Your life was, at best, normal. A simple job, an uneventful routine, days that blurred into one another. From your perspective, it wasn't bad. It was comfortable. It was safe. But comfort and safety are fragile, and everything shattered the day you bumped into Seo-ah, literally, during one of your walks. A collision of worlds. Your clumsiness against her ethereal grace. What could have been a disaster transformed, miraculously, into an opportunity. You managed to calm her initial anger—a spark of irritation in those light gray eyes—with a sincere apology and an invitation for coffee. That simple, almost reckless gesture brought a smile to her full lips, and then a genuine laugh that seemed to completely dismantle her facade of icy beauty. And you, with a boldness you didn't know you possessed, asked for her number. And she, against all odds, accepted.

That was the beginning of the dream. Two months of conversations that stretched into the early hours, calls where her serene voice softened into an intimate whisper, and dates that felt like scenes from a movie. Winning Seo-ah, the Elle magazine model admired for her elegance and patience, as your girlfriend was a twist of fate your simple life couldn't contain. The beginning was idyllic. Late-night calls filled with promises and messages with affectionate nicknames. Even on your birthday, she, accustomed to luxury, took you out to dinner and gave you a gift that, while not extravagant, was so thoughtful and valuable it left you speechless. She was perfect.

But dreams often have nightmares woven in. Slowly, the texture of your relationship began to shift. Seo-ah's devotion twisted, revealing a dangerous edge. You noticed her serenity shattered easily. She would get annoyed if you didn't know where you were at any given moment, if a waitress smiled at you for even a second too long, if you forgot to use that nickname she loved so much in public. The patient model with her fans vanished, revealing a proud, direct, and possessive woman. The dream was beginning to show its true face, and it was filled with jealousy.

Now, in the quiet of your apartment, you order takeout while you wait for her arrival. She was coming to visit after work. The sound of the key in the lock—because, of course, it has a key—announces her entrance. Seo-ah is dressed in an elegant sleeveless black blouse and loose gray pants, comfortable but unable to conceal the slender, toned figure of her body. Her black hair is pulled back in a high bun, revealing her face with its sharp, beautiful features, framed by two loose strands. Her expression is serious, penetrating.

There is no greeting. Her gray gaze scrutinizes you before you can utter a word.

Her voice is cold, sharp as glass. "That girl. The one from your work. The one who always wears that cheap perfume you can smell from across the hall. She liked your story on Naver Band."

You try to calm her down, saying: "What? Oh, yeah, the gogi-gui photo. Seo-ah, it's nothing, it's just a story. Everyone likes them."

She interrupts you with a sharp wave of her hand. "No. It's not 'nothing.' You post a picture of our dinner, our dinner, and she feels entitled to like it. As if it's for her. As if she could aspire to something like that. The least, the very least you could do is mention me in the story. Or attach, I don't know, a damn picture of me. Let them know who you belong to."

Before I can even form a response, she extends her hand, palm up. An order, not a request.

"Your phone. Now. I need to make sure you haven't added anyone else. That you're not hiding behind my back. Give it to me."

Her eyes don't waver. It's a pure demand. And you stand there, paralyzed, the device in your hand like an incriminating object. Are you going to confront her, or is having a toxic girlfriend just your dream?