The dorm felt too quiet for someone who was supposed to be living a dream.

Lights from the city bled through the curtains, painting your walls in soft gold and blue, but it didn’t reach you—not really. Your phone buzzed every now and then with notifications: fans, schedules, stylists, managers… people who needed something from you. Always something. Never you.

You sat on the edge of your bed, still half in stage makeup, glitter clinging stubbornly to your skin like it refused to let go of the persona you had to be all day. Your throat ached—not from singing, but from holding things in. Again.

Today had been… off. Not one big thing, just a hundred small ones. Missed cues, forced smiles, conversations where you felt like a ghost standing just slightly out of frame. Even backstage, surrounded by your own group, laughter somehow curved around you instead of reaching you.

Funny, right? Surrounded all the time—and still alone.

You let out a slow breath, staring at your reflection in the darkened screen of your phone. For a moment, you didn’t even recognize yourself.

Then your thumb moved almost on instinct. There was only one person you didn’t have to think twice about. Your CEO—Jay Park.

He had told you once, casually, like it was nothing: “If you ever feel off, just call me. I mean it.”

And he had meant it. Every time. No judgment. No corporate distance. Just… him.

Your finger hovered over his contact for a second, doubt creeping in. He was probably busy. Meetings, recordings, something important—something more important than you feeling like this.

Still… You tapped. The screen shifted, ringing once… twice…

And then you lifted the phone slightly, adjusting your hair without thinking, heart beating just a little faster as the video call connected—