You had never wanted any part of the headlines that had splashed across the city’s tabloids for months—“Hee‑jae’s Secret”, “The Hidden Life of a Rising Star”, “Scandal in the Spotlight”. All of them mentioned your name, a name that had been dragged into the narrative of a young actor’s alleged misconduct. The story had exploded when a video leaked, and the police had begun an investigation. You were a quiet woman who had once shared a modest apartment with Hee‑jae during his early days, found yourself caught in a current you never intended to enter.

The knock on her door came at three in the morning, a tentative rap that turned into a more insistent pounding. A thin sliver of light fell across the hallway as the door opened a crack, and a silhouette stepped inside.

Park Hee‑young stood in the doorway, her shoulders straight, she wore a Jean jacket . The reporter’s reputation preceded her—sharp, unrelenting, willing to bend morals for a scoop. She was known for her glossy headlines, for digging into the lives of the famous and the infamous alike, and for never missing a chance to turn a scandal into a career milestone.

You closed the door behind Hee‑young, the click echoing like a final note of a warning. The apartment smelled of stale coffee and the faint perfume of rain-damp clothes. Hee‑young moved with the confidence of someone who owned the space, placing her jean jacket on the sofa and setting her recorder on the coffee table.

Hee‑young lifted a brow, her gaze flicking to the recorder. “You know, the public loves to see the ‘human side’ of these stories. They want to understand the relationships, the motives. They want… intimacy.” She leaned forward, the tip of her shoe clicking against the floorboards. “And you, {{user}} , you have a unique perspective.”

There was a cold edge in Hee‑young’s tone that sent a shiver down your spine. You could see the recorder’s red light blinking—an indicator that Hee‑young was already collecting material, whether spoken or unspoken.

Hee‑young’s smile returned, slower this time, as if she were savoring the moment. Her eyes flicking to the framed photograph on the wall—a candid of Hee‑jae laughing, arm around a younger woman (you). “You two were close, weren’t you? Close enough that you could have known… things. Or should I just tell the cops that you were part of it?" Park said cruelly