All I want for Christmas is Yoon

“Thanks, Brian.” I grab my plate and move away to fill it up with pancakes.

“Since we have a few days to kill here, maybe we can go out and find something to get into.”

“She’s busy,” an accented voice interrupts us.

Stunned, I look up and find Yoon.

“Hey, m-man. I was j-just trying to m-make conversation,” Brian stutters.

“Make it elsewhere,” Yoon suggests.

“What are you doing?”

“Protecting my girlfriend.”

“I am not your ...” I glance around and lower my voice, “girlfriend.”

“The hell you aren’t,” he growls.

His anger is attractive. Stop. “Why are you pretending to care?”

He opens his mouth, and his manager appears.

“Yoon.” His voice holds a warning. “Be aware of your surroundings.”

“I’ll take this to go.” The last thing I need is to be caught up in Yoon and Sang’s argument. I hurry off with my plate, retreating to my room. I don’t want to be anywhere near either of them. Sang grabs his arm, leading him from the dining area.

My face infuses with heat as everyone stares. I shrug my shoulders and laugh. “Superstars and their temperaments, huh?”

Samantha strolls in, looking like a queen in a turquoise sundress with a white crinoline peeking out slightly from beneath and matching espadrilles. Her hair falls around her heart-shaped face in loose, black spirals. The crowd parts as she sashays her way toward me.

“I see you’re still causing trouble. You don’t know when to stay in your place, do you?”

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head, ready to squash her like a bug as I square my shoulders.

“What could you possibly give Yoon? You’re a nobody.” She spits the words out like they taste bad.

“And you aren’t?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“I wouldn’t think for a moment I was worthy of someone like him. He needs to be with a fellow idol.” The zeal in her eyes is frightening.

“You know what they say, opinions are like assholes. Everyone’s got one.” I move to step around her.

Stepping quickly, she blocks me. “I will not let you ruin him.”

“You’ve already won. There’s nothing else left to do.”

“One last thing,” she whispers.

Pain explodes in my stomach. My plate drops from my hand, shattering as I sway. I look down and see red beginning to spread over my abdomen. I press my hands tightly against my stomach. A sticky, hot liquid coats them, shocking me as I move back. Samantha is rushed by a bunch of people. A knife falls and skitters across the floor. She’s thrown to the ground, and someone kneels on her back.

Oh my God, I think I’ve been stabbed.

Strong hands help me lower to the floor.

“I’m a nurse.” A tow-haired man kneels beside me. “We need to put pressure onto the wound. Get me a clean napkin,” a man barks.

I blink, befuddled, as my head spins.