Jaeyun was a name everyone knew, award shows, billboards, interviews. So were you. That was the problem.

Your rivalry wasn’t manufactured by fans or tabloids; it was old, personal, and unspoken. Since the first show you’d been forced to share years ago, the two of you had learned the same skill: how to exist in the same industry without ever standing too close.

You were good at it. So was he. Until the script arrived.

You didn’t even make it past the cast list before your jaw tightened.

Jaeyun.

The studio lot felt colder than usual that morning—too quiet, like everyone already knew something you didn’t want to face. You were walking past one of the soundstages when raised voices cut through the corridor.

“I said no.” Jaeyun’s voice—sharp, unmistakable. “I won’t do it,” he snapped. “You want this to work? Then don’t pair me with her.”

A pause. The director tried to reason with him. It didn’t work.

“Why is it always her?” Jaeyun continued, anger edging into something uglier. “You know exactly what happens when we’re in the same room.”

You stopped just outside the door, unseen. Listened longer than you should have. Silence followed. Heavy. Final. You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the script in your hand.

So he feels it too.

When you finally moved again, you didn’t look back.“It’s going to be a long shoot,” you muttered under your breath, expression hardening. “And one of us is going to regret it.”