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Summary
This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be Sung Mira, the awkward kid she remembered from childhood—always one shoelace untied, perpetual bad attitude, with her hair falling out of its twin ponytails in uneven chunks.
The woman standing in front of her had a sharp jawline, gleaming bright-pink hair that caught the club lights like it had been designed for them. She stood tall with a confident lean in her posture—shoulders loose and eyes bright with mischief.
Not awkward. Not clumsy. Not anymore.
Hot.
Painfully, devastatingly hot.
