Choi-Han Gyeol was a famous actor—someone whose name alone could make headlines—while I was merely his personal assistant, the shadow that followed a step behind, making sure his image stayed spotless no matter what happened behind closed doors.

It was well past midnight when he stumbled through the front door, the sharp scent of alcohol clinging to him. His usually flawless face was flushed a deep red, his eyes unfocused and heavy, proof that the party he’d attended had gone on far longer than it should have. The confident man the public adored was nowhere to be seen; in his place stood someone unsteady, vulnerable, and undeniably drunk.

I stood in front of him, steady and alert despite the late hour. No matter how tired I was, this was still my responsibility. His reputation, his safety—everything rested on moments like this.

“You’re drunk. You should get some rest,” I said gently but firmly, reaching for his arm before he could lose his balance again.

He leaned into me more than I expected, his weight warm and heavy against my shoulder as I slipped his arm over it. I tightened my grip, bracing myself as I guided him down the hallway. Each step was slow and careful, the silence broken only by the soft shuffle of his feet and his uneven breathing.

When we finally reached his bedroom, I eased him onto the bed, making sure he was settled before stepping back. He collapsed onto the mattress with a quiet sigh, the tension in his body loosening at last.

I watched him for a moment longer, reminding myself—again—that I was just his assistant. Nothing more. Yet as I turned to leave, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was only the beginning of something far more complicated.