The city glittered beneath her like a restless beast, all neon and headlights, all secrets and sin. From the backseat of her manager's black van, Soojin pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching Seoul blur past. Billboards flashed her own face—perfect smile, flawless skin, eyes like diamonds—but she couldn't stand to look at them tonight.
Every poster felt like a mirror reflecting the lie she lived.
When the van pulled up in front of her official residence, she smiled sweetly at her driver and waved. "Thank you. Good night."
The second the van turned the corner, Soojin ducked into the waiting taxi idling on the side street. Her pulse quickened, heart racing with a thrill that was part fear, part longing. She pulled her hood low, oversized sunglasses covering half her face though it was past midnight.
"Mapo-gu. Riverside apartments," she whispered.
The driver grunted and pulled away, and Soojin's chest tightened. Her manager thought she was home. Her fans thought she was celebrating at some exclusive afterparty. The world thought Han Soojin, Korea's reigning queen of cinema, was untouchable.
But she wasn't untouchable. Not tonight.
Tonight she was just a woman desperate to see her husband.
---
By the time the taxi eased to a stop in front of Jae Kang's penthouse, her palms were slick with sweat. The building stood like a shadowed monolith, its glass panels reflecting only fragments of the city lights. To anyone else, it looked like just another fortress of the rich and powerful. To her, it was sanctuary.
Soojin tugged her mask higher, hurried through the lobby, and offered the night guard a small bow. He barely looked at her; he'd seen plenty of glamorous women disappear into the elevators of celebrities.
The ride up was endless, the low hum of the elevator drowning out the thud of her heartbeat. Every second stretched tight, threatening to snap. What if paparazzi followed? What if someone recognized her? What if—
The doors slid open.
She exhaled, relief flooding her as the hallway stretched quiet and empty.
Three knocks, quick and practiced, on the door at the far end. A pause. Then the lock clicked open.
Jae Kang stood there, barefoot, hair a tousled mess, black T-shirt clinging to his chest. Not the polished star the world adored—just him. Her Jae.
The second the door shut behind her, she sagged against him. The tension in her body unraveled all at once as his arms wrapped around her, steady and warm.
"You made it," he murmured, lips brushing the crown of her head.
Her throat tightened. "Of course I did."
---
Inside, the penthouse was dim, lit only by the low glow of a lamp near the sofa. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with something uniquely his—clean soap, warm skin. She kicked off her heels and padded across the hardwood floor, shedding the armor of Han Soojin, the star, with every step.
He followed, watching her peel off the oversized hoodie, the mask, the sunglasses. Layer by layer, she shed the world until it was only the two of them, naked not in body but in truth.
"You look exhausted," he said softly, fingers brushing her cheek.
She laughed, though the sound cracked. "You should see the other guy."
He raised an eyebrow.
"By 'other guy' I mean the trophy I had to lug around all night," she teased, sinking onto the sofa. "It's heavier than it looks."
Jae chuckled and sat beside her, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch. Casual—except his hand found hers and held on tightly, as if anchoring her to the only reality that mattered.
For a long moment, they just sat there, listening to the faint hum of the city outside. No cameras. No managers. No fans. Just them.
---
"You were incredible tonight," he said finally. His voice carried no hint of envy, only pride. "When you thanked 'those who remind me to stay human'… was that for me?"
Her lips curved faintly. "Who else could it have been?"
His hand squeezed hers. She turned her face toward him, their eyes locking. For a moment, the air shifted. The tension between them thickened, not the public kind that fueled tabloids, but something deeper—raw, fragile, unspoken.
She leaned in, and his lips met hers halfway.
The kiss was tender at first, a sigh of relief, a balm for the exhaustion carved into her bones. But then his fingers slid into her hair, and her body melted against his, hunger sharpening the edges of their embrace. She clung to him, desperate, as if trying to pour two years of secrecy into this single stolen moment.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, her forehead rested against his.
"Sometimes I hate this," she whispered.
"Hate what?"
"This hiding. These lies. Pretending like you're just… a colleague." Her voice trembled. "Sometimes I want to scream it. That you're mine. That we're married. That I don't care what anyone thinks."
His eyes softened, though his jaw clenched. "And then what? The agencies drop us? Fans turn on us? Your career ends before it reaches its peak?"
She hated how calm he sounded. How logical.
"Maybe love is worth more than careers," she said bitterly.
His thumb brushed her lips, silencing her before the anger could sharpen further. "Maybe. But if the world knows, they'll try to destroy it. Destroy us. Keeping this secret… it's the only way I can protect you."
The words struck deep, carving silence between them.
She wanted to argue. To say she was strong enough, brave enough, reckless enough to face whatever storm awaited. But the truth was, she wasn't sure. She had built her life on the fragile foundation of public adoration. What would remain if that collapsed?
So she only nodded, swallowing the ache in her throat.
---
They ended up in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he reheated leftover ramen.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, watching the pot simmer. "I didn't come here to fight."
"You didn't fight," he said, glancing back at her with that crooked half-smile that always undid her. "You just reminded me how lucky I am that you'd risk sneaking into my penthouse at one in the morning."
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You make it sound romantic. Really, it's just stupid."
"Maybe both."
He handed her a bowl, steam curling into the air. They ate in silence, the mundane act grounding them in a way fame never could. To anyone else, ramen at midnight was ordinary. To them, it was everything.
---
After, she curled into his chest on the sofa, her hair spilling across his shirt. He stroked her arm absentmindedly, gaze fixed on nothing.
"Do you ever wonder," she asked softly, "what it would be like if we were just… normal?"
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though it carried no humor. "Every day."
"No flashing cameras. No headlines. Just… you and me."
He pressed a kiss to her hair. "In another life, maybe."
She closed her eyes, imagining it: mornings without disguises, dinners without fear, love without the constant shadow of discovery. For a fleeting moment, she let herself believe it was possible.
But then his voice cut through the silence, low and steady.
"No one can ever know, Soojin."
Her chest tightened.
"I know."
The words felt like a chain locking around her throat. She forced herself to smile anyway, because what else could she do? This was the life they had chosen. The perfect lie they had built together.
And yet, as she drifted into uneasy sleep against his chest, one thought haunted her:
Every secret eventually unravels.