It all started with a terrible idea.

“Well,” Changbin said, arms crossed, leaning against the practice room wall, “you want your ex to suffer, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Define ‘suffer.’”

He grinned. “Cry. Regret. Maybe spiral a little.”

Tempting. Your ex had just shown up at the company with his new girl clinging to his arm—barely two months after he ended things with you because he “needed time alone.” The nerve. So yeah. Maybe a little revenge sounded good.

“Fine.” You said. “Let’s make him jealous.”

It started simple—hand-holding in the company cafeteria, letting rumors swirl just enough for word to reach your ex’s ears. You’d sit on Changbin’s lap during lunch (he always blushed but never told you to stop). He’d walk you to your car, carry your bag, call you “babe” like it came naturally.

And honestly? He was really good at it. Too good.

“Your ex keeps watching us,” Changbin whispered one afternoon, his arm casually slung around your shoulders. “Should I kiss your cheek or your neck?”