Lost In Seoul – My Summer In Seoul Read Online Rachel Van Dyken

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Contemporary, Forbidden Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
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From #1 New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken comes a standalone new adult romance set in the competitive world of K-pop. A meet cute is supposed to be cute.
Ours was sexy. Chaotic. Not normal. Less than 10 minutes after we met, I realized we could never be. She was forbidden to me. She held my hand behind his back.
I gripped hers, knowing it was wrong. I was on the cusp of superstardom—and still I held her fingertips because it felt right.
Knowing that when it all went wrong, we would be done—the media would destroy us.
After all, not only was she was four years older than me, she was the leader of SWT's sister—my best friend—and someone who could wreck everything we'd worked for. But I still held on. I'm lost. So lost.
I'm the youngest in the group, the one everyone sees as the most innocent .
But they don't know the stolen moments with her.
The kisses.
The touching.
They don't know any of that. So I keep acting as if I’m pure as the driven snow when really all it took was one chance meeting.
To make.
Me.
Sin. Hi, I'm Sookie, Maknae of SWT, the most famous K-pop group in the world.
And I'm pretty sure I'm not just lost… nah, I'm about to fall.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Sookie

Two years ago

I’m in my school uniform, and it’s the day of my graduation.

It’s itchy, uncomfortably small, and it feels all sorts of wrong, like I shouldn’t be in it. I know everyone is staring at me and judging in the way only a know-it-all teenager can do. Can I blame them? No. I know this isn’t my best look. I wish I had the latest uniform and at least fit in with my peers in that one way, but my parents couldn’t afford to get me the new one from last year and my back up one ripped because I grew too fast—welcome to manhood.

So life is a little shitty right now because they all know what my world looks like. They know I’m a trainee with a brand-new label that prides itself on finding and locking down talent while making sure they debut with only four dollars a day to spend on food, and worse, doing school homework and dance practice until five a.m.

This wouldn’t be so bad if the odds were in my favor.

But no, the music label I signed with is still small and there’s quite a good chance that I’m about to debut at a label that is about to go under. And everyone knows it. Half the student body pities me, while the others are in awe of me for even trying to manage school while chasing my dream to become a singer.

Yesterday I had notes stuck to my locker saying that I was an idiot and a failure and had no talent.

No talent.

After everything I’ve gone through.

Nothing.

I should be used to it now.

I am. I tell myself I am.

I’m used to it now.

But it doesn’t mean it hurts any less or that I’m skipping through a field throwing flowers everywhere saying it’s going to be a great day when it’s not.

The guys hate me because the girls like me, and the girls only like me because they’re banking on my potential fame. None of them have even heard me sing, or watched me dance, they just see my face.

And think—him, that guy.

There’s so many secrets I have to hide.

My natural instincts to hook up.

My label made the decision that as the youngest in the group, I had to sign a contract to be the most innocent and pure idol.

Can I cuss? No.

I don’t even know the words. Lies.

Can I have sex? Nah.

Sex is a word I shouldn’t even know exists. That’s hilarious.

To make things even shittier, I’m required to look sexy, manly and innocent all at the same time—I just have to pretend to not know I’m accidentally exuding that energy—and these orders were given from a “good label,” one that actually wants to protect me.

Be good, but not too good.

Be bad, but not too scandalous.

Be talented, but don’t boast about it.

The worst part? And, yes, it does get worse…

The number of times my mom has approached me asking if I think I should take the exam for college, or suggesting I look into becoming a plumber. She’s subtle, my mom…

I don’t have a problem with either of those things, but…

I was born on a piano, and I was born to be on a stage. Look, I get it. My mom is worried about her son. She’s not intentionally trying to be a dream killer; she’s just trying to temper my expectations and not so subtly tell me that this could all go to shit. She’s always been concerned about my career choice. Even when I was little, she would tell me that I had talent, but she didn’t know if I was good enough—like she needed to make sure I understood how hard this would be so I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

I hated hearing it, but she’s my mom, and she’s supposed to worry.

So woopty-fucking-do.

I’ve been trying, pushing, climbing… but I’m exhausted, I’ll never admit it out loud, but I’m wiped and it has nothing to do with my graduation today.

I’m in actual hell and the only thing I want… the only thing I’ve ever wanted—is to sing.

That’s all.

That’s my biggest dream.

So here I am on the day of my graduation among a sea of students who know exactly where they’re going and what they’re doing in their life. Everything is guaranteed for them, whereas I’m taking the biggest risk ever.

Damn.

I can feel my nerves make their way up my spine. Disintegrating into a coldness that pushes down my body.

I wish my parents were here, but they can’t afford to take off work, so instead I have Rae attending. He’s the leader of our group and he’s one of my best friends.

The other guys wanted to come but were stuck in rehearsals and were threatened that they’d lose all of their stipend for food if they left. The label wants us to release our first album in the next six months, along with our first MV, the music is done, the choreography is nearly flawless and they still say it’s not good enough.


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