her knees as she covered her ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage in an unending drumroll, the blood roaring in her ears as she held her breath, anticipating.

Anticipating a car driving right into her.

And, as if her thoughts were answered, she looked up to see a red car headed straight for her.

Park Sun Young opened her eyes, her whole body shuddering as she inhaled a haggard breath. Her fingers were curled around her pillow, and she unclenched them as she relaxed her tense body, which was curled into a foetal position.

Her eyes darted around the dim interior of her room, studying the various shades of darkness as she tried to not linger on her phobia.

They say that nightmares happened in your deepest slumbers, but she disagreed; whether she wanted to or not, if she so much as thought about a car, memories of her accident would flash before her eyes, even if they were closed.

She couldn’t sleep, despite having gone to bed earlier than usual, and tossed and turned in her bed, restless and disturbed.

It was her mother’s advice; she even said it the same way she used to coax her to sleep before a long day in school.

You have a big day tomorrow, sweetheart. You should sleep.

But that was through the phone. The house was empty…again.

She had switched off everything, even the little ladybug nightlight above her bed, because she wanted to detach herself from everything and be swallowed by the shadows like they were a black hole and she, a little fallen star.

Something was bothering her, nagging at her from the back of her mind and she didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling of claustrophobia but there was so much she could do, what with the remaining hours until tomorrow.

She couldn’t deny it. This was her fate now.

Releasing a sigh, she sat up, and kicked off the covers; they seemed to suffocate her in the warm interior of the room more than bring solace.

At the far end of the room, her suitcase was packed, filled with at least two weeks’ worth of clothes. Some were hers, some had been bought, most were gifted to her by Sooyeon and Soojung, since they had better clothes than her and with the future she was headed to, she would need all the help she could get.

She felt sweat cling to the skin of her back, her neck, and the underside of her knees. It stuck to her like a thin film of cling wrap, unable to let her breathe.

She was still disoriented.

Trying to forget the nightmare produced by her vivid imagination, she focused on what had transpired earlier at work last week.

She could still remember how, in the early hours at the flower shop, a group of strange people had descended like a flock of migrating birds.

I’m looking for a Park Sun Young, one of them announced, I hear she works here.

She had been there at the counter with Soojung, going through the morning deliveries, and at the sight of all these people poking through the store with their too-large equipment and too-eager expressions, she had been suspicious.

With good reason, because when Soojung had gestured to her, they were congratulatory. Their cameras flashed, their voices became a cacophony of “CONGRATULATIONS PARK SUN YOUNG! YOU’RE IN!” and she had been stunned into dumfounded silence after that.

She hadn’t expected to be chosen for the Princess Games. It was supposed to be something to appease her mother, and she could say that she had tried, and that she, regrettably, hadn’t been good enough for the reality competition.

That there were other better girls out there.

That she would have friends some way or another, just not this time, and not through this show.

And maybe one day she would find herself a partner too. Just not this time.

She had wanted to use it as another excuse to avoid her mother’s worry.

So when she had, indeed, been chosen as one of the twenty ‘lucky’ women, she was beyond shocked. Surprised. And somewhat stricken.

The woman had been ecstatic. Pack your bags, Miss Park, you’ll have free accommodation to one of the best hotels in Seoul, The Royal Pavilion!

Sun Young couldn’t breathe through the woman’s excited nattering, going on and on about the details about the first event: an elaborate luncheon held at the hotel where she would be seeing the other nineteen contestants who would be staying at the hotel along with her. She would be ‘enjoying’ the glamorous life as a potential chaebol’s life, and that was when the woman dropped the bomb.

Worth more than 5 billion won, our mystery bachelor is none other than the Royal Pavilion’s director and Park Group heir, Park Chanyeol!

Sun Young’s jaw had dropped and she had wondered if it was ever possible to be so shocked that she felt numb. Her previous assumption, the niggling fear that it might have been him proved to be true.

Why, of all rich bachelors, why him?

She was in a competition to win his heart.

Ugh.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Oh no.

There was more. And her previous assumption had been correct.

Of course, you would get to go on missions and spend time with him, on top of being evaluated for your performance on each round, rating your chemistry with Director Park and whether you are the girl he is looking for!

That was just brilliant, wasn’t it?

Chemistry? HAH!

It was laughable.

She had more chemistry with Zitao than that douchebag.

Sure, she hadn’t submitted her name, but why, oh, why did she go to that interview?

Contestants will be subject to rigorous training in different areas, and from the fourth episode onwards, they will face the elimination rounds where their fellow contestants will vote on who will stay, and who will go home.

Everything else had been a blur. She was asked to sign her acknowledgement of the information, before being taken pictures of and being filmed as she went about her tasks, and later being interviewed on her impending feelings on the show.

We’ll see how it goes, she had said, and it was true.

Who in the right mind would think she would have – of all things – chemistry with Park Chanyeol?

Honestly, Park Sun Young wasn’t sure if it was him or the competition giving her the anxiety attacks these past few days leading up to the luncheon tomorrow; whatever that was going to happen tomorrow onwards, one thing was for certain.

Like the advertisement had promised, her life would never be the same again.

Sun Young lay back down again, turning her face to the window, where there were cracks of light seeping through the gaps in between the curtains. She stared at it, forcing herself to think of nothing, and tried to breathe as slowly as she could so that she could calm her body enough to trick her overwhelmed brain that she was sleepy.

And in the late hours of the night – or the early hours of the morning, she didn’t really want to ponder on the concept of time at the moment – she forced herself to succumb to slumber, thinking of good things, noble things, like sacrificing herself for the boy with red balloons.

It was no different now, really. She was sacrificing herself into this reality competition, except that this was for a person who didn’t need her in it.

In the penthouse of the Royal Pavilion Hotel, Park Chanyeol was standing behind the large panels of his window, seeing the line of cars down below, filled with the individuals who were arriving for today’s luncheon.

Though it was twenty people, it also involved the people who sent them off, and he could see parents standing with their daughters as they said their goodbyes.

He focused on a man hugging his daughter, and his eyebrows furrowed as he squinted. The father was crying, and he didn’t want to let go of his daughter.

Chanyeol looked away, glancing at the clock in the far end of the room.

It was a quarter to one, which was the inception of the show, and he was beyond terrified.

From today, he would be living under the same roof as these women, women he had yet to know.

What am I supposed to do?

What am I supposed to say?

What if it gets all quiet and nobody even wants to look me in the eye?

I’m not made for this.

He had asked his mother for the list of contestant names, but she had been tight-lipped; she wouldn’t even tell him any names, which added to his anxiety.

Not that he was looking for all of them. He was looking for just one. As a precautionary measure, so that he wouldn’t be too shocked that she would be there, vying for his heart.

Hah.

Chanyeol felt the thrumming of his heart beneath his ribs, and wondered if he could see anyone that looked remotely like Park Sun Young coming out of one of those cars.

It was busy below, with camera crew, a red carpet, and the gaggle of girls in ballgowns as they walked towards the verandah of the hotel, and he felt for the side of his face, absentmindedly running his fingers over his scars.

He was nervous. Really, really, nervous.

Will one of those people not worry about my past the way I do?

Would they accept me even as I am, the emotional wreck that lies inside?

Could Mother even have found her?

Is she here, now?

A presence appeared next to him noiselessly, looking down at the same thing he was, and he composed himself once more, not letting the anxious flutters show as he turned to her.

“Secretary Choi.”

“Yes sir?” she replied, always at attention.

He adjusted his hair, before straightening the front of his midnight blue tuxedo jacket with black Victorian prints. “How do I look?” he asked, standing as tall as he could.

“You’ve been asking me that for every ten minutes that pass, sir,” she told him, “And I repeat, you look very handsome, much like the proverbial prince in today’s fairytale splendour.”

There was a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. Just a tinge. And he was glad that she was amused. That meant that he was just being worried about nothing.

He didn’t want to remember a time when even Secretary Choi had looked close to tears as she leaned against his hotel bed, his hair to sleep as he tried to escape his nightmares without his parents by his side.

He lifted the hair above his scars, as though wanting her to give her feedback on their concealment. “Is your answer still the same now as just now?”

She nodded, bowing slightly. “Yes. Shall we make a move?”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Now?” he asked, glancing at his watch. A ripple shuddered through his skin, and he swallowed the feeling of anxiety down. “Can’t we wait for a few minutes more?”

She nodded again. “The PD wants you to come down. She wants to brief you on how things are going to go.”

“We did that yesterday.”

“Not with the twenty ladies present.”

He paused. “But I’m not ready,” he murmured, placing a hand over his heart. “I don’t know…”

Secretary Choi waited patiently for him to continue, and when words failed him, she stepped forward and he felt her strong, steady palm on his arm.

“You’re the one in charge, sir. If anyone’s not ready, it’s the contestants. Make them feel like your ordinary guests, if that makes it any easier.”

Chanyeol let out a sigh, mentally psyching himself to imagine twenty pretty women as normal hotel guests.

It should be easy, Chan. Just be polite, be gracious, be hospitable.

“You’re right,” he murmured.

He shut his eyes.

Swallowed.

Took a deep breath.

Opened his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, and walked towards the door with a purposeful air, slipping into his shiny designer shoes and pressing the elevator button, disregarding the way his finger seemed to tremble slightly when he did.

The doors opened to the amicable face of the middle-aged elevator operator.

“Afternoon, Director Park, Secretary Choi,” he said with an easygoing smile, as Chanyeol walked in, his shoes shuffling against the smooth floor of the enclosed space, “You must be very excited, sir!”

Not really. “It’s going alright, Mr. Yang. Ground floor, please.”

“Yes, sir,” the operator said, pressing the golden button.

Chanyeol leaned against the side as the elevator began to descend.

With every passing floor, his throat became drier and drier. He glanced at his reflection in the elevator mirror and saw the insecurity that lay behind his chic façade.

Where is Baekhyun when you need him, he thought to himself, reaching into his pocket for his phone and seeing no messages from his aforementioned best friend.

“He’s already downstairs,” Secretary Choi said, answering his unspoken question, “He’s helping your mother.”

“I thought they didn’t get along?”

“Your mother decided that her assumption of him proved to be false when he showed genuine support in her efforts at trying to find you a partner,” she supplied, pausing a moment. “A female partner.”

Chanyeol snorted despite himself, just as the elevator doors opened with a ding! “Thank you, Mr. Yang,” he said, stepping out.

“It was my pleasure, Director Park.”

Secretary Choi gave a rare smile. “Thank you, Yoseob.”

“Anytime, ma’am.”

Chanyeol looked around the spacious lobby, not seeing Baekhyun draped across any of the chaise lounges as he frowned in impatience.

Honestly, where in the world is he?

“Mr. Park!” a voice called from behind, and he turned. It was the producer.

“There you are!” PD Kim said with a dramatic sigh, fixing a headpiece around her head as she adjusted the mic near , “We were wondering if you were going to come down at all.”

Usually Chanyeol would bristle at such a bossy tone, but today, with his nerves in full force, he merely shook his head. “I am a stickler for time, Miss Kim, I’m positive I won’t be late for my own show.”

“Well, you better not be, because they’re almost about to enter and if you’re not in there waiting for them-“

“Lead the way, then.”

She abruptly turned and marched ahead, heading for the ballroom, and he matched her pace languidly, like he was confident, like he was made for this, like he was an enviable male god who was used to sending women swooning.

Fake it till you make it, Baekhyun like to say whenever he wanted to chat up a random girl in a bar and end up failing.

PD Kim went towards the staff entrance of the ballroom, to bypass the crowd of media staff and contestants, pushing the door open and holding it for him as he, along with Secretary Choi, entered.

The tables were already set, with each seat labelled, decorated, and ready to be occupied. The kitchen staff were on standby next to the banquet tables, anticipating their tasks as servers, while the waiters stood in a straight line, napkins on their forearms, at the ready.

The camera crew were testing their many equipment, from the standard recording cameras, to the aerial cameras, while the sound crew were doing final microphone checks, testing each one.

Everything’s ready, regardless of whether I am or not.

How very unsettling. I’m supposed to be the main star of the show and I barely did a thing.

As he followed the energetic producer towards his table at the front of the ballroom, he squinted at the different name cards placed in front of the tables that he passed, and let out a little sigh of relief when he couldn’t see Park Sun Young anywhere.

That meant there was still hope of such an escape from her.

Because if she managed to get in, he wasn’t sure if he could probably be able to maintain his composure, especially since she had caught him unawares thrice: once at their first meeting, the other one out in the hotel hallways, and the third at the interviews.

Each time, he had lost his sense of bearing and was always stunned into scandalized surprise.

He didn’t want to have to go through a fourth one, what more in front of the camera.

“Right over here, Director Park,” PD Kim said, and he spotted his mother, looking glamorous in a silk dress next to her secretary, engaging Baekhyun and some other staff who looked to be the heads of departments in a group conversation at the table. His sister was there too, beside her mother, and when she saw him, she got up and bounced over, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

“Look at my little brother, all grown up!” she teased, patting his back, “I was only in Japan for a few weeks and you’ve grown five inches taller! I missed out on you growing up.”

As a foreign news correspondent, Park Yoora was tasked to cover the news in their neighbour Japan, and she was probably here for a short break before flying off again.

He returned her embrace with a nostalgic smile. The days of her towering over him were over; he was at least two heads taller than her now. “How have you been?”

She pouted. “Busy. But that’s a good thing. I’m more concerned about you. What’s all this thing?” she asked, hiding a little giggle behind her hand, “I didn’t think you’d be the type to get involved with something like this.”

“Ask her,” he said, jerking his head to his mother, who had yet to notice him. He spotted Do Kyungsoo among the people standing around the table, chuckling at something his mother had said, and he felt jealousy bubble inside of him.

What’s he doing here? Chanyeol thought, noticing that the other staff had already excused themselves. He gritted his teeth and pointedly pretended the man didn’t exist as his sister brought him to their mother.

“Ah, Channie, there you are!” she trilled, “We were half-afraid you wouldn’t show up.”

“So says Miss Kim,” he said, jerking his head to the producer, who was jogging to the sound crew and barking orders in her grating voice. “I must be such a hard person to have faith in.”

Baekhyun, looking dapper in a fitted shirt with a leather jacket thrown over, let out a hearty laugh.

“Don’t be a sour lemon, bro,” he said, reaching out and slapping Chanyeol’s back so hard that the latter scowled at him, “This is a great day! You’re finally going to be a man!”

“Congratulations, and good luck, Director Park,” Kyungsoo said, his arms folded over his chest, and Chanyeol turned to stare at him, taking in the chef hat, to the uniform, to the apron.

He remembered the time his father had once called the two of them to his office.

At the time, they had just returned to Korea following their graduation, and had run into an argument wherein Chanyeol had launched himself on Kyungsoo, over something as petty as custard filling.

They knew it was more than that, of course. Chanyeol was afraid that Kyungsoo would be favoured and he would be sidelined; it was an irrational fear, and he had acted out terribly.

His father had been furious.

After all the things you’ve been through, whether it be in the hotel, in France, I want you to know that despite what you think, you are equals. Friends. Rivals. Brothers. The future of this hotel depends on the staff, yes, but I am putting that future in young, capable hands.

The both of your hands.

Make me proud. And for goodness’ sake, Park Chanyeol, learn some self-restraint.

Chanyeol bristled. “Don’t you have a team to o