Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Quinn noticed his silence instantly, and for once she was the one smiling, only a little.

"Well?" Emmeline asked.

Park cleared his throat. "The camouflage is dangerously effective."

Quinn’s faint smile deepened by a fraction.

Emmeline looked between the two of them and nodded, satisfied. "Good. We’ll take it."

"And six more variations," Park added.

Quinn’s eyes came to him. "Young Master."

"For blending in."

"Of course."

"Naturally." Emmeline rolled her eyes hard enough to qualify as light exercise.

The shopping continued and Park did not complain, because why in the hell would he.

He bought fitted denim, relaxed denim, casual trousers, fitted shirts, loose shirts, knitwear, hoodies, jackets, streetwear sets, quiet luxury pieces, sneakers, gym clothes, compression tops, training shorts, exercise shoes, gloves, bags, and enough equipment to make the mansion gym wonder whether it had personally offended him.

Every time he thought they had finished, Emmeline located something else.

At one point she decided a young couple browsing nearby had become too obvious about their staring. She produced the Royale Black card, spoke quietly to Lane, and inside a few minutes the entire western section of the boutique was closed.

He looked at the black card in her hand and concluded that power had evidently outgrown politics and moved into retail.

The genuine spiritual crisis arrived at payment. Park pressed the Bennett family platinum card to the terminal and waited for something to happen. No PIN request, balance notification or message enquiring whether he had recently suffered a head injury.

The screen simply flashed PURCHASE APPROVED.

’You dangerous little infinity money whore,’ he thought, and slid it back into his wallet with entirely new respect.

At some point several of Emmeline’s friends began arriving, and Quinn worked out fairly quickly that this had not happened by accident.

One came down from the upper floor with two girls behind her. Another turned up twenty minutes later, hugged Emmeline, and immediately asked why she had suddenly posted that she would be in the Left Tower that afternoon. A third joined them near the streetwear section.

They talked and laughed and compared clothes and took selfies, behaving like perfectly ordinary nineteen-year-old girls if a person ignored the bodyguards, the designer bags, the restricted floor, and the fact that their combined family wealth could probably bully a medium-sized country into revising its tax code.

All of them asked about Park when they saw her helping him pick clothes.

Emmeline never hesitated. "He’s a friend from another city. He moved here to pursue his acting career."

Park glanced at her.

’Interesting choice, Em.’

One girl studied him openly. "An actor?"

"He was in The City, that up-coming series," Emmeline added. "Small debut role."

One searched the series immediately, another asked for his social accounts, a third claimed she remembered his scene once Emmeline showed her the promotional still and trailer, though Park suspected she remembered his face considerably better than his performance.

They took selfies with Emmeline but none with Park—not openly. But he noticed phones angling toward him whenever he came out of a fitting suite, when Lane settled a jacket across his shoulders, when he laughed.

Sneaky pictures and quick clips, little stolen images gathered with all the subtlety rich girls believed themselves to possess.

Emmeline noticed too, and did not stop them, which should have warned him.

Instead, while Park was busy being measured by Lane, Emmeline leaned toward two of her friends.

"Post him, yeah, girls?" she said quietly.

One girl’s eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

"Yes please, as a favor to me and tag The City too."

"What do we caption?"

"Whatever makes people curious, just keep me out of the pictures, you know my father can be weird sometimes."

The girls smiled slowly, because they understood.

Emmeline had actually planned this before they ever left the estate.

Maybe that was why she had announced she would be in the Left Tower, and why she had privately called specific friends and encouraged them to come; she understood precisely how Aurora’s elite social circles operated.

One rich girl with two million followers posts a handsome new actor, another reposts him and a third asks who he is!

Within minutes the curiosity moves through private-school circles, noble families, fashion pages, streamers, fan accounts, and entertainment gossip channels—and no paid campaign on earth could buy the particular species of attention spearheaded by Elite rich gils.

What could a studio possibly offer girls whose families owned the area buildings where studios rented their offices?

The first post went up while Park was still changing jackets:

{Apparently he’s a new actor. Why does nobody know him yet?}

Below it sat a short clip of Park stepping out of the fitting suite in black, looking toward somebody off-camera and laughing.

Twenty thousand views in four minutes. Then forty-three thousand. A larger account reposted it captioned {Unknown Actor? How?} and another tagged #The City, and the notifications began multiplying.

{Who is he?{

{Drop the account immediately.}

{Is he really in The City I will watch for sure?}

{Why does he look AI-generated?}

{Is he foreign??}

{Is some elite girl dating him?}

That last question was precisely why Emmeline had kept herself out of every single frame. She did not need that particular rumour gathering strength yet.

One of her friends refreshed and whispered, "Eighty-seven thousand, told you my followers would spread it."

Emmeline smiled. "Good."

But that was not her only intention.

By tagging the series itself Park was in they were not only pushing Park, they were pushing the production that had given him his tiny role. The production company, the platform, the studio and the network would all notice that an unknown young actor had somehow dragged elite attention toward their project without costing them a single Cel.

Maybe it would not make the series explode. Maybe it would produce a small trend, a few thousand searches, some curious streamers clipping Kim’s scene, and a handful of entertainment accounts asking who the beautiful new actor was.

That was enough.

Emmeline did think she could make brother famous in a day or a few—she only needed to make people curious, because curiosity was the first door anybody ever walked through.

Park knew none of it.

He had no real understanding of how much influence his sister carried among Aurora’s wealthy young generation, or how carefully she was spending it. He only saw her laughing with her friends and occasionally glancing over at him with a pleased expression.

She did not appear at all concerned that pictures of him might spread.

That would annoy their father enormously.

Apparently Emmeline had chosen violence after all, only hers arrived with filters, captions, and several million followers.

***

By the time they finished with the eighty-ninth and ninetieth floors the purchase list had become genuinely stupid, and boutique staff were already organising protective garment cases.

Quinn had not escaped either.

When they finally left for the ninety-first floor, two of Emmeline’s friends came along. One departed moments before the lift arrived after a call from her mother; the other stayed, still talking with Emmeline excitedly as they stepped inside.

The two girls stood near the front of the glass car with their heads bent over a phone, reviewing pictures and watching the view count climb. Park and Quinn stood behind them.

Park glanced sideways. Quinn was looking straight ahead, very professional, very calm, and very determined not to acknowledge that Lane’s hand had spent a suspicious quantity of time on his chest.

He moved half a step closer but she did not look at him.

He leaned in, keeping his voice under the conversation happening at the front of the car. "Were you jealous, Guard Queen?"

Quinn finally turned her eyes on him, and the look should have killed him outright. Unfortunately for her, Park had already died once and come back with better cheekbones.

"No!" she said.

"Liar."

"Young Master."

He let the backs of his fingers brush hers where their hands hung between them, and felt her stiffen. Then he faced forward and pretended nothing whatsoever had occurred. The glass beside them showed the city rather than their reflections, which meant Emmeline and her friend remained entirely unaware of the small private war being conducted behind them.

His fingers found hers again, this time she did not move away immediately.

Park leaned nearer, his shoulder nearly against hers. "You know, if Emmie keeps dressing you like this, people really might mistake you for my girlfriend."

Quinn’s fingers curled. "That would be inconvenient."

"For security?"

"For everyone."

He turned his head just enough that his breath moved against the edge of her ear. "Sounds useful to me."

Colour climbed slowly up her neck. She stared straight ahead, concentrating hard, defusing a bomb with nothing available to her but dignity.

"You enjoy making my job difficult."

"I enjoy making you blush, Quinn."

"I am not blushing."

"Of course not."

Park hooked his little finger around hers for one brief second, and Quinn’s breathing changed—tiny, almost nothing, but he felt every part of it.

Before he could tease Quinn more the lift chimed and the doors opened onto the ninety-first floor. Quinn withdrew her hand fast enough for the movement to qualify as a tactical retreat, and Emmeline stepped out first.

"Coming?"

He followed them out with a private smile sitting comfortably at one corner of his mouth, and behind him Emmeline’s friend refreshed the post once more.

Park did not know it yet, but before he bought his first pair of shoes, half of Aurora’s young elite would already be asking the same two questions.

Who the hell was Emmie’s friend?

And why had nobody noticed him before?

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