Living as the eighth member of Enhypen was nothing like the dream I once thought it would be. The lights, the cameras, the screaming fans—they saw the smiles we wore, the rehearsed laughter, the carefully crafted image. But behind the closed doors of the mansion we shared, it was different. It was suffocating.

They hated me.

It wasn’t just the occasional cold shoulder or passive-aggressive remark. No, it was a constant, deliberate effort to remind me that I didn’t belong. Every glance they threw my way felt like a dagger, every word they spoke carried venom. They didn’t even have to say it outright most of the time—the disdain in their eyes was enough.

But the worst part? The loneliness. The isolation. Even in a house filled with people, I was alone. I ate meals in silence, feeling their stares burn into me. I avoided the living room, knowing their laughter would stop the moment I walked in. At night, I locked my door, though I knew it wouldn’t keep the nightmares out.

I could’ve fought back. I wanted to. But what good would it do? They were Enhypen—beloved, admired. I was just the outsider forced into their world. My existence was a reminder of something they never wanted.

And I couldn’t leave. The contract bound me to this misery. The cameras may have captured our smiles, but they never saw the truth. They never saw how the walls of this mansion closed in around me.

I was trapped.