Bite Me!
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1: Midnight Discoveries
The final note of the performance hung in the air of the Seoul Olympic Stadium, suspended above 70,000 screaming voices. Luna held her ending pose—one arm extended toward the heavens, chest heaving, sweat trickling down her spine beneath the crystallized bodice that had cost more than most people’s cars.
Five. Four. Three. Two.
The lights cut to black.
She dropped the smile immediately.
“Luna! Luna-unnie! That was amazing!” Her backup dancers swarmed her the moment she stumbled into the wings, their enthusiasm bouncing off her like rain off glass.
“Mmm.” She managed a tired nod, accepting the towel thrust into her hands and the bottle of water that followed. Her manager, Mrs. Choi, appeared with a tablet, already launching into tomorrow’s schedule.
“—interview at 9, photoshoot at 11, that variety show taping at 3, and the sponsor dinner at—Luna? Are you listening?”
Luna wasn’t listening. She was staring at the tablet screen over Mrs. Choi’s shoulder, where a French real estate website had somehow remained open. A chateau. 350 years old. 20 rooms. Original features plus updated amenities. Isolated. Available.
“I need a break,” Luna heard herself say.
Mrs. Choi’s perfectly drawn eyebrows shot up. “A break? Luna, your album drops in 3 weeks. We have the showcase, the fan meetings, the—”
“A retreat.” Luna corrected, her mind already spinning. “Somewhere I can ... recharge. Focus. You’re always saying I look tired in photos.”
That hit its mark. Mrs. Choi’s expression shifted from outrage to calculation. It was true—the past month, Luna’s flawless image had shown microscopic cracks. A shadow under her eye here. A forced smile there. In an industry where 19 was already starting to age, exhaustion was a death sentence.
“Where?” Mrs. Choi asked, suspicious.
Luna turned the tablet around, showing the chateau. “France. Complete privacy. I’ll do virtual check-ins, pre-record content. No one will even know I’m gone.”
It took 3 more days of negotiation, but Luna was nothing if not determined. By the end of the week, she was on a plane to Paris with 2 suitcases of Korean skincare products (AKA life support), her favorite silk pajamas, and the keys to Château de Valmont.
The château was more beautiful than the photos suggested and somehow more private on a 25-acre estate.
Luna stood in the circular brick drive, tipping her head back to take in the gray stone façade, the leaded windows, the climbing ivy that looked romantic in afternoon light and probably harbored several species of spiders. The estate agent had left 20 minutes ago after a whirlwind tour, leaving her alone with 350 years of history and furniture covered in dust sheets.
This is perfect, she thought, dragging her largest suitcase over the threshold. No cameras. No schedules. No one screaming my name.
She spent the first few hours exploring the main floors, pulling sheets off furniture to reveal treasures underneath—a writing desk with actual inkwells, a fainting couch (she tried it; it was surprisingly comfortable), oil paintings of stern-looking people in ruffs and wigs. The kitchen was thankfully updated, though “updated” apparently meant early 2000s.
It was when she discovered the door to the cellar that things got interesting.
The estate agent hadn’t mentioned a cellar. Or perhaps Luna had been too jet-lagged to pay attention. Either way, the small wooden door tucked beneath the main staircase practically begged to be opened.
The stairs creaked. Of course they did. Luna pulled out her phone, activating the flashlight as she descended into darkness that smelled of earth, old stone, and something else. Something almost ... sweet? Like old perfume or incense.
The cellar was larger than she expected, stretching back into shadows her phone light couldn’t quite penetrate. Wine racks lined one wall, most empty. Crates and trunks scattered about. And at the far end, in what appeared to be a small alcove—
Luna stopped.
A coffin?
In the alcove sat an actual coffin, ornate dark wood with silver fittings that gleamed dully in her phone’s light.
“Okay,” she said aloud to the empty cellar. “That’s very Gothic horror of you, previous owner.”
She should leave it alone. She should go back upstairs, unpack her sheet masks, and pretend she hadn’t seen it.
Instead, Luna walked closer.
The coffin was beautiful in a morbid kind of way—carved with intricate patterns, handles that looked like actual silver, hinges that despite their age appeared perfectly maintained. No dust covered it, unlike everything else in this house.
Just a peek, she told herself. Just to see if it’s empty or full of old Halloween decorations or—
She lifted the lid.
And screamed.
A man lay inside. A very handsome, very dead-looking man in clothes that belonged in a museum. His skin was pale as moonlight, his sandy blonde hair perfectly styled despite presumably being in a coffin for who-knows-how-long. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, lips that even in death—or whatever this was—looked like they’d been designed for either poetry or cruelty.
Luna slammed the lid shut, heart hammering.
Call the police. There’s a dead body. There’s a dead body in my cellar! I bought a house with a freaking dead body!
But even as panic clawed at her throat, something nagged at her. Wait a damn minute. He hadn’t looked ... decomposed. He’d looked perfect. Preserved. Gorgeously handsome. Almost like—
“No,” she told herself firmly. “No, Luna. Vampires aren’t real. You’ve been watching too many K-dramas.”
She backed toward the stairs, phone light bouncing wildly. She’d call someone. The estate agent. The police. Someone who dealt with dead gorgeous men in coffins in cellars.
Tomorrow. Yeah, she’d deal with it tomorrow.
Tonight, she desperately needed a bath—and a facial mask.
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