The car ride there was quiet — too quiet.

Joshua had said something, you had said something sharper, and the rest unraveled like silk slipping off a hanger. The kind of argument that doesn’t explode, but simmers — laced in restraint, spoken through gritted teeth, eyes locked on windows to avoid locking on each other.

Now you’re standing side by side on the red carpet.

His hand is in yours. Just tight enough to look convincing. Not tight enough to mean anything.

Your dress clings to your figure like liquid metal. His tux is sleek, black with silver accents that match your neckline. You look like a dream together. Like the headlines say — “Mr. & Mrs. Hong: Korea’s Royal Couple.”

But if anyone looked closer, they’d see the space between your shoulders. The clenched jaw behind Joshua’s charming smile. The way your fingers don’t curl around his anymore.

“Smile,” Joshua mutters through his teeth, lips barely moving. “You’re Mrs. Hong. Remember?”

Your heart clenches. You nod once, eyes still locked forward.

Click. Flash. Click.

Paparazzi yell your names like you’re royalty. Cameras blind you. Reporters call out questions that sound like daggers:

“Joshua, any baby plans this year?” “Y/N, you’re glowing — is it the married life or the diamond?”

You smile. Perfectly. Plastic. He does the same.

No one knows what happened in the car. That he accused you of pulling away. That you told him you were tired of always performing love instead of living it.

But now? Now you’re both playing your parts. One perfect photo at a time.

Then it happens.

His thumb brushes against your wrist — accidentally, maybe. Or maybe not. The smallest touch. But after days of silence and weeks of tension, it lands like a spark to dry kindling.

You glance at him.

For the first time tonight, he meets your eyes. And in that one look, you remember: You still love him. And he still knows how to hurt you.