It hissed open, and in stepped Cha Yu-ri, Miss Korea runner-up, face of Lotus Silk Cosmetics, and Seoul's walking embodiment of elegance. She wore emerald Mugler, heels that whispered confidence, and a perfume sharp enough to demand attention.
"Seo Jun," she said with a poised smile. "Flew in from Tokyo just to see you."
She leaned in for a kiss, but he turned slightly, offering a shoulder, not his cheek.
She pulled back, expression momentarily tight.
Yu-ri slid into the seat beside him. Crossed her legs. Unclasped her white clutch..
"I've heard rumors," she said, tone dipped in artificial sweetness. "Rumors you've fallen for a campus mouse."
Seo Jun didn't look up.
"Is it true?" she pressed, her voice sharpening. "Are you really seeing that girl?"
The last word left her lips like it tasted wrong.
Seo Jun finally met her gaze.
"Mind your business."
Silence rippled across the table.
Yu-ri's jaw tensed. She leaned closer, voice low and laced with threat. "You know this will ruin your image, right? She's nobody."
He didn't blink.
"Exactly," he said. "She's not trying to be somebody. That's the difference between her and everyone else in this room."
Yu-ri blinked, momentarily stunned.
Without a word, Min-jae reached over and handed Seo Jun a bottle of water. The timing was so precise, so dryly perfect, that Jin-sook coughed to hide a laugh.
Seo Jun cracked the seal and took a long sip.
Yoon-woo cleared his throat, pretending nothing had happened.
"Anyway," he said briskly, flipping the page of the schedule, "your next two weeks are booked to capacity. Zero room for distractions."
Seo Jun nodded, but his gaze had already drifted.
Back to yesterday.
Ha-eun, hair tucked behind one ear. The way she'd smiled, not because she was supposed to, but because she meant it. The way she'd said, I liked it, to the visit to his grandmother's place.
Not I like you. Not yet.
But close enough.
———
The meeting had ended, but the aftertaste lingered like bitter coffee.
Seo Jun stood alone in the recording studio, jaw tight, eyes locked on the glass pane dividing him from the sound booth. Behind it, his producer, Kang Seung-hwan, adjusted levels with quiet precision, the sound waves glowing like heartbeat lines on the console.
The track playing was one they'd started days ago, but today, it felt heavier. Weighted.
Maybe it was the chords.
Maybe it was her name in his head.
Ha-eun.
She'd listened to this song when it was just a rough demo. No polish, no production.
And she'd listened like it was gold.
Like it was him.
Yoon-woo and Jin-sook had already left, but Min-jae lingered, arms folded, watching a muted interview loop on his tablet. The subtitle crawling across the screen made Seo Jun's chest tighten:
BREAKING: Award-Winning Actress Han Ji-won Confirms She's Still in a Relationship with Seo Jun.
Seo Jun stared at the screen, then slowly turned to Min-jae.
"What the hell is that?"
Min-jae barely looked up. "You should watch."
Seo Jun stepped closer, the sound of his heartbeat suddenly louder than the music.
Onscreen, Han Ji-won, perfect bone structure, wrapped in a lavender blazer dress, smiled serenely at a talk show host.
"She didn't tell me she was going on," Seo Jun muttered.
The host, caught between curiosity and discomfort, asked, "There've been photos, Seo Jun with someone who definitely isn't you. Thoughts?"
Ji-won laughed, airy and unbothered. "I haven't seen them. I've been too busy reading scripts. Booking real jobs."
The audience chuckled.
"So," the host pressed, "are you still together?"
Ji-won tilted her head. "A woman doesn't reveal all her secrets. But I will say this, Seo Jun and I never broke up."
Seo Jun blinked.
What?
She continued, smile sugared and sharp. "And if he's wasting time on some random campus girl, he's got more time than I thought."
The clip ended. Silence followed.
Seo Jun exhaled, slow and sharp. "We were never together."
"I know," Min-jae said.
"She's been pushing this fake story since debut."
"I know."
"The agency told me to play along. Said it made me look desirable. But now—"
Min-jae's gaze didn't waver. "Now, she doesn't want to lose the brand deal that is you."
Seo Jun scoffed. "She can keep dreaming."
From behind the glass, Seung-hwan pressed play. Music filled the room, layered harmonies, a pulsing beat, vocals tinged with something raw.
It was beautiful.
Haunting.
Honest.
"This..." Seung-hwan said through the mic, "...this might be the one. There's soul in it."
Seo Jun didn't answer right away.
He just listened.
The lyrics were everything he hadn't said. Emotions he'd swallowed during photo shoots and meetings, now stitched into melody.
Finally, he said quietly, "Let's master this version first."
Seung-hwan gave a thumbs-up.
Then Min-jae's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it and groaned. "You're trending. Again."
Seo Jun raised a brow. "Now what?"
Min-jae held up the screen.
#SeoJunGirlfriend
#MysteryGirlShoes
A photo, grainy but unmistakable, of Ha-eun's shoes. Her worn-out campus sneakers.
The comments poured beneath:
"My grandma has better shoes."
"Is he blind?"
"I'd cry if my oppa ever looked at her."
"Those shoes scream discount bin."
Seo Jun stared.
It wasn't just the mockery.
It was the absurdity.
She'd never asked for this. Never even wanted him at first. She'd looked at him like noise.
Maybe that's why he'd fallen.
Because in her eyes, he wasn't a headline.
He was just a boy trying to breathe.
His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "She didn't deserve that."
Min-jae looked at him. "So what are you going to do?"
Seo Jun didn't answer.
He picked up his phone. Logged into his private account.
Searched K.J. Seoul, the boutique that styled him for Milan.
He filtered by size. Ha-eun's size.
Chose three pairs.
Then five.
Then eight.
Beige, navy, soft black. Every pair quiet-soled. Comfortable. Beautiful.
Shoes she could wear without apologizing.
He added a note for the courier:
Leave at the door. No press. No receipt. Just the shoes.
He hit send.
——-
Ha-eun's Apartment
She opened the door and stopped short.
Nine boxes. No logo. No name. No noise.
A single note tucked into the ribbon of the largest box.
She unfolded it carefully.
Because you don't need to fit in to be seen.
Her breath caught.
Inside, shoes. Designer. Elegant. Soft.
Silent.
Behind her, Rina peeked around the corner. "Did Cinderella just get a personal stylist?"
Ha-eun blinked fast. "I think... he saw the comments."
Rina held up a pair of matte white loafers. "These are worth more than our tuition."