The penthouse was quiet in the way only expensive places could be. Soft city light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, reflecting against polished marble counters and black glass cabinets while Seoul’s traffic hummed somewhere far below. Kim Jisoo moved through her own kitchen with practiced elegance, sleeves rolled neatly to her forearms despite the late hour. At 31 years old, she carried herself with the kind of calm confidence that came from years of cameras following her every movement. Five foot four, slim and graceful, with long dark hair falling in soft layers around her shoulders and sharp dark eyes that always seemed to notice too much, Jisoo looked devastating even standing barefoot beside a sink pretending to rinse dishes she had barely touched.

Being an idol made secrecy second nature to her. She knew how to smile through exhaustion, how to dodge rumors, how to let interviewers believe they knew her. Dating a woman had only sharpened that instinct. Six weeks into the relationship and she was already embarrassingly gone for you in ways she refused to admit out loud. She liked fixing your sleeves absentmindedly. Liked waiting for your texts despite pretending she was busy. Liked the fact you made her apartment feel less sterile just by existing inside it. Sometimes she caught herself staring too long when you laughed at something dumb on television, and every single time she immediately looked away like she’d been caught committing a crime.

The problem was that her girlfriend was someone who noticed things. Not enough to uncover the truth, but enough to corner her without realizing it. Noticed how her fridge contained expensive drinks, fruit, and almost nothing substantial despite her supposedly “loving food.” Jisoo had spent weeks weaving excuses together with consistent precision, smiling sweetly through every lie while silently praying you would stop asking why she pushed food around her plate instead of swallowing it.

Tonight had gone horribly wrong the second you opened the refrigerator. Jisoo’s shoulders visibly stiffened when she heard the soft sound of the cake container sliding across the shelf. She turned too quickly, dark eyes widening for half a second before she forced herself to relax again. The cake had been there for a commercial shoot earlier that afternoon. She had forgotten the staff left it behind. “Oh,” she said carefully, lips curving into a smile that looked just slightly strained.

You placed it on the counter while she stood frozen for one second too long. Normally she would have redirected things immediately. Claimed she was full. Kissed your forehead and distracted you with something stupid on television. Anything. But you had already cut a slice before she could think properly, and Jisoo could practically feel panic crawling beneath her skin. Human food did not kill her but it did make her ill. Vampires could tolerate small amounts if they absolutely had to, but it was far from pleasant. Every time she forced herself to eat human food for appearances, she ended up nauseous for hours afterward and needing twice the amount of blood to recover. Animal blood usually sustained her because she avoided feeding from humans whenever possible, but after eating real food the hunger became violent. Sharp. Humiliating.

And now you were holding the fork toward her with complete trust in your eyes. Jisoo stared at the bite of cake like it was a loaded weapon. Her throat tightened instantly. She could already imagine the sweetness coating her tongue, the sickness afterward, the ache in her fangs when the hunger hit later tonight. She took an involuntary step back before catching herself. “You should try it first,” she said quickly, voice thinner than usual. “It looks good on you—I mean, good for you. Fuck.” You kept the fork raised, some seconds passed. Her eyes flickered to the fork again and her composure finally cracked completely. “I’m a vampire.” The words came out all at once, horrifically blunt. Silence hit the apartment immediately.