As I reach the DB lobby and grab a car back to set, I think about texting Lizzie. But this seems like a conversation better had in person. There has to be a way for us to get past this. But in the meantime, one thing is clear: if I’m going to make all of this work, I’m going to have to be more focused than ever. If that means calling my managers every single morning to confirm nothing “last-minute” has been added to the schedule by one of my groupmates, then that’s what I’ll do.

As soon as I get home that night, I’m ready to burrow under the covers and not come out until summer. Leah was a champ and managed to buy me a couple hours to take care of my Girls Forever rehearsal. Then, after we wrapped filming, DB called us over to the studio to do some more work on the album. They’ve been having us try out different duets, though I haven’t gotten up the courage to share my own song—the one Mina helped me recreate—with DB yet. Tonight, they had us record some classics. To be completely honest, it wasn’t a great session. I was still worked up about the drama surrounding the earlier rehearsal, and the execs kept giving us contradictory instructions—yelling at us one minute for diverting too much from the original song arrangement, then criticizing us for being boring and expected the next.

The only thought on my mind now, as I tiptoe into the villa, is thank god I did laundry yesterday. It’s definitely a fresh, cozy pajamas kind of night.

Jiyoon is already asleep when I enter the room and click on my bedside lamp.

“Rachel, is that you?” Jiyoon opens a bleary eye. “Ugh. What time is it? What are you doing?”

“It’s late,” I say gently. “Go back to sleep.”

I change into my pajamas, then gingerly open the closet door, trying to avoid the hinges squeaking, to hang up my checkered blazer, when suddenly I freeze.

My Balenciaga bag is missing.

I always leave it right there, on the upper shelf. I should be seeing a pop of beautiful blue leather right now, but instead I’m staring at a crumpled-up Moschino T-shirt I never wear, and a half-empty box of tampons. I drop down on my knees, my hands scrambling frantically over my closet floor, turning over my box of scarves and extra shoes. Where is it? I know I left it here.

I look over at Jiyoon. Her eyes are closed, but I can’t tell whether or not she’s fallen asleep again.

“Jiyoon,” I whisper. “Do you know where my bag—”