171: Chapter 171 Shirley's skirt was torn.

Inside a 19th-century private mansion in the Marais district of Paris, the dinner party was at its most harmonious point.

Unlike the daytime fashion show's ostentatiousness, lights, and sounds, this private dinner venue was small, with fewer than thirty guests invited. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm yellow glow, stiffly starched linen tablecloths were spread across the long dining table, and the silver tableware gleamed softly in the candlelight.

The air was filled with a blend of food aromas, wine, and various high-end perfumes. Soft jazz drifted in the background, and conversations were kept at a volume that wouldn't disturb others. Everything felt more intimate, elegant, and demanding of the attendees' social skills.

Sulli wore an alternative backup dress sent by the brand just that afternoon—a champagne-colored, floor-length gown with a simple design and a tailored fit that made her skin look as fair as snow. But at this moment, her spine was slightly stiff, and her palms were a little damp.

In her left ear, she wore an almost invisible micro-earpiece, through which Song Tianhao's specially processed, low, and steady voice came, translating the French conversations of the surrounding guests in real-time, occasionally interspersed with a brief tip or two.

"The grey-haired lady on the left is a senior editor at Vogue Paris. You can smile, nod, and say 'Good evening, madame' to her. Just that line, don't say anything else." Song Tianhao's voice came through the earpiece, as steadying as a reassuring pill.

Sulli took a deep breath, put on the slightly stiff social smile she had practiced for a long time, nodded gently to a capable-looking French lady who had just approached, and said in French, "Good evening, madame."

Her pronunciation wasn't perfect, carrying a distinct South Korean accent, but it was clear enough. The French editor was clearly a bit surprised, but she quickly showed an appreciative smile and replied in French, "Good evening, mademoiselle. Your dress is very beautiful."

Sulli only understood "dress" and "beautiful," but she maintained her smile and replied in French, slightly awkwardly but with effort, "Thank you."

After speaking, she subconsciously looked over at Song Tianhao, who was talking with the brand's CEO and another middle-aged man not far away.

Song Tianhao always seemed to keep a fraction of his attention on her. Standing sideways to her, he was clinking glasses with the CEO and speaking fluent French, but his gaze swept in her direction almost imperceptibly, giving a barely visible nod. It was an extremely subtle signal of approval.

Sulli felt a wave of relief, knowing she hadn't made a mistake. Only then did her fingers holding the champagne glass quietly loosen their grip.

Throughout the evening, she was like a fledgling bird learning to fly for the first time, guided by a fine thread, carefully mimicking the instructions Song Tianhao sent through the earpiece—nodding, smiling, or offering a simple greeting or compliment.

Although she spent most of her time standing quietly not far from Song Tianhao's side, playing the role of a beautiful, shy Asian newcomer who needed to be introduced and guided, being able to respond correctly once or twice had already eased her tense nerves a little.

She could feel that some of the looks directed at her had gradually shifted from pure scrutiny and curiosity at the beginning to a hint of friendliness and acceptance.

"Not bad," Song Tianhao's voice in the earpiece seemed to soften slightly. "Keep it up. Now, the gentleman with the Asian face to your front right is the buying director of a major Japanese department store. He might be interested in your market potential in Asia. If he asks any questions, I'll tell you how to answer."

Sulli looked in the direction of Song Tianhao's subtle hint and indeed saw a well-dressed man in his forties looking her way.

Just as she was about to adjust her posture, she suddenly felt her calf get lightly tripped by something, followed by a faint, ripping sound of fabric tearing.

Her body froze, and she looked down. Somehow, the floor-length hem of her gown had caught on the sharp edge of the base of a small decorative bronze sculpture nearby.

The sculpture was abstract with rough edges. She probably hadn't noticed it when she turned around earlier, and her hem had caught. Now, with her unconscious slight movement, the side of her skirt had ripped open a tear at least ten centimeters long, exposing the silk lining, which looked incredibly conspicuous against the champagne-colored fabric.

Time seemed to freeze at that moment.

Sulli's mind went completely blank. The blood rushed to her face, only to drain away completely the next instant.

She could feel the surroundings fall silent for a split second as several gazes drifted over from different directions, carrying surprise, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of the silent judgment typical of high society toward a faux pas.

She stood frozen in place, unable to move or stay still. Her cheeks burned fiercely, and the confidence she had painstakingly built up just moments ago shattered completely.

It's over...

She had messed up again, in this kind of setting, in this kind of place...

"Don't panic." Song Tianhao's voice came through the earpiece, still steady, and even clearer than before.

Almost instinctively, Sulli raised her eyes, looking past the awkward distance and several gazes to find him.

Song Tianhao was talking with the brand's CEO and the Japanese buyer. They seemed to be discussing an interesting topic, and he still had a polite smile on his face.

But the moment Sulli looked over, he seemed to have just finished the topic. He nodded slightly to the two men in front of him, murmured "Excuse me, please pardon me for a moment" in French, and then turned, walking toward her with steady, unhurried steps.

Song Tianhao's movements were natural and fluid, without a hint of fluster, as if he were merely stepping away to grab a drink or greet another acquaintance.

He walked up to Sulli's side. He didn't speak immediately, nor did he look at her embarrassed face first. Instead, he bent down, his gaze landing on the snagged hem of her dress.

He crouched halfway down. This posture was somewhat out of place in the glamorous banquet hall, but he did it with exceptional composure, even carrying a strange, focused elegance. He carefully examined the tear in the skirt and how it was caught.

Then, under the slightly surprised gazes of Sulli and the few guests who had noticed, he made an unexpected move.

He reached up, smoothly unbuttoning his dark grey worsted wool suit jacket. Then, he took the jacket off.

This action made Sulli's heart skip a beat. What was he doing?

Song Tianhao didn't explain. Holding the jacket, which still carried his body warmth, he crouched down again.

This time, he carefully wrapped the jacket around the lower part of Sulli's snagged skirt, his movements gentle and precise, completely concealing the torn area. Meanwhile, his other hand deftly pinched the small piece of sharp metal catching the fabric, giving it a gentle twist and push to free the hem.

The entire process took barely over ten seconds. His posture was steady, his brow slightly furrowed in deep concentration, as if he were handling not an embarrassing accident but a work of art that required delicate care.

After freeing her, he didn't immediately remove the jacket. Instead, he kept using it to cover the torn part of her skirt, stood up, and naturally and firmly supported Sulli's slightly trembling arm with one hand.

"Smile, and look at me," he murmured in Korean, his voice audible only to her, carrying an irresistible, steadying power. "Just pretend we're shooting a pictorial. I'm your stylist, and I was just adjusting your hem for you."

Almost as a reflex, Sulli followed his words, raising her head to look at him.

There was no special expression on Song Tianhao's face; it was still his usual calm. However, his eyes rested on her face with more focus than usual, as if confirming her state of mind.

His arm was firm and strong, transmitting its support through her dress fabric and steadying her body, which was on the verge of going weak.

At this moment, a waiter walked over quickly, clearly having noticed the situation.

Song Tianhao quietly gave the waiter a few instructions in fluent French, speaking quickly but clearly. The waiter nodded, carefully took the suit jacket wrapping the damaged hem, glanced at Sulli's dress, nodded again, and then left quickly but politely.

"A minor accident," Song Tianhao said, finally turning to the few guests casting concerned glances. He showed a perfectly measured, slightly helpless yet amused smile, and said easily in English, "It seems even Paris's sculptures can't resist the charm of a beautiful dress and wanted a keepsake."

His tone was light and witty, instantly dissolving the momentary tension and awkwardness. Hearing this, the guests laughed, shook their heads with good-natured amusement, and stopped paying attention to the minor episode.

"Come," Song Tianhao said, looking back at Sulli. With his hand still supporting her forearm, his voice returned to its usual stability. "Let's go rest over there first."

He was referring to a relatively quiet lounge area on one side of the banquet hall.

Sulli was practically guided by him as they walked to the lounge. Her brain was still half-frozen, her cheeks were burning, and her body was somewhat stiff, but the steady, warm strength from the arm supporting her strangely soothed her chaotic nerves.

She could smell his faint scent as he drew near.

Choi Sulli could also see his tall, straight back after he had removed his jacket. He was wearing only a well-fitted white shirt and a dark grey vest, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the smooth lines of his forearms. That suit jacket, which looked incredibly expensive, was now being taken away by the waiter to deal with the "mess" of her dress.

Just like that, he used his expensive clothes to...

Soon, Choi Sulli changed into another dress in the restroom and returned to the lounge area, where the soft sofa enveloped her.

Next, another waiter brought over a soft cashmere blanket. Song Tianhao took it and naturally draped it over Sulli's knees, covering her legs, which might still be trembling slightly.

A steaming cup of herbal tea with lemon and honey was placed on the coffee table in front of her.

"Rest here for a bit. The dress will be taken care of soon," Song Tianhao's voice sounded from above, calm and even. "I'll come back after I finish chatting with Monsieur Pierre."

Pierre was the name of the brand's CEO.

After speaking, he reached out, seemingly wanting to pat her shoulder, but his hand paused mid-air before he ultimately withdrew it. He simply nodded to her, turned, and calmly walked back toward the circle of conversation, as if the minor storm just now had never happened.

Wrapped in the blanket, Sulli held the warm teacup with both hands, yet her eyes couldn't help but follow the back of the man in the crowd, dressed only in his shirt and vest.

He seemed to always be so at ease, whether facing highly important business partners or handling an embarrassing emergency like hers. He was always calm, swift, effective, and... his posture was always so composed and handsome.

The way he had crouched down just now, using his own jacket to cover and rescue her, was so focused, as if it were the most important thing in the world...

This image replayed over and over in her mind, causing her heart to race uncontrollably once again—beating even faster and more chaotically than when she had made a fool of herself earlier.

"To calm your nerves." A calm voice spoke beside her.

Sulli snapped out of it and saw that Krystal had walked over at some point. She sat down on the single sofa next to her, holding a small plate of exquisite macarons, and offered them to her.

Sulli took them and thanked her in a low voice, "Thank you, Krystal."

She picked one up and took a small bite, the sweet, rich flavor dissolving on her tongue.

She looked at Krystal. Tonight, Krystal wore a neat and simple little black dress with exquisite makeup, sitting there as quietly as a painting.

Sulli hesitated for a moment before asking softly, "Was I really embarrassing just now? I caused trouble for CEO Oppa."

Krystal picked up her champagne glass, swirled it gently, and let her gaze fall on the tall, upright figure in the crowd in the distance.

She watched for a moment before turning her head back, her tone flat. "No. The CEO handled it very well."

She paused, took a sip of her wine, and looked back at Sulli's face. There was no emotion in her beautiful eyes, and her tone remained flat. "Besides, unnie, don't you think the CEO is... too good to you?"

Sulli's heart skipped a beat, and her fingers tightened around the remaining half of the macaron in her hand.

Krystal watched her expression change in an instant and continued, her voice very soft yet every word clear, "It's a bit too good, exceeding... 'standard procedure'."

Standard procedure. The phrase was like a tiny needle, gently pricking Sulli. She remembered last night at the hotel when the CEO had explained in the same flat tone that those thoughtful preparations were just "standard business trip procedure." Yes, preparing an emergency kit was standard procedure, and preparing ginger tea was standard procedure. But what about today?

Under everyone's watchful eyes, taking off his expensive suit jacket, crouching down to cover her embarrassment, rescuing her, and easily deflecting the surrounding attention... Was this also "standard procedure" for all the agency's artists?

Sulli opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found her throat dry, unable to utter a word. She could only stare at Krystal, her eyes filled with a panic she hadn't even noticed herself, along with a trace of bashfulness from having her secret thoughts exposed.

However, Krystal had already looked away. She placed her wine glass back on the table, picked up another pastry, and her tone returned to its usual indifference. "I was just speaking casually. Eat up. Once your dress is fixed, you might still need to go over and say hello."

Sulli lowered her head, looking at the slightly deformed macaron in her hand, unable to taste any sweetness anymore. Krystal's words were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirring up ripples in her heart that could no longer be stilled.

As the dinner party neared its end, a waiter brought back the repaired dress. The tear had been cleverly stitched together with matching thread, making it almost invisible unless looked at closely, and a small pearl brooch in a matching color had been creatively pinned over the seam, actually adding a touch of elegance.

Sulli went to the restroom to change. Once she came out, Song Tianhao had also finished his final pleasantries with the brand's CEO and walked over.

"Can you walk?" he asked, seemingly assessing her condition as his gaze rested on her face. "Or would you rather go back and rest first?"

Sulli took a deep breath and straightened her spine. She didn't want to seem so fragile and in need of care anymore.

She shook her head, trying to make her voice sound steady. "I can manage, CEO."

Song Tianhao looked at her for two seconds, nodded, and said nothing more, turning instead to Krystal. "Then let's go. There's an ELLE shoot tomorrow, so don't sleep too late."

Leaving the warm private residence, the early autumn night breeze of Paris rushed at them with a chill. Wearing only her thin evening gown, Sulli couldn't help but shiver slightly.

Walking ahead, Song Tianhao seemed to sense it. He stopped, turned around, and naturally unfolded the suit jacket that had been draped over his arm, placing it over Sulli's shoulders.

"Wear it," his voice sounded in the night, clearer than the evening breeze, carrying an undeniable gentleness. "Don't catch a cold."

The warmth of his body and his comforting scent still lingered on the jacket, instantly enveloping her.

Sulli froze in place, her fingers instinctively clutching the edge of the suit jacket, the soft and delicate texture of the fabric transmitting through her fingertips.

She raised her head, looking at Song Tianhao's profile, which appeared exceptionally sharp in the night, her heart racing uncontrollably in her chest.