Everyone wanted to be her.

Or wanted her.

Chen Jennie walked into a room like she was the universe’s favorite child, heels clicking dramatically against marble like she was auditioning for a role in a superhero movie. Her smirk? Oh, it was like she knew a secret that could blow up the world, but she'd never tell you.

And you? Well, you were definitely not immune to her vibe.

You liked to pretend you were. You’d roll your eyes every time someone lost their mind over Jennie’s effortless cool, but deep down, you knew the truth— you noticed everything. The way she always smelled like money (and maybe a touch of expensive perfume), the way she laughed like she’d just won the lottery of life, and how she could make someone feel like they were the only person in the room—without even trying.

And tonight? For reasons you still couldn’t comprehend, that glance was locked on you.

“Didn’t take you for the party type,” Jennie said, sliding into the seat next to you at the rooftop bar like she owned it. Again.

You, who were so not the party type, took a sip of your drink like it had all the answers. “Didn’t take you for the ‘talking to me’ type,” you shot back, desperately trying to hide the fact you were internally panicking.

It was ridiculous how easily Jennie got under your skin.

One touch that wasn’t even that touchy, one teasing smirk that shouldn’t be that smirky, and suddenly, you were thinking about her more than was probably healthy. But Jennie? She didn’t chase. No need. She was the kind of person who had people tripping over themselves for a sliver of her attention.

And yet, she kept coming back to you.