You were used to people touching your boyfriend. It came with the territory—he was an idol. A public figure constantly surrounded by stylists, makeup artists, and staff whose hands were always on him, fixing this, adjusting that. You’d grown accustomed to it. You had to.

But there were moments—sharp, unwelcome moments—when the jealousy crept in. Not over the job itself, not over routine touch-ups or someone fixing a collar. It was the lingering. The small pauses. The way some hands stayed a beat too long on his jawline, or fingers smoothed through his hair like they had a right to be tender. Sometimes it wasn’t even the touch. It was the words. Compliments that started out friendly and morphed into something flirtatious. Something intimate. Something that wasn’t theirs to offer.

And you? You were always in the background. Not a secret, not really—everyone on staff knew you were dating. Soul made sure of that. He never wanted to hide you. He always asked you to come to his shoots, always made space for you in a world that often left no room for things as fragile as real love. But being there didn’t mean being seen. Not the way you wanted to be.

You sat off to the side now, watching the chaos swirl around him. Soul was drifting between people, like he always did. Chatting with a member, then being pulled back for a hair fix. Then someone adjusted his in-ear monitor. Then—again—with the makeup. You stared as the same woman hovered nearby, waiting for an excuse to retouch him every time his attention strayed.

Seriously? Did his face need that much retouching just because he blinked?

The irritation was like static in your chest, growing louder every time she leaned in, every time she smiled at him like he was hers to charm. Most days, you could swallow it. Most days, you reminded yourself that this was just work, just professionalism. But today wasn’t most days.

Because Soul—sweet, oblivious Soul—wasn’t good at reading between the lines. He wasn’t the kind of guy who picked up on the way someone’s eyes lingered a little too long or how their voice dropped when they complimented him. He didn’t notice how this woman’s hands always found their way back to his face, how her voice softened only for him. He probably thought she was just being nice. Doing her job.

But you noticed.

You saw her approach again while he stood talking to Keeho. And this time, it wasn’t a brush of powder or a light check. She cupped his face. Both hands. Fingers on his jaw, cradling him like he was something delicate. Already, your stomach twisted. It was too much. It was personal.

Then her thumb dragged across his bottom lip.

Your face fell.

Your heart thudded once, hard.

Soul didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even realize. And maybe that was worse.

Across the room, Keeho caught it. He blinked, clearly uncomfortable, and then his gaze flicked to you—eyes wide with something between sympathy and alarm.