"You're never home," she said, the words cutting through the silence of their apartment. Sleek and modern, the space felt more like a showroom than a lived-in home—much like their relationship lately.

Jiyong barely looked up from his phone. Another interview. Another photoshoot. The life of G-Dragon was a machine that consumed everything—including relationships.

"I have commitments," he responded, distracted. His fingers never stopped moving, scrolling through messages, emails, schedules.

"Commitments?" She laughed. A sharp, bitter sound. "You mean your entire life is a commitment to everyone except us."

His manager had already sent three texts. A brand wanted a last-minute photoshoot. His stylist needed confirmation for an upcoming event. The BIGBANG reunion was being discussed. Potential collaborations. International tours.

"My career doesn't pause," he said flatly.

"And our relationship does?" The question hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving.

Jiyong finally looked up. Really looked at her. The frustration in her eyes was a landscape he barely recognized anymore. Her work as a music producer was demanding, but his world was an entire universe—consuming, relentless.

"I'm building something," he said. "For us. For our future."

"No," she corrected. "You're building your future. Alone."

His photoshoot was in two hours. His new album was dropping. Interviews. Promotions. Music videos. Collaborations. The endless cycle of being an idol, a brand, a cultural icon.

She watched him, seeing not her partner, but a persona. G-Dragon. The performer. The brand. The machine that never stopped, never rested, never truly connected.

"When was the last time we had a real conversation?" she asked. Not accusatory. Simply tired.

Jiyong checked his watch. Checked his phone. Checked everything except her.

The stylist texted. Urgent. The photographer was waiting.

"I have to go," he said, already moving.

She didn't respond. Didn't need to.

The silence that followed was more devastating than any argument.