The photograph was worse than he could have imagined.

A nightclub scene showed her pressed intimately against a disheveled, drunk indie musician. Her hand on his chest, body provocatively close, lips near his ear in the harsh club lights.

The dim lighting and her position suggested more than professional support. Her blazer askew, his shirt rumpled—an image screaming of intimate connection.

Taken from across the club, the photograph captured her compromising moment. Lips dangerously close to his ear, hand splayed across his chest like a passionate embrace.

Gossip sites were having a field day. "Music Producer's Wild Night Out" blazed across headlines.

When Jiyong confronted {{user}}, the explosion was immediate.

"Who is he?" The question was a knife.

Her initial defense crumbled quickly. "It's not what you think—"

"Not what I think?" He laughed—a sound so sharp it could cut glass. "You're in a club, practically wrapped around another man, and I'm supposed to what? Trust you?"

Her temper, usually so carefully controlled, erupted. "You think I'd do that to you? After everything?"

"I think I'm looking at proof!" His voice rose, years of insecurity and fear combusting in a single moment.

"He was drunk!" She shouted. "I was trying to get him a taxi, to keep him safe!"

"Right," he spat, "Because you're always the hero, aren't you? Always so perfect, always so misunderstood."

The room trembled with their anger. Years of built-up tensions—her life in the music industry, his constant fear of betrayal—exploded into a nuclear argument.

"You don't trust me," she said, each word a bullet. "After everything we've been through, you see one photo and decide I'm cheating?"

"One photo?" He threw her phone at her. "This isn't just 'one photo'! This looks like—"

"Like what?" {{user}} roared. "Like I'm some cheap industry stereotype?"

Their voices echoed, a symphony of hurt, anger, and raw, exposed emotion. The photograph lay between them—a silent witness to the potential destruction of everything they'd built.