“…What?”
“Director Choi Jin-hyuk’s next script was sent to me, too. Once I wrap up this tight schedule, I plan to meet him in person for a more in-depth discussion. Of course, I’ll also ask what role you landed… and what you had to give in return.”
Lee Ji-gyeong was so stunned, he stood there with his mouth open, unable to speak. His face, already pale from exhaustion, lost the last of its color, turning ghostly white. Yoon Do-yeong narrowed his eyes slightly. His gleaming brown irises shimmered under the streetlight, their clarity making them appear almost translucent. As Ji-gyeong trembled, goosebumps rippled down his arms from the unreadable depths in Do-yeong’s gaze. Watching his reaction, Do-yeong dealt the final blow.
“You didn’t seriously not know there are security cameras in the hallways of cheap motels, did you?”
“You… fucking bastard.”
Enraged, Ji-gyeong stepped forward and glared at him with blazing eyes.
“You’ve been digging into my past?”
“I don’t need to. Any journalist with a story involving me sends it straight to me first, no matter what it takes. There’s only one reason—they want money to pull the story or bury my name.”
With his head slightly bowed, Do-yeong glanced up, eyes cast in shadow beyond the streetlamp. The darkness swallowed his expression, making him look even more sinister. His voice dropped to a chilling low.
“Of course, I’ve never paid. But lucky me, the video of you and me on the beach hit over a million views.”
Ji-gyeong’s pupils shook violently. Do-yeong leaned in and whispered,
“What do you think would happen if I started paying a million won for each piece of your private life?”
That number made Ji-gyeong’s scalp crawl. Journalists would come crawling out of the woodwork just for that payout. His every move would be exposed to Do-yeong in vivid detail. The more he imagined it, the more his neck prickled with creeping dread. As Ji-gyeong stared at him, unable to mask his horror, Do-yeong tilted his head slightly and flashed a bright, almost innocent smile, as if he’d never said anything threatening.
“So just don’t go near Hyeon again. I’m not looking to be his friend—or his almost something.”
“Trying to get rid of his actual lover too?”
With a soft smile, Do-yeong took a step closer, leaned into Ji-gyeong’s ear, and whispered,
“Even I can’t erase people. But I can make them break up.”
His voice was serene, his eyes half-lidded in a gentle curve.
“To Hyeon, I’m a guy full of vulnerabilities. It makes you want to take care of me. He even holds my hand when we walk on hiking trails in case I trip. And when I lie down with my head in his lap, he strokes my hair. He’s never done that with you, has he?”
“You bragging?”
“Yeah. You’re the only one I can talk to about this.”
Ji-gyeong shook with disbelief, his hands trembling.
“Hyeon’s really interested in my underwear. He even asked about when I get hard—”
“You son of a bitch!!”
Unable to hold back, Ji-gyeong lunged and grabbed Do-yeong by the collar. His face twisted in fury, but Do-yeong didn’t flinch. Calm as ever, he subtly gestured left and right with his eyes.
“Ji-gyeong. I warned you before—our behavior in public is never truly private.”
At his words, Ji-gyeong glanced behind him. Sure enough, passersby were staring, some already lifting their phones to film.
“Up there, too.”
When he looked up, he saw people on a building’s stairwell, phones raised, recording them. Ji-gyeong dropped his hand from Do-yeong’s collar.
“You know how I deal with malicious, baseless rumors, right?”
“……”
“But this isn’t a rumor—it’s fact. So I won’t be doing anything about it. Even if videos of you grabbing me by the collar make it to the news, I won’t request takedowns.”
Adjusting his clothes casually, Do-yeong continued in a relaxed tone.
“Funny thing—people loved that beach video of us. I get the feeling this one will get a lot of deliciously nasty comments. Hopefully, it blows up right when your drama airs.”
Ji-gyeong pressed his hand to his forehead and took a deep breath. He paced in small, agitated steps, then gave a short stomp.
“If you promise never to go near Hyeon again, I’ll shake your hand.”
“Haa…”
“Wanna hug too?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Yeah. I can’t stand the thought either.”
With a flash of menace in his eyes, Do-yeong barely lifted the corner of his mouth as he spoke.
“Smile.”
“……”
“People are filming us.”
His voice softened as he squinted his eyes sweetly.
“Smile for the camera.”
Unable to do anything else, Ji-gyeong extended his hand. Do-yeong gave it a light tap and smiled brightly. Ji-gyeong forced a sheepish laugh, glancing away as if embarrassed.
“Not a terrible actor, Ji-gyeong.”
“Fuck off and die.”
“Watch your mouth. Habits are scary. Honestly, you’d be way better off if you just stopped doing everything I tell you not to.”
Do-yeong waved lightly and walked to the driver’s seat. Ji-gyeong stepped up to the open passenger-side window and started,
“If you ever try to—”
The window rolled up mid-sentence. The car pulled away, leaving Ji-gyeong muttering,
“You bastard…”
Still trembling with rage, he could feel the eyes—and cameras—of people still recording him.
“Haa… Why the fuck are they filming?”
Muttering, he dropped to the ground and buried his face in his hands like a tragic victim, letting out a guttural, grief-stricken groan. He stayed like that just long enough for people to get their footage, then wiped his eyes and headed for the subway.
***
Flashes erupted from every direction, making it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. His ears rang with the roar of hundreds of people calling his name. Foreign languages echoed all around. Picking out the meaning, Yoon Do-yeong smiled, then moved as directed by Chief Choi and the event staff.
At the luxury fashion show venue, he took his seat—marked with his name—and greeted those around him. Models, actors, and industry folks. Even that brief interaction triggered a frenzy of camera flashes.
Until the show began, he maintained a polished, professional smile. Once it started, he wore a mask of curiosity, watching the runway with feigned interest. When it was over, he skipped the afterparty and went straight to his hotel room. The moment the door clicked shut, he kicked off his shoes—barely—and threw himself onto the bed, tapping open a cable TV app on his phone.
“There it is.”
His voice was light, his eyes gleaming. He stared intently at the screen, waiting for Kang Hyeon to appear in the drama. Just then, a call came in from his mother. He hit the reject button and called out to Chief Choi, who was relaxing on the sofa.
“Let’s say I’m still busy with work, please.”
No sooner had he said it than a familiar sports car showed up on screen. His eyes lit up, and he started taking screenshots like mad. When Kang Hyeon appeared with that adorable eye smile, Do-yeong focused all his captures on that scene. The moment the drama ended, he logged into social media. He changed his profile picture to Kang Hyeon, then uploaded the best screenshots in order.
“Hmmm…”
He added the drama title and character name as hashtags, then began typing a caption:
—So cute. Wish he were my little brother.♡
Reply
Do-yeong chuckled at his own post but frowned at the wording, then hit backspace.
—So cute. Wish he were my boyfriend.♡
Reply
As soon as he hit send, a wave of shyness washed over him. He rolled around on the bed, squealing softly—until a message alert pinged. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, but the sender was his mother, and his mood deflated instantly. He opened the message, then lay there, limp and unresponsive. Chief Choi, now loosening his tie nearby, approached.
“What’s wrong? Feeling sick?”
“My mind is sick.”
At the word mind, Chief Choi stared at him.
There was nothing particularly difficult about the day. All he had to do was follow the planned route, show his face to the cameras, exchange polite greetings, sparkle his eyes, and stay quiet.
In fact, he usually found interviews and press conferences far more exhausting. When thrown an unexpected question by the host, he tended to respond stiffly and formally out of fear of slipping up—earning him a reputation for being cold or insincere. But this fashion show had been overseas, requiring only minimal small talk. It should’ve been easy. And yet, Do-yeong was clearly on edge.
“What’s the problem?”
“They want me to go on a blind date.”
“Then go.”
Chief Choi responded nonchalantly, handing him a glass of cold water. Do-yeong sighed and took it.
“I’m trying to find a good way to say no. Telling me to go just makes it harder.”
“Just meet them, then say you’re not interested.”
“That’s the problem—it feels like the beginning of something.”
“You mean, they’ll keep pushing?”
“Yeah.”
Do-yeong downed the water and flopped back onto the bed. Twenty-nine, an only son. He had no plans to inherit the family business. His career was already established, and everyone accepted that. A professional CEO ran the company. All Do-yeong had to do was remain a major shareholder. But marriage was a separate matter entirely.
“What if I told them I want to stay single forever? Would that shock them?”
“You still need to date.”
Do-yeong turned toward Chief Choi, sensing something odd in his tone.
“Before rumors or articles about your orientation start flying, throw them a light scandal.”
“……”
“Get a female friend or something.”
“…Should I be scared of you, Chief?”
