It happened last summer—on one particular evening in August that ultimately turned out to be quite unforgettable in more ways than one.

Hyo Rin was looking forward to dinner that night. She was excited; she had not gone out to celebrate something in quite a long time. So as soon as she received the invite from the manager-slash-agency CEO of her client—a young idol named Sonya Lee—two days prior, she rummaged through her closet for something to wear. She was aiming for no less than a classy black number—as she should, given that the venue was a Michelin-starred restaurant located somewhere in the posh alleys of Gangnam-gu.

But alas, nothing in her wardrobe felt right. Even those that seemed decent enough made her appear either younger or older than she intended to project herself as.

Luckily, her roommate Yoon Ha Nee came to her rescue and loaned her a satin wraparound dress that complemented her prized Manolo Blahnik nude Mary Jane pumps—her first and only luxury, bought in a rare instance of her shamelessly indulging in retail therapy.

She even styled her hair in a low chignon and put some makeup on—which turned out to be a good call since the place was indeed frequented by ladies and gentlemen wearing their Sunday best.

Except, maybe, for the celebrity she was ghost-writing for.

Sonya Lee had a style as eccentric as the tunes she was singing and dancing to. She entered the reserved room in the mezzanine with a flair—wearing a neon pink cropped top and faded baggy jeans that barely clung onto her tiny waist. Her bleached hair had lilac highlights, and she gathered it in Dutch pigtail braids that hung on each side of her neck. This emphasized her quirky, youthful vibe that somehow fitted her physique. She was like a vivacious forest pixie whose height was half-a-foot shorter than Hyo Rin’s 5'3"—the very definition of petite. And even so, she walked tall with a certain charisma that dwarfed everyone else in her presence.

It was the first time Hyo Rin saw her client in person. Since day one, she was only corresponding with the idol’s staff about the nitty-gritties of her tasks—which made perfect sense because if Sonya Lee could actually be bothered with any of the strategies in place to manage her public image, then her services would not be required at all.

That was why it was fascinating to know that apparently, the nineteen-year-old superstar was diligently monitoring the contents being created on her behalf.

“I loved the one you posted on the eve of White Day,” Sonya told her after they all went in for a toast. “Did you write it yourself, Kwon Hyo Rin-ssi?”

“I did,” she confirmed with a grateful smile. “I am glad you liked it.”

The young lady then stared at a distance, her brows furrowing as though she was lost in serious thought.

“The poem spoke of a hunger for love. And of a desperation to share the love one keeps deep within,” she recalled shortly afterwards. “It’s such a bittersweet sentiment glossed over by the fanfare of the occasion.”

“I hope it is a sentiment you do not empathize with—or no longer do,” Hyo Rin said before she hid behind her glass. “There are already too many lonely hearts out there.”

Sonya let out a breathy laugh, then threw a sly glance at the woman on her left, “If that’s the case, Park daepyonim would not be thrilled.”

“How come?”

“Oh, she thinks I’m still a baby.”

CEO Park cleared her throat right before the sentence was over. And her uneasiness elicited a snort from Sonya.

From where she sat, Hyo Rin caught the boss—whose expression had always been inscrutable up until then—glaring at her ward, her lips pouting in annoyance. It seemed that she mouthed something like ‘Ya! Do you want to die?’ or ‘Have you lost your mind?’. But her seemingly-empty threats merely fueled the amusement of the other.

That exchange was a thing between siblings—biologically or not. And somehow, despite joining in on the laughter, Hyo Rin found herself badly wishing that she was having dinner at home instead.

“That post has the least number of interactions among the recent ones. And still, it has generated the most substantial comments,” CEO Park pointed out later on, effectively steering them back to the topic. “We hope to see more of that in the future, Kwon Hyo Rin-ssi.”

Hyo Rin bowed her head and said, “Trust that I will continue to do my best, daepyonim.”

“Oh—and you will be the one writing the spiels for my live stream scheduled two weeks from now, right?” Sonya inquired.

“Yes, Sonya Lee-ssi,” Hyo Rin confirmed for her. “Your team already discussed the concept with me last week.”

“Please copy me in your email when you send it. I want to review the script first and familiarize myself with it. I think that would make the delivery sound more natural.”

“I definitely will as soon as I finish the first draft.”

“Now…” the CEO called the waiter to pour them another glass of Merlot. “There is another project we have in the pipeline. And for the purpose of keeping the style, the tone, and the quality consistent, we would like to offer it to you…”

•••

“An autobiography,” Hyo Rin shared the good news to one of her closest childhood friends as she sat in the backseat of a cab on her way home.

It was already past nine. Usually, Bae Dal Rae would not be available to talk on the phone for more than five minutes. However, in an odd stroke of luck, it seemed that Hyo Rin’s timing was good because the former’s kids—a seven year-old girl and a three year-old boy—were already fast asleep.

“That sounds like ‘commitment’ to me,” Dal Rae mused. “Are they planning to make you a permanent part of their PR team or what?”

“Not really. It remains to be a one-time gig.”

“Oh… bummer. For how long are you going to work on it?”

“The goal is to write ten chapters in three to five months—minus the editing and proofreading of the manuscript,” Hyo Rin told her. “And the book isn’t complicated to write, they said. They instructed me to only cover the subject’s teenage years—not her entire life.”

“Ahhh… What about the pay?” Dal Rae segued. “Is it worth it?”

“I guess so. I checked with other freelancers I know, and they are in agreement that the rate I am being offered is competitive by recent standards. Come to think of it, the money I will be earning from this project is enough to sustain my living expenses for the duration of the contract.”

“Ooooh. Enough to slack off a bit?”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save up for grad school.”

“That’s awesome, Hyo Rin-ah!”

“Right? And they said that they will be giving me a flat fee which will be paid in three installments.”

“That’s even better! Have you accepted it?”

“Not yet. I intend to give them a call tomorrow, though.”

“Omooo…” Dal Rae gushed over the phone—elated. “I am curious, but don’t tell me the identity of the person you are writing for. I will recognize your style when I read the first chapter anyway.”

Hyo Rin chuckled, then said, “I won’t—even if you begged. There’s such a thing as a ‘confidentiality clause’ stated in the contract, Dal Rae-ah. But let’s see if you…”

A sharp ache in her abdomen that came out of nowhere caused her to trail off. And Dal Rae probably heard the groan she stifled because she asked her at once if she was alright.

“I’m good. Just… just a little stomach cramp,” she answered between deep breaths. “Perhaps it’s because I ate a lot today.”

•••

Or not.

Because by the time Hyo Rin arrived at the villa she was renting in Sinchon-dong, she was already sweating buckets from the intensifying pain in her tummy.

Tough luck, their room was on the third floor and there were no elevators—only stairs. So when her roommate opened the door, she swore that her knees were dangerously close to giving up.

“Omo! What happened to you?” Ha Nee gasped the instant she saw her. “You’re as white as a sheet!”

With whatever strength remained in her limbs, Hyo Rin stepped inside their unit and spent one grueling minute taking off her shoes. Then, she headed towards the small living room with much difficulty, so much so that she had to grab onto random surfaces to keep herself upright. But when she was barely a couple of feet away from the couch, she felt her belly tightening again, making her double over in pain.

Thankfully, a pair of arms caught her by the elbows before she crashed face-first on the floor.

“Kwon Hyo Rin-ssi?” she heard someone calling her.

And it was a voice that was worryingly familiar.

“Ya! Hyo Rin eonnie, are you okay?” Ha Nee sounded anxious as she rushed to her side.

Hyo Rin shook her head frantically as if she was trying to exorcise her inner demons or something, then stuttered, “I t-think… I ate s-something… bad.”

“At the restaurant?”

“I… I don’t know. B-before that?”

“Okay, okay. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

Hyo Rin meant to beg her for a pill for abdominal spasms. And yet, all that came out of her throat was an agonized moan. By then, the situation was getting so much worse—to a point wherein she could feel as though the seafood marinara she enjoyed earlier was threatening to stage a comeback in her mouth.

That was her cue to change her mind.

“Y-yes. Hospital… p-please,” she bit back a sob. “Now.”

“Oh god—hang in there, alright?” Ha Nee said before turning to the third person in the room.

The man who helped her stand up moments earlier. The stranger whose name she compelled herself to forget.

“Can you book a cab, Ho Jun oppa?”

Kang Ho Jun.

Judging by the way the room fell eerily silent immediately afterwards, Hyo Rin must have uttered those three syllables aloud.

Then again, the quietude was not enough confirmation for her; she had to see his face to prove that she was right.

And—much to her dismay—she was.

A cussword escaped her upon realizing who was right there in the apartment with her and Ha Nee—which was rather uncharacteristic of her. She heard her housemate gasp—shocked at the unprecedented change in her behavior. Somehow, she was grateful to have her current circumstances as an excuse to spit the curse out.

Even though it took a lot from her, Hyo Rin willed herself to pull her arms out of his grasp. She stepped back a bit—enough to put a safe distance between her and the other two people in the room.

And there he was: Kang Ho Jun, her ex-boyfriend from college and one-time fiancé… in the flesh.

The last time they talked to each other was five years ago, when they met at a coffee shop weeks after their fallout. And her final memory of him was when he accepted the engagement ring she returned without giving him any explanations—or hanging around long enough to hear any of his.

“W-what… what are…” she stammered through the persistent pain in her gut. “W-what are you doing here?”

When he did not answer, Ha Nee was the one who did.

“Ah! Eonnie, this is the guy I was telling you about—the one I was supposed to introduce to you next week. He was in the area so he thought of dropping by,” she explained, albeit a little reluctantly. “Do you… know each other?”

Despite the urge to speak, Hyo Rin pursed her lips together. And she was not sure if it was because of her adamant refusal to discuss their history with Ha Nee—not just yet—or the shortened periods of relief which were already getting fewer and farther between.

Regardless, she was not able to stop herself from grunting the word ‘shit’.

Well-aware of how painful it must be based on those few instances in the past that he was beside her when she was sick, Ho Jun mustered courage to insist, “Please, Hyo Rin-ssi. Stop being stubborn and allow us to take you to the hospital.”

“Aish—I’m fine!” she snapped before attempting to take the first step to move past him. “I can… I c-can go there by my—”

It was a shame that Hyo Rin did not get to finish what she was about to say because the situation abruptly got out of control in the second that followed.

And at that moment—in one of her life’s most unspeakable infamies—she witnessed as she retched up right in front of her ex that projectile vomiting was not something that was only possible in horror movies.