A woman in a wedding dress dashed through the forest, her heart pounding wildly. Branches scratched her face, and her legs stumbled under the weight of her gown. A muffled cry escaped her lips as she collapsed onto the ground.
She stayed still for a few seconds, breathless, before ripping off her heels and taking off again, barefoot. Her eyes darted through the darkness, frantic, chasing every sound.
Suddenly—a gunshot.
She froze. Her trembling hands instinctively reached for her stomach. Her breath caught when she felt the warm blood spreading between her fingers.
Her gaze emptied. She staggered, then collapsed onto the cold ground. Her eyes slowly closed, her fists unclenching… as she let go.
— "Cut! Cut!" a man's voice shouted.
The woman in the wedding dress collapsed onto the floor, still gasping, her fingers pressed tight against her stomach. She stayed motionless, then slowly lifted her head. With a discreet motion, she pushed her hair back into place.
A man stepped forward, a wide smile on his face.
— "Perfect, Yuri-ssi! What a performance… It really felt like you were dying. Truly outstanding work, bravo."
The staff burst into applause, proud smiles lighting up their faces.
Han Yuri slowly removed her veil and handed it to the director, without responding to his praise.
Han Yuri
— "I have an interview in an hour," she said calmly. "If we're finished, I'll take my leave."
Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heels and walked toward her dressing room. An hour later, washed clean of the fake blood and dressed in an elegant gown that stood in sharp contrast to her previous attire…
Interview Room – MNK Broadcasting Studio
Host (with an enthusiastic, warm tone):
"…and tonight, we have the great honor of welcoming one of the most talented and admired actresses of her generation, the shining star of Love in the City… Han Yuri! Welcome!"
The audience erupted in applause as Han Yuri stepped onto the stage.
Smiling, she raised her hand in greeting, bowed politely, then walked gracefully toward the young host. Once beside her, she bowed again before turning to face the audience, her flawless smile still in place.
Han Yuri (bowing slightly, with a perfect smile):
"Thank you so much for having me. It's a pleasure to be here."
The two women sat across from each other. The host, still smiling, adjusted her stack of question cards with practiced ease.
Host:
"So, Yuri-ssi, there's been a lot of buzz about your next project with the famous director Kim Min-ho… Could you share a little with us?"
Yuri opened her mouth to answer, her tone calm and measured, but her smile suddenly froze. Her gaze, meant to stay fixed on the host, was drawn instead to a commotion backstage.
An assistant rushed toward the show's director, phone in hand. He whispered something in his ear. The director's neutral expression stiffened instantly. His eyes slowly, inevitably, shifted toward Yuri—stunned.
Then the sound technician glanced down at his own phone. His eyes widened. He nudged the cameraman beside him, showing him the screen. Another quick glance was cast in Yuri's direction.
A strange silence began to creep over the set.
Yuri's brows knitted slightly, unsettled by the stares. Even the host had noticed the shift, but she forced her smile to remain and pressed on.
Host (with a forced warmth):
"Yuri-ssi?"
Han Yuri (softly, her voice tinged with tension):
"Yes…"
The host doubled down on her smile, her professional tone serving as a shield.
Host:
"It seems our actress is a little distracted… Perhaps it's jet lag? I heard you just landed today and jumped straight into filming."
She added a few lighthearted remarks, sprinkling in jokes to ease the mood. But the unease lingered, heavy and unspoken.
Yuri quickly regained her composure. Her gaze returned to the host, and, as if nothing had happened, she carried on with the interview, her flawless smile back in place.
Thirty minutes later
As soon as the cameras shut off, her smile vanished.
The host thanked her one last time, but the program wasn't over just yet—there was still a round of promotional photos to be taken. Sitting side by side, they allowed the makeup artists to retouch their faces.
From the corner of her eye, Yuri caught two staff members leaning in close, whispering. Their eyes flicked toward her, sharp with unease. She couldn't make out the words, but the look alone sent a chill down her spine.
Abruptly, she rose to her feet, startling the makeup artist who stepped back awkwardly. Ignoring the stares and worried questions from her own staff, Yuri strode quickly away. She slipped into the studio restroom and locked the door behind her.
With trembling fingers, Yuri pulled out her phone. The screen lit up—dozens of notifications, messages from her agent, her father… and ten missed calls from Kim Min Hee.
Her heart pounded as she dialed the number.
Kim Min Hee (voice trembling, worried):
"Yuri! Finally! Did you see the article? It's everywhere. On every platform!"
Han Yuri (sighing, exasperated):
"What article? Let me guess… Another dating rumor with Lee Jae Hyun?"
Kim Min Hee (hesitant):
"No… it's… much worse."
(A silence fell, heavy, suffocating.)
"An anonymous post just went live. It says that… that you killed someone."
Han Yuri (frozen, voice breaking as she snapped):
"What…?! What did you just say?!"
A glacial silence filled the line. Yuri's breath caught, her world tilting under her feet. She clutched desperately at the sink, as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Kim Min Hee (slipping into her agent's tone, though still panicked):
"For now… cancel everything. Take the next flight to Seoul. We'll talk once you're here."
The call ended.
Yuri remained motionless, staring at her pale, terrified reflection in the mirror. Her trembling hand still gripped the sink. Seconds dragged on, thick and suffocating.
Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her breath steadied, her shoulders squared, as if she were reclaiming control.
Han Yuri (to herself, staring at her reflection, fixing her hair):
"It's nothing. It'll blow over.
I'm Han Yuri. There's no way a mere rumor can destroy me.
I've worked too hard to get here."
She paced the restroom, her hands clenched tight. Then, with more force, almost like a vow:
Han Yuri:
"No. Absolutely not.
I'll do whatever it takes to protect what I've built."
Incheon Airport — Arrival Hall
Fifteen hours later
The moment the automatic doors slid open, a storm of flashes erupted.
Paparazzi surged toward Yuri, microphones thrust forward, nearly shoving aside the passersby.
— "Han Yuri-ssi, have you seen the accusations?!"
— "Is it true you were involved in an accident?!"
— "Any comment on the murder rumor?!"
Wearing dark sunglasses and a frozen expression, Yuri didn't answer. The sharp click of her heels echoed with each fast step. Two bodyguards flanked her, doing their best to carve out a path.
The flashes kept bursting, every step feeling heavier than the last. Yuri gripped the strap of her bag tighter, her gaze locked straight ahead as if nothing could touch her.
Without a word, she pushed through the exit, leaving behind the chaos of voices and blinding lights.
She moved quickly through the crowd, her bodyguards struggling to shield her from the relentless press.
The barrage of voices followed:
— "Yuri-ssi, is it true?!"
— "Any comment on the scandal?!"
Ignoring them, she finally slipped into the waiting black van. The door slammed shut, cutting off the frenzy outside. She collapsed against the backseat, her chest still heaving from the forced march.
The van eased forward. Yuri pulled out her phone, scrolling through online articles and the endless stream of vicious comments… when suddenly, the device buzzed in her hand.
Private number.
Her finger hovered over the screen. After a brief hesitation, she answered.
Han Yuri
"…Hello?"
Silence. Only the faint sound of breathing on the other end.
She frowned.
"Hello? I can hear you. Say something."
Nothing. Just that suffocating breath. Irritation rose in her voice.
Han Yuri
"Listen, I don't have time for this. If you need someone to talk to, call a psychiatrist."
She was about to hang up when a muffled chuckle slipped through. Her blood ran cold. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear.
And then—distorted, metallic, impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman—came the whisper:
> "I know what you did, Han Yuri…"
To be continued