The next morning, Pink and I arrived at the towering skyscraper where I worked. It was one of the most iconic buildings in the city, designed to resemble a stack of glittering diamonds with its angular glass facade. The building was as luxurious as it was imposing, a fitting home for the high-profile company housed within.

Employees had three entrances to choose from: the grand main doors at the front, a discreet side entrance for those who preferred to avoid attention, and a secured underground parking area typically reserved for celebrities who came and went in tinted-window vans. My usual choice was the front entrance, but today, something felt off.

A crowd of people—mostly young women—had gathered outside, barricades holding them back from the doors. The hum of anticipation in the air was impossible to ignore, punctuated by the occasional shriek of excitement.

Pink, unusually energetic for the early hour, seemed transfixed by the scene. Normally, mornings were her mortal enemy, so her current state was raising red flags. She was practically vibrating with excitement, and it clearly wasn’t over visiting my modest studio.

“Pink, let’s use the side entrance,” I urged, tugging at her arm.

“Just wait,” she said, her tone impatient as she latched onto my arm to keep me from dragging her away.

“What’s going on?” I asked, already annoyed.

She didn’t answer, just pointed toward a sleek black van pulling up to the barricades. The second the vehicle stopped, the crowd erupted into deafening screams. Out stepped a tall, strikingly handsome man, his smirk radiating confidence. He moved with a swagger that screamed, Yes, I know I’m gorgeous, catching flowers and stuffed animals tossed at him as he waved to the crowd.

“King! King! King!” the fans chanted, and he basked in their adoration before disappearing into the building.

I groaned. “Pink, come on. I don’t have time for this.”

She shushed me, her eyes glued to the scene, and let out an excited squeal as another man exited the van. This one was just as handsome but had an entirely different energy—gentler, warmer. His wide, genuine smile lit up his face as he interacted with the crowd, signing autographs for the lucky fans near the front.

“Day! Day! Day!” the crowd roared, their enthusiasm growing.

Even I couldn’t help a faint smile at his charisma.

Then, a third man appeared, equally stunning but carrying an air of cold detachment. His face was so stoic it bordered on intimidating, his piercing gaze silencing the crowd as he strode toward Day, gently but firmly steering him toward the entrance.

A girl in the crowd let out a high-pitched scream. “Ice!” she gasped, and the crowd collectively held their breath as Ice turned, fixing her with an icy stare. The effect was immediate—a stunned silence followed by muffled squeals of joy as he disappeared inside.

“This is madness,” I muttered, shaking my head.

Pink didn’t respond, her attention locked on the van. She seemed to be waiting for something—or someone.

The next man who stepped out had an energy that made me feel like a child by comparison. He exuded authority and poise, commanding respect with every step.

“That’s the leader,” Pink whispered reverently as the crowd chanted, “God! God! God!”

I sighed in relief, thinking we were finally nearing the end of this spectacle. But then, the crowd started chanting again, this time louder and more frantic.

“Idol! Idol! Idol!”

When the next man stepped out of the van, my body went rigid, and my heart stopped.

“Pink,” I managed to stutter.

She barely glanced at me, too focused on the man. “What?”

“That’s him.”

Her head whipped toward me, her expression confused. “What?”

“That’s him!” I pointed, my hand trembling. “The guy from the storage room!”

Pink’s jaw dropped as she stared at Idol, who—despite the throng of fans—seemed to notice us standing off to the side. His eyes locked on mine, and the corner of his lips curled into a devilish smirk.

“IDOL!” Pink gasped, clutching my arm. “You made out with one of the biggest idols in the country… in a storage room… on your first day of work?!”

My face turned crimson, the heat creeping all the way to my ears. This was bad—very, very bad. My stomach churned, unsure if it was dread or something far more dangerous.

Before I could dwell on the implications, Pink’s attention shifted. She let out an ear-piercing squeal, bouncing like a child. A tall woman in a sleek black suit had stepped out of the van, exuding an effortless, commanding presence. Her short, pixie-cut hair framed her face, and her movements were graceful yet powerful.

“She’s the manager,” Pink explained breathlessly. “Milk.”

Milk’s demeanor was striking—cool, composed, and entirely self-assured. She was a perfect blend of femininity and strength, everything Pink admired in a woman. As Milk ushered Idol into the building, I could practically see Pink melting on the spot.

“Come on,” I said, taking advantage of Milk’s departure to tug Pink toward the side entrance. Finally, she relented, though she kept stealing glances over her shoulder as I dragged her inside.

The moment we checked Pink in as a visitor, she launched into a rapid-fire monologue about Idol, sharing every piece of gossip she’d ever absorbed. Apparently, the rumor mill claimed Idol was dating another artist in the company—a singer named Coco, part of a duo group with her partner Cherry.

I remembered Cherry from my first days at the studio. She had hovered around the new producers, her beauty impossible to ignore, though my initial impression of her was that her charms leaned more on looks than intellect. Pink’s endless chatter, however, came to a screeching halt as we turned into the hallway leading to my studio. I froze so abruptly that Pink stumbled into me, cursing as she regained her balance.

Leaning against my studio door, looking insufferably casual, was Idol. His devil-may-care smile turned toward us, and panic surged through me. I spun to leave, but Pink betrayed me by holding me firmly in place, even dragging me toward him.

“Nice to meet you, Idol,” she greeted sweetly, her tone dripping with implied knowledge of our first encounter. “I’ve heard SO much about you.” She shot me a sly look, ignoring my whispered pleas to let me go.

“I gather you’d like to speak with Song alone,” she added, completely selling me out. Idol’s eyes, dark and intense, bored into me as I focused on my shoes, too flustered to look up.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he replied smoothly, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Absolutely no problem,” Pink chirped, her tone suddenly syrupy. I knew that tone—she wanted something. And sure enough, she bargained, “I’ll make myself scarce if you bring Milk to my birthday party.”

My jaw dropped. She had no shame. I darted a horrified look between her and Idol, who seemed to consider her request carefully.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally agreed.

“Great!” Pink danced out of my grasp before I could grab her. Laughing, she teased, “Have fun, boys!” before skipping off to Turbo’s studio.

I stared after her, stunned and furious. My so-called best friend had abandoned me to the lion’s den. Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the studio, determined not to let Idol disrupt my work. Without meeting his gaze, I marched past him, punched in the door code, and stepped inside. His scent—familiar and maddening—washed over me as he followed, locking the door behind him.

I turned to confront him, the words forming on my tongue evaporating the moment he held up a notebook. My notebook.

“I thought I lost this!” I exclaimed, snatching it from his hands.

Idol’s voice dropped to a low, emotional murmur. “Song…” The way he said my name sent shivers down my spine. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed downward as though avoiding mine was the only thing keeping him in control.

“Idol,” I whispered back, meaning to say more—to put distance between us, to remind him of the risks—but his long finger tilted my chin upward, forcing my eyes to meet his. The gentle touch sent a bolt of electricity through me.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

The room seemed to shrink around us, his presence overwhelming. My breath hitched, and I managed a weak, “Yes,” before his lips crashed into mine. The world blurred, and every thought evaporated as I melted into the kiss. This was reckless, a terrible idea. But it felt too good to stop. I let Idol take the lead, completely letting myself go in his arms.

Later, as we sat on the couch, clothes back on, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting the first question that popped into my head. “Pink said you’re dating someone.”

Idol chuckled, his head resting lazily against the couch. “Coco? That’s just for the cameras. Makes it easier to have some freedom.”

I studied him, skeptical. Did Coco know it was fake? Or was she as clueless as everyone else? Before I could voice my doubts, Idol shifted the topic. “Who’s Pink?” he asked, the unspoken question—who is she to you?—hanging in the air.

“She’s my best friend,” I answered, smiling faintly at the memory of Pink’s antics. “She works as an assistant to a TV producer. And she’s absolutely smitten with your manager.”

Idol nodded thoughtfully, then smirked. “You’d better make sure I keep my promise to her, or she might kill me.”

“Oh, she will,” I replied, deadpan. “And I won’t save you.”

Idol’s grin widened. “I’ll keep my promise—if you promise to see me again.”

My heart skipped a beat. The rational part of me screamed that this was dangerous, but my treacherous body craved more. “Fine,” I relented. “But no one can know about this. Ever.”

“No one,” Idol agreed solemnly.

“And you’ll bring Milk to Pink’s birthday party.”

“Done,” he said with an eager nod.

I escaped to my desk, hoping the work would distract me from the chaos he brought into my life. But Idol wasn’t done. He snatched my phone from the desk before I could stop him.

“Wait, what are you—Idol!” I protested as he typed something quickly.

“Relax,” he said, handing it back. “I just texted myself. Now you have my number, and you can send me the address for the party.”

Completely disarmed, I stared at him as he flashed one last grin. “See you around, Song.”

As he left, my phone vibrated. A message from the newly added contact read: I had fun.