170: Chapter 170 Sulli's Embarrassment

Darkness is the best cover, especially at a fashion show with dizzying lights and deafening music. Choi Sulli clutched her lower abdomen, the pain and deeper panic making her fingertips icy cold.

She could almost feel the warmth spreading; beneath her pale pink dress, it might have already... This realization made her so mortified she wanted to disappear immediately. She bit her lower lip hard to keep a shameful whimper from escaping her throat.

"Sit still and wait for me."

Song Tianhao's voice was very low, yet it possessed a strange, piercing quality that instantly cut through her chaotic thoughts. She didn't look up, but she could feel his steady presence approach and then leave.

He first turned to the side and said to Krystal, who was on the other side, in an even lower volume, "Keep an eye on your unnie." Krystal seemed to nod slightly.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, Choi Sulli saw Song Tianhao stand up calmly. He was tall, so even in the dim light and the packed front row, his movement drew a small amount of attention.

But his expression was calm; he even politely nodded to a man with a European face who glanced his way, as if he were just going to the restroom.

Song Tianhao strode off, unhurriedly weaving through the gaps between the front-row seats toward the side aisle entrance, his figure quickly blending into the shadows of the backstage area.

He had left. Choi Sulli's heart tightened instantly—not because she was worried he would abandon her, but due to a more complex feeling.

Song Tianhao told her to wait, so she had no choice but to wait, alone in this strange, dark place filled with foreign languages and the scent of perfume, facing her physical discomfort and inner shame.

Subconsciously, she clutched the hem of the suit jacket on her lap, which still held his body heat, wrapping herself tighter. Waves of dull pain from her lower abdomen made her hunch her back slightly.

"Unnie, do you want some water?" Krystal's lowered voice came from beside her, and she handed over half a bottle of water.

Choi Sulli shook her head. She couldn't drink anything right now; she only felt cold all over, yet burning with embarrassment. Time seemed to stretch; models on the runway changed again and again, the music shifted in rhythm, and occasional hushed laughter and exclamations drifted from the surroundings.

Only she felt as if she were nailed to her seat, every second a torment. She didn't even dare to move, fearing she might cause an even greater embarrassment.

She didn't know how many minutes had passed—perhaps only two or three—but to Choi Sulli, it felt as long as a century. A familiar figure reappeared at the aisle entrance: it was Song Tianhao.

In his hand, he held a dark paper bag that looked like a brand giveaway; it was small and inconspicuous. His pace remained steady as he returned to his seat and sat down, his movements fluid and natural, drawing no unnecessary attention.

After sitting down, he didn't look at Choi Sulli immediately but placed the paper bag by his feet. Then, he turned slightly, using his body and the seat back to cleverly block most potential lines of sight toward Choi Sulli's side. He leaned over and took a few items out of the paper bag; his movements were not fast, but they were steady.

First was a sanitary product individually wrapped in a small, translucent frosted bag—the brand Choi Sulli usually used, even the specific line she liked. Then came two heat packs, their adhesive backings already peeled off, radiating a gentle warmth.

Finally, there was a neatly folded black cashmere cardigan, of excellent quality and minimalist design.

He unfolded the cardigan and gently draped it over Choi Sulli's lap. The large, soft cashmere fabric instantly covered her waist, abdomen, and upper thighs perfectly; it was long enough, and its deep color provided excellent cover.

The cardigan carried his scent, mixed with a hint of fresh wool—not overwhelming, yet it strangely allowed Choi Sulli's tense nerves to relax for a moment.

"Wrap it around yourself; it's cold at night," he said in a low voice. His gaze swept over her face briefly to check her complexion, then shifted away toward the runway, as if he had just casually handed over a piece of clothing.

Next, he took a thermos from the paper bag; it had a metal body and looked brand new. He unscrewed the lid, and a warm, sweet fragrance of ginger and brown sugar quietly drifted out. He handed the cup to her, his voice lowered even further: "The temperature should be just right. Drink it slowly."

Choi Sulli's fingers trembled slightly as she took the thermos, the warmth spreading from her fingertips. She took a small sip; it was indeed warm brown sugar and ginger tea, with the sweetness and ginger flavor perfectly balanced. The warm liquid slid down her esophagus, seemingly dispelling some of the coldness and cramping in her abdomen.

She cradled the cup, taking small sips, and under the cover of the cup, she stole a quick glance at Song Tianhao.

He was looking up slightly, focusing on the models walking the runway, his profile sharply defined under the shifting light and shadow, as calm as ever.

It was as if those extremely meticulous actions—finding exactly the items she needed, preparing the warm tea, and handing over the soft, warm cardigan—were all just trivial, effortless tasks for him.

He didn't even ask her, "How are you?" or "Does it still hurt?" He simply solved all the problems through his actions, preserving her dignity to the greatest extent possible.

Choi Sulli lowered her head, her eyes stinging without warning. It wasn't because of the pain or the embarrassment, but because of this consideration that had so carefully put her at ease in the midst of extreme panic.

Song Tianhao had even thought of the heat packs and using the cardigan for cover, rather than letting her leave in embarrassment, wrapped in an ill-fitting suit jacket.

She gripped the warm cup tightly, while her other hand stroked the soft cardigan on her lap; the reassuring scent that belonged to him enveloped her. The previous panic, shame, and helplessness seemed to have been gently smoothed away by an invisible hand.

Hushed laughter came from the back row, and a few words could be heard: "President Song of Sky Entertainment is so considerate to his artists, even fetching clothes personally..."

The speaker seemed to be a fashion editor with an Asian face, her tone carrying a hint of envy and gossip. She had clearly seen Song Tianhao hand over the cardigan but had completely failed to guess the real reason behind it, assuming it was just the president's routine care for an artist.

Choi Sulli heard this, and her ears grew even hotter, but her heart felt like a bottle of mixed emotions had been overturned. Only she knew what kind of meticulous and subtle protection lay beneath this "consideration."

"There are wet wipes and a sealed bag in the paper bag," Song Tianhao's voice sounded in her ear again, still very soft, his gaze still fixed forward. "Take care of it during the intermission or after the show ends. Use this cushion; it will be more comfortable."

As he spoke, he picked up the fluffy cushion from his own seat and naturally placed it behind Choi Sulli.

The support of the cushion made her feel a little more comfortable. Choi Sulli let out a "mm," her voice as small as a mosquito's, but her tense body was finally able to lean back against the chair slightly more relaxed.

She was draped in his suit jacket, covered by his cardigan on her lap, drinking warm ginger tea, with his cushion behind her. Even though they were in a crowded fashion show, she felt as if she were being guarded by a small, airtight, warm, and safe fortress.

The show continued, but Choi Sulli's heart could no longer fully focus on the gorgeous clothes. Her attention kept drifting, unconsciously, toward the profile of the man beside her.

Occasionally, he would exchange a word or two with Krystal on the other side about a certain design, speaking in English with a calm pace and professional vocabulary. Most of the time, he just watched quietly, his fingers occasionally tapping a rhythm on his knee, unhurried, as if everything were under control.

The fashion show came to an end amidst enthusiastic applause and the models' final walk. The lights came up, and the crowd began to stir; media reporters, buyers, and fashion insiders stood up one after another, the sounds of conversation and camera shutters rising and falling.

Many people's gazes were cast, intentionally or unintentionally, toward Song Tianhao's side. Clearly, this young president of a South Korean entertainment company and the two eye-catching female artists he brought had attracted attention, and some wanted to come over to chat.

Song Tianhao stood up first, naturally blocking the path in front of Choi Sulli, effectively separating her from a few reporters who were trying to approach. He smiled and spoke a few sentences in French to a blonde woman who appeared to be a brand executive, his speech fluent and his attitude humble yet firm.

Choi Sulli only understood a few scattered words like "feeling slightly unwell," "needs rest," and "thank you for the invitation," but seeing the other person nod understandingly and make a gesture of "please go ahead," she knew the president had already handled it appropriately.

"Let's go." Song Tianhao turned to the side, signaling Choi Sulli and Krystal to follow. He walked in front; his pace was not fast, yet he always managed to keep the crowd at a distance, clearing a path.

Choi Sulli wrapped the suit jacket tighter around her body and held the cardigan on her lap, keeping her head down and following closely. Krystal walked on the other side, equally silent.

The group didn't speak a word all the way, returning quickly to the door of their hotel room.

Assistant Lin Wei was already waiting outside Choi Sulli and Krystal's suite, holding a bag with a pharmacy logo on it. Seeing them, she immediately stepped forward, handed the bag to Choi Sulli, and said in a low voice in Korean, "Everything you need is inside, including painkillers; if it hurts badly, you can take one. Hot water has already been boiled."

Choi Sulli took it with a blushing face, whispered "Thank you, Assistant Lin Wei," and then glanced at Song Tianhao. Song Tianhao nodded at her: "Go take care of it first, and get some good rest."

Choi Sulli entered the room and headed straight for the bathroom. After handling all the embarrassment, changing into comfortable clothes, and carefully soaking the pale pink dress, she finally breathed a long sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Looking at her still-pale face in the mirror and the black cashmere cardigan that belonged to Song Tianhao which she was still wearing, her feelings were complex and indescribable.

Stepping out of the bathroom, both Song Tianhao and Krystal were in the living room. Song Tianhao was sitting on the sofa, replying to emails on his phone, his profile looking less distant under the warm living room lights.

Krystal was sitting on the armchair nearby, holding a few business cards she had received today, seemingly organizing them, but her gaze was unfocused.

Seeing Choi Sulli come out, Song Tianhao looked up, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment, as if checking her condition. "Are you okay?"

"Mm, much better, thank you, President." Choi Sulli walked over, her fingers unconsciously stroking the soft cashmere fabric of the cardigan.

The cardigan was of superb quality, soft to the touch, and minimalist in design, yet exquisite in its details. On the inside of the collar was a small, familiar logo of a French luxury brand, embroidered in a subtle, dark pattern.

This was the president's own clothing, and it was clearly worth a fortune. She hesitated for a moment and said in a low voice, "This... I will wash it clean and return it to you."

Song Tianhao shifted his gaze from his phone screen, looked at her, then looked at the cardigan, his tone indifferent: "Keep wearing it; it's cold at night in Paris. Just have room service dry-clean it tomorrow; no need to return it."

Choi Sulli was stunned. No need to return it? Did that mean... he was giving it to her?

Before she could react, Krystal, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly spoke up, her voice calm, devoid of any discernible emotion: "President, how did you know to prepare those things?" She was referring to the sanitary products, heat packs, and that perfectly timed cup of brown sugar and ginger tea.

Song Tianhao tapped send on his phone screen, set the phone aside, and leaned back, as if he finally had time to answer the question.

"The company's artist schedules include estimates of all members' menstrual cycles, and the management team notes them as reminders. When on business trips, assistants prepare a basic emergency kit, which contains common medications, heat patches, and sanitary products. The ginger tea was something I had the hotel kitchen boil on the spot, and the thermos is new."

His tone was steady, even carrying a business-like cadence, as if he were stating a work procedure: "It's just basic schedule management and emergency preparation; nothing special."

Just... basic schedule management? Emergency preparation? Nothing special?

The ripples of shyness and secret joy that had quietly risen in Choi Sulli's heart because she was given the cardigan wavered slightly.

Then, a sense of loss quietly began to spread within her.

So, that meticulous consideration that had moved her to the point of tears, that dignity so carefully preserved in the darkness—to him, it was just "basic procedure" and "business trip routine" for dealing with the artists under his management?

She lowered her head, looking at the soft cardigan on her body. Yes, he was the president, the founder of Sky Entertainment, with so many female artists under him—the unnies from T-ara, the unnies from Girls Generation, and their own f(x)...

He managed such a large company; it was only right for him to be thoughtful and well-prepared. Had she... read too much into it again? Thinking it was special treatment for her? Her cheeks began to burn again, but this time it was from the embarrassment of her own wishful thinking.

After hearing this, Krystal just gave a flat "Oh" and said nothing more, continuing to lower her head and fiddle with the business cards in her hand, though her fingertips pressed slightly harder, causing the edge of one card to curl.

The atmosphere in the room became quiet for a moment, with only the faint sound of the central air conditioning blowing.

At this moment, Song Tianhao's phone, which he had placed aside, vibrated, and the screen lit up, showing a local Paris number. He glanced at it, picked up the phone, and walked to the window to answer.

"Hello. Yes, this is Song Tianhao... Okay, thank you, see you tomorrow night."

The call was very brief; he spoke mainly in French, and Choi Sulli could only understand a few simple words. Hanging up the phone, he turned around, his gaze falling on Choi Sulli and Krystal.

"It was from the brand side." He walked back to the sofa and sat down again. "Tomorrow night, they are holding a small private dinner in Le Marais, inviting only a few core guests, partners, and people with potential."

He paused, his gaze lingering on Choi Sulli's face for an extra second. "Both of you have received invitations."

Both Choi Sulli and Krystal looked up. A private dinner, and at the level of core guests—this was undoubtedly an important social and exposure opportunity.

"Prepare well. The dress code is business casual; it doesn't have to be too formal, but it can't be disrespectful either," Song Tianhao continued. His gaze landed on Choi Sulli's still-pale face; his tone hadn't changed, but the meaning of his words made Choi Sulli's heart skip a beat.

"Especially you, Choi Sulli."

Choi Sulli subconsciously straightened her back and looked at him.

Song Tianhao looked at her, his eyes calm but carrying a certain sense of scrutiny and evaluation as he slowly said, "Tomorrow night, you might need to say a few more words."