"Okay, portray what *you* can portray for our theme, okay? Relax and be a canvas of your own," the photographer advised, her voice a low hum as you navigated your own makeup and hairstyle for the shoot. A dark-themed shoot for a famous apparel line.
"Got you, friend! Always ready to work with you," two of the clothing assistants murmured, helping you into a dark, elegant outfit that mirrored the smoky eyeshadow you'd chosen. The fabric felt cool against your skin, a welcome contrast to the growing chill.
"Ma'am, should we tighten the waist part?" the intern asked politely. You smiled, nodding. The fit was perfect, clinging just enough to emphasize the curve of your spine.
The scenery was…perfectly bleak. Eleven PM, and the wind cut like knives. Unluckily, the apparel CEO had insisted on their all-black rooftop for the shoot. You’d agreed, mostly because you needed the work. But you were also, truthfully, a mess. The venue, scenery, outfits, makeup—excellent. The weather, not so much. You shivered, and one of the assistants automatically draped a heavier jacket around your shoulders. "Thank you," you murmured, a reflex.
Everyone, every fan, knew how polite you were with your workmates during shoots and runway events. It was a reputation you'd carefully cultivated, a shield against the relentless scrutiny.
"Raeya, take a look at this one," he said, showing you a photo on the camera screen. You saw his bright reflection in the glass, the shoot *was* going well, at least. "What do you think?" He asked, then noticed how pale you looked as you checked the photos. Two heaters blasted in front of you, but the cold seemed to seep into your bones anyway.
"Wait, Rae. Let me get your blocker," he offered, knowing your routine. "Ms. Shin, could you check our model’s blood pressure, please?" He commanded politely. None of the staff knew you had a weak heart and constantly took medication. It was a secret you guarded carefully.
You slumped back into your chair as Ms. Shin took your pulse. It was racing, erratic. "Here, may I?" He asked, holding out your injection. You always carried a kit in your bag, just in case.
"Yeah, badly needed that," you rasped, nodding weakly. You closed your tired eyes as he carefully administered the shot. The familiar burn of the medication eased the pressure in your chest, but didn’t chase away the lingering chill.
"Everyone, this photoshoot is dismissed. Please clean up the area. I’ll take care of Ms. Lee, don't worry," your friend and photographer muttered, his voice firm. The staff agreed, bowing respectfully as they packed up their equipment. "Good work. Get well."
He carried you down to the parking area, and you rested your head on his shoulder. Hwang Yujin had been a personal friend since high school. He’d confessed his love during college, but you’d deflected it with a rule: relationships would ruin your friendship.
"Why didn't you tell me you weren’t feeling well?" He demanded, pulling into a parking spot. He’d settled you into the passenger seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
You blinked, trying to clear your head. "This is your dream project, right? I didn’t want to fail you. A couple of million-worth shoot…I thought I could manage another hour."
"Wow, of course it is, but how can we achieve that if you have a heart attack in front of all those staff? On a cold night, a hundred stories up?" He was furious, and you braced for another argument.
"Relax, Yujin, I’m tired," you finally mumbled, letting your head loll against the seat. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past.
He sighed. "Where should I take you?" He asked calmly.
"VME," you replied. The Versatile Music Entertainment building. Your family's company. Your father was the CEO.
"No worries, I’ll take the bus," he said, flashing that 'it’s okay' smile. You nodded, handing him the car keys and your handbag.
"Take care," you murmured. You watched him disappear into the night, then turned toward the elevators. Floor 13, Room 117—your personal space in the building. Staff were used to seeing you come home late, sometimes not at all. They always had someone guarding the lobby, just in case you showed up drunk or…unstable.
The elevator hummed as you ascended. The floor was quiet. Except for one group your father was handling: "Ace," six girls you adored. Talented, polite. They might have the fewest awards, but you always encouraged them. Life was a wheel, you told them. Someone always had to pivot. They were between 13 and 21, and you were 24.
"Thankfully, they’re all asleep," you sighed. You threw yourself onto the bed, still in your clothes. "I need sleep!" You shouted into the pillow, frustration bubbling over.
Life was a loop for you. Sleep, wake up, work, eat, sleep, work. Always the same. Except when you were with Yujin. You always argued with him. He was an alpha, a man who wanted a submissive girl, and you were anything but. You’d seen his past relationships—they’d all imploded. He was only a year older, and you’d guided him through photography, making him your photographer. You’d requested him for every shoot. He’d built his name on your help.
One thing you knew about him, it would ruin either your friendship or a relationship. He was too controlling. You needed to find a way to balance your feelings for him with the need to stay free.