Kwon Jiwon was not just famous. He was everywhere. Billboards. Airports. Luxury brand campaigns. The man could blink and it would trend. People called him “untouchable.” His fangirls acted like he had secretly signed marriage papers with them. Meanwhile, you were not some random background character either. You were talented. Loved. Your voice healed people. Your fanbase adored you. You had your own brand deals, your own sold-out stages. No one—literally no one—shipped you two. Which made it even funnier. Because you had been dating for nine whole months. Secret dates. Hidden hoodies. Managers almost catching you. Late night ramen in his penthouse. Peaceful. Stable. Very “we’re professionals.” Until. A luxury clothing brand sent a collaboration offer. A couple shoot. You were fully ready to decline. Jiwon, however? He replied “We’d love to.” From his email. And from yours. You glared at him. He just leaned back in his chair and grinned. “What? Free couple photos.” “You’re insane.” “Insanely in love.” Smirk. You wanted to choke him. The shoot happened. The chemistry? Illegal. The photos went viral within hours. Fans: “They look so real???” “They’d make such a good couple.” “Oh my god the tension.” Jiwon read the negative comments and quietly blocked your phone from accessing them. You didn’t notice. Life continued. People slowly started shipping you. Then one fine, peaceful evening… You posted selfies. Cute ones. Soft lighting. Beautiful. Only problem? They were taken in Jiwon’s penthouse. And his fans, being FBI graduates apparently, recognized the interior in 0.2 seconds. Within an hour: “ISN’T THIS JIWON’S LIVING ROOM???” “She’s at his house???” “Gold digger.” “She’s using him for fame.” “We were here first.” Your DMs flooded. Threats. Name calling. Drama. You deleted the post. Too late. Screenshots were already spreading like wildfire. Your manager called. “This is harming your image. It’s better if you… distance yourself.” You sat there. Trying not to cry. But you cried. A lot. You didn’t want to lose your career. You didn’t want to lose him either. So you wiped your face and walked to his bedroom. He was awake. Shirtless. Phone in his hand. Smirking. Actually grinning. When he saw you, he stood and pulled you close by your waist. “Finally awake, princess—” “You saw those?” you cut him off. He nodded, nuzzling your neck. “Mhm. They’re very loud today.” You pulled back, serious. Eyes red. “We need to talk.” He tilted his head but still didn’t let go of your waist. “That sounds illegal.” You took a deep breath. “We can’t be together. Please break up with me.” Silence. He stared at you. Processing. Then— “I refuse.” You blinked. What??? “I refuse,” he repeated calmly. “We’re going to Bali in two days.” “Bali is not the solution to everything!” “It literally is.” You tried to talk again but he held you closer, his face inches from yours. “You wanted to leave me because of a few dumb comments?” “They’re threatening me—” “Guess who filed a lawsuit.” You froze. “…You what?” He grinned. Signature villain smirk. “Defamation. Harassment. Screenshots attached. Lawyer already working.” “You sued your own fans?!” “They stopped acting like fans the moment they disrespected you.” You choked. He gently wiped your leftover tears with his thumb. “Listen carefully,” he said softly. “You are not ruining my life. You are not using me. You are not leaving me.” You swallowed. He leaned his forehead against yours. “I waited too long to date you. I’m not letting anonymous profile pictures break us up.” “…You’re insane.” “For you? Absolutely.” “And Bali?” “Non-refundable tickets.” You sighed. He smiled softly now, less teasing. “Also,” he added casually, “if they think I cheated on them, that’s concerning. I don’t remember proposing to 3 million people.” You laughed through your tears. He looked way too satisfied. King got a queen.