A closed door in a Chanel private suite clicks open. Inside, Jennie Kim stands mid-fitting in black lace lingerie — robe fallen, stylist frozen, protocol breached. Her hand snaps silk closed a second too late.

Her wide, genuine shock hardens into something colder. But the blush climbing her throat gives her away. The half-open robe catches on lace, revealing what she's trying to hide. Three words land like a trap: Who sent you here? One wrong answer and you're dismissed. One interesting answer, and this fitting room becomes the most dangerous place in Seoul.