Day 3 - Last day of Shoot
Y/N's POV:
Finally.
It's been 3 days of chaos, long nights, retakes, attitude, and—ugh—him. But still, I can't lie… I feel kinda sentimental.
Also… I heard there's a kissing scene today.
Heheheh.
Okay, okay—don't judge me! It's not like I want to be kissed or something. I'm just… curious.
I mean, watching it live? Way more thrilling than watching it on screen later with the dramatic music and perfect angles.
Real lips. Real reactions.
Let's see how Mr. Devil Boss handles that.
I smirked to myself as I fixed the headset and grabbed the clipboard. This is gonna be fun.
And just as I was giggling to myself like an undercover fangirl—
THUD.
A light smack landed on the back of my head.
"Hehh??" I blurted, rubbing the spot dramatically. "that's actual assault, you know!"
I spun around, ready to throw a playful insult—
But there he was.
Rabin.
Shades on, smug expression locked in place like always, looking too cool for 9 a.m.
"What are you murmuring about?" he asked with that usual drawl. "People will think my assistant is going crazy day by day."
I blinked at him. Then grinned.
"Oh don't worry," I said sweetly, "they already know I'm crazy. For agreeing to work with you."
SCENE 15 : TAKE 2
Indoor
"Lights, camera… roll!"
"Action!!"
The set fell into silence. Every eye turned to the two figures under the soft golden lighting, tension building with every word.
The co-actress stepped forward, tears welling in her eyes—real or acted, hard to tell.
"Please… don't leave me," she pleaded, her voice cracking as she clutched Rabin's wrist tightly.
The camera zoomed in.
Rabin's jaw clenched, eyes dark with the kind of pain only betrayal brings. Then—
He jerked his arm free.
"What's the point of trusting you now?!" he roared. "You cheated on me!! You CHEATED!!"
His voice echoed across the set, the rawness in it so real that even the staff paused their breaths.
Behind the camera, Y/N stood frozen, clipboard pressed to her chest, completely still.
She knew it was acting.
She knew it was just a scene.
But something in Rabin's voice…
It didn't feel fake at all.
But I love you for real…" the co-actress whispered, her voice trembling as tears rolled down her cheek.
Then, without giving him a second to respond, she gripped his collar, pulled him down—
And kissed him.
Soft at first… then deeper, lingering just long enough to blur the line between acting and something else.
Y/N's fingers stiffened around her clipboard.
Her heart?
Yeah, that skipped.
The kiss ended.
He pulled away—both breathless.
"I'm sorry…."
He turned and walked off the frame.
A beat of silence.
The director called, "Cut! Perfect take!"
Applause followed.
But Y/N didn't clap.
She couldn't.
Something in her chest twisted—not from jealousy, no. Of course not.
She was just… surprised.
That's all.
Right?
Y/n POV
I don't know what I feel.
The moment that scene ended—something shifted. Not on the set.
In me.
Now, hours later, I'm stuck behind the monitor, pretending to be busy. Avoiding his eyes like they're made of fire.
Every time he walks past, I look the other way. Every time he talks to someone, I act like I didn't even hear.
I can feel it. The way his voice lowers when I'm near, the way his glance lingers half a second too long.
But I just… can't look at him.
I hurried into his dressing room, determined to finish packing up his things before he got back.
The faster I move, the less chance of… awkward eye contact. Or conversation. Or breathing the same air.
I stuffed his cologne, his script, his charger—basically anything Rabin-related—into his luggage like it owed me money.
Almost done. Just zip the bag and leave like a ghost—
Click.
The door opened.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, frozen mid-zip.
And of course—there he was.
Rabin stood in the doorway, one brow arched behind his shades, arms crossed, as if he'd been expecting this drama.
"Well well," he said, casually stepping in. "Running away with my stuff? You planning to sell them online?"
I avoided his eyes. "I was just… packing."
"Mm-hmm."
He walked closer. Slowly. Too slowly.
The silence stretched.
Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe in this room? Why does his presence feel louder than his voice?
I clutched the bag tighter, head still down.
"I'll just leave this here," I mumbled, brushing past him, but—
His hand gently caught my wrist. Not rough. Not demanding. Just… stopping me.
"Y/N."One word.
Low. Calm. Heavy.
I finally looked up.
And regretted it instantly.
Author's POV:
Y/N blinked rapidly, flustered and fidgety, like a cat caught in the rain.
"Huh?? What do you want…? Oh! Your sipper? It's in my bag—wait, I'll get it," she said quickly, already reaching in.
But before her hand could dive into the depths of the bag, Rabin stepped closer and gently stopped her, his fingers brushing her wrist.
"Why are you so jumpy today?" he asked, voice soft but loaded with curiosity.
Y/N laughed—loud, awkward, and very not normal.
"Me!!?? No way! Haha—this is just my… usual… speed," she said, sounding anything but convincing.
He didn't speak. Just stared. That quiet, unreadable Rabin-stare that saw too much and said too little.
Clearing her throat, Y/N yanked her hand free, forcing a bright smile. "Okay, I'll just wait for you outside. I can drive today!"
Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and practically bolted out the door—leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and a thousand unspoken things in the air.
Rabin watched her leave.
No smirk…No witty comeback.
Just silence.
And a small exhale, like she had left with something heavier than his sipper.
Rabin grabbed his jacket from the chair, slung it over his shoulder, picked up the luggage, and took the car key off the table. His expression unreadable, he walked out without hurry—but with purpose.
When he reached the parking lot, she was already there, standing beside the car, hands stretched out expectantly.
"Key," she said simply, still avoiding his eyes.
But he didn't hand it over.
Instead, he opened the passenger door and jerked his chin toward it.
"Go to the passenger side."
Y/N blinked. "Huh? No—what? You're sick. You should rest while I drive."
Rabin looked at her, silent for a second, like he was trying to figure out which part of her brain wasn't working.
"I'm not dying. It was a fever," he said flatly.
Y/N crossed her arms. "Still. Doctors say rest. No arguing."
"I'm not arguing," he replied calmly. Then added, with that maddening calm voice,
"I'm driving."
She narrowed her eyes.
He narrowed his less, because of course, he always wins in silence.
Defeated and scowling, she stomped to the passenger seat and slid in with a huff.
As he got in and started the engine, a small smirk crept on Rabin's face.
She didn't notice.
The city was quiet, the streets dipped in shadows and streetlights as the clock struck 12:30 a.m.
They finally pulled up in front of Rabin's apartment—silent the entire ride, except for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from Y/N.
She was the first to step out, not bothering to wait.
She pulled the luggage from the trunk with a grunt, determined to act normal—whatever normal meant at this point.
Rabin followed behind her, keys in hand.
He opened the front door, flipped the switch—warm lights spilled into the space, chasing away the late-night stillness.
Y/N walked in like she owned the place—well, like she used to when things weren't… whatever they were now.
She dragged the luggage to his room, placed it near the closet, dusted off her hands, and turned to him.
"I'll arrange your outfit tomorrow," she said quickly, barely glancing up. "Just keep it there."
Rabin leaned against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, watching her with unreadable eyes.
"I'm going back now," she added, brushing past him.
But before she could fully escape, his voice came—low, quiet, enough to stop her in her tracks.
Rabin, still leaning against the doorframe, tilted his head slightly, voice calm but certain.
"I'm going to work on a script… and I don't want to be alone while working. So wait for me. I'll send you back when I'm done."
Y/N turned slowly, raising a brow.
"Really??!! Are you that hardworking?" she asked, folding her arms and giving him the most dramatic look of disbelief she could muster.
Without missing a beat, he shrugged with that infuriating confidence.
"Remember—" he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips, "I'm a global icon."
Y/N rolled her eyes so hard they nearly stayed there.
"Ohhh right, how could I forget? Mr. Global Icon who throws his script in the corner when he's sleepy," she muttered under her breath.
He pretended not to hear that.. But chose to keep the grin to himself.
And just like that, instead of going home, Y/N kicked off her shoes, flopped onto his couch with a dramatic sigh, and mumbled,
"Fine. But I'm not staying past 2 a.m. Even global icons have to respect assistant sleep laws."
Rabin chuckled softly, already pulling out his script, his presence no longer heavy—
Rabin's POV:
It's already way past midnight.
I glance at the clock—12:48 a.m.
She's pacing around, pretending to be in a rush to leave, but I know her. That awkward energy isn't about being late. She's been acting strange i feel it but idk why
But right now? I just don't want her to leave.
Not because of anything —don't get it twisted. It's just… it's late, and this city isn't always kind to women walking alone. Anything can happen. Drunks. Creeps. Worse.
But if I say that…
If I say, "Stay, it's not safe," she'll think I'm trying to be all hero or some romantic lead.
Or worse, she'll smirk and throw some sarcastic "Aww, you care?" line.
So instead… I said I'm working.
And I don't want to work alone.
That doesn't sound clingy, right? Just… logical.
I told her I'd send her back when I'm done.
She looked shocked. Like me—the Rabin Angeles—is some overworked genius now.
Then she threw that sarcastic "Mr. Global Icon" line, and I almost smiled.
She stayed.
Kicked off her shoes like she's done it a hundred times. Like this place isn't mine anymore…Like it's ours.
And now here I am—script in hand, eyes on the page, but my focus keeps drifting.
Not to the script.
To her.
Lying there. Soft breathing. Occasionally glancing at me and pretending she's not.
When I finally looked up from the script—well, pretending to look at it—
there she was.
Asleep.
Head tilted slightly, arms curled into herself, breathing soft and even.
The usual fire in her was gone, just peaceful stillness now.
No sass. No sarcasm. Just… her.
I let out a quiet sigh and placed the script aside. I wasn't reading it anyway. I was just waiting—for her to stay, for the silence to settle, for this exact moment.
Slowly, I stood up and grabbed the blanket from the side.
I walked over and gently laid it over her, careful not to wake her. She shifted a little, a soft murmur escaping her lips, but didn't wake.
I stared for a second longer than I should have.She looked so… small like that. So far from the storm she always pretends to be.
I reached for the light switch, hesitated, and then dimmed the lights instead of turning them off.
Just enough to let her sleep.
I left the living room after a while.
Figured she'd be fine.
I showered—just to clear my head. The water didn't help.
Came out with a towel on my shoulder and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. My body was tired, but my mind wasn't done running laps.
That's when I heard it—
a soft sound. Almost too soft.
A whimper.
I stopped in my tracks, glass halfway to my lips.
I turned my head toward the couch.
She was there, still lying the same way.
But her face—
Her brows were furrowed tightly, her lips trembling.
Her hands clenched the blanket as if she were holding on for her life.
"Please…" she mumbled in her sleep, voice cracking.
"Lemme go… please…"
I immediately placed the glass down and walked toward her.
Kneeling beside the couch, I gently reached out and held her hand.
"Y/N…" I whispered.
She didn't wake. Just twitched, like she was sinking deeper into something dark.
I squeezed her hand softly, brushing her damp bangs from her forehead.
What is this?
Nightmares?
Again?
Are you having nightmares every single night and not telling anyone…?
How long have you been carrying this weight around while arguing with me about the stupidest things?
I stayed there for a while, holding her hand.
Just in case she needed someone to keep her grounded—even in her dreams.
Y/N's POV:
The sun crept in through the curtains, soft and golden, brushing against my face.
I blinked, squinting at the ceiling.
This wasn't my room.
I sat up slowly, my body still wrapped in a warm blanket—and that's when it hit me.
This isn't even a normal room.
High ceiling. Dark wood panels. Minimalist but expensive furniture.
It was too clean, too cold, too… him.
I rubbed my eyes, glancing around.
Right—Rabin's apartment.
The last thing I remembered was pretending to be chill about his "don't leave, I'm working on a script"
I must've fallen asleep on his couch.
But why do I feel like I slept so heavily…?
I glanced down at the blanket again.
Neatly tucked.
As I stood there in the quiet of his apartment, with the soft blanket still around my shoulders… a strange feeling crept in.
Warmth….Safety….Closeness…
But it wasn't supposed to feel like that.
I'm not supposed to feel like that.
I came here for a reason.
A mission.!! A promise I made to myself the day I was left shattered and forgotten—four years ago.
Four damn years.
He probably doesn't even remember what he did to me. But I do…How should i forget .. that face and the name …
That was supposed to be the fuel.
My drive…The reason I applied to be his assistant. The reason I put up with all his arrogance, his mood swings, his stupid perfect face—
But now?
Now I'm standing in his apartment…
Wrapped in the blanket he probably placed over me.
Feeling protected.
Cared for.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Why do I feel closer to him… when I should be working on how to destroy him?
Why do I feel his presence even when he's not in the room?
This wasn't part of the plan.
This was never part of the plan.
I didn't even bother folding the blanket back.
My heart was thudding too loud. My thoughts—messy. Confused. Dangerous.
I grabbed my bag, shoved my feet into my shoes—no time to fix the laces—and rushed toward the door like I was being chased.
The apartment was dead quiet.
No sign of him.
He didn't even wake up yet.
Good.
I didn't want to face him. Not like this. Not with my head full of warmth and revenge twisting into knots inside my chest.
I stepped out of the apartment, the cool morning air hitting my skin like a slap.
The sun was barely up.
The world felt too calm for what was going on inside me.
I should feel powerful for walking away first.
But instead?
I felt like the one escaping.
Like a coward.
Because if I stayed even a second longer… I didn't trust myself to remember why I ever wanted to hurt him in the first place.
The moment I stepped into my own apartment, I locked the door behind me like I was locking out something dangerous.
Something with messy hair, tired eyes, and a stupidly soft voice that asked me to stay last night.
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag on the floor, and flopped face-first onto my bed. I didn't even change.
Didn't even move.
I just wanted to shut off my brain.
Forget everything.
But the second I closed my eyes—
That scene.
That damn scene.
"You cheated on me!!"
His voice. So raw. So angry.
I could still feel the weight of his presence on set.
Her fingers curling into his collar… pulling him down…
And then—
That kiss.
God, why did it feel so real?
I wasn't even in the scene.
I was just watching…
But the way he kissed her back—even if it was just acting—it played in my head like it meant something more.
And worse?
Worse than all that?
I hated how my chest tightened.
How I wanted to look away but couldn't.
How something bitter and cold and stupidly jealous twisted inside me.
I rolled over on my back, groaning into a pillow.
Why do I care?
I came for revenge. Not for heartbreak part two.
What the hell is happening to me?
Y/N's POV:
It's only been two weeks.
Fourteen days.
That's it.
That's all.
And yet… here I am.
Staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to this chaos inside my head.
Why am I attracted to him?
We argued almost every day.
He's arrogant.
He's moody.
He's childish to the point of making me want to scream.
But then…
He gets sick and suddenly turns soft.
He says "wait for me" like it means something more.
He puts a blanket over me when I'm asleep—like he's been watching.
Like he cares.
He makes me angry, yes.
But not angry enough to walk away.
Not angry enough to forget the way his voice softens when no one's around.
Not angry enough to stop wondering if the person he shows to the world is just a mask he's tired of wearing.
And that's the problem, isn't it?
I came into his life to break him.
To expose the truth about the person who shattered me.
But the more time I spend around him…
The harder it becomes to tell if I'm getting closer to his truth—
or if I'm slowly rewriting mine.
Because the worst part?
When he smiles for real—
even just for a second—
I forget why I ever wanted to destroy him.
I sat up slowly, running a hand through my tangled hair.
I need to pull myself together.
This isn't me..I don't get swayed this easily.
Not by soft gestures..Not by warm blankets, Not by a damn kiss that didn't even involve me. I took a deep breath and looked around my apartment. My space. My rules.
Away from him.
"I need to recuperate myself," I muttered under my breath.
Because this—whatever this is—isn't healthy.I came with a clear goal. A purpose I clung to for years.I can't let two weeks of mixed signals and fleeting moments crumble everything I've built inside me.
I need space, Distance, Reality.
He's still the man who ruined me.
No matter how many gentle looks or sick-day blankets he gives me.No matter how good he looks when he's not pretending.
I have to remember why I came.