Flashes erupted from all sides as Jaeon stepped onto the red carpet. He gave his usual soft smile—polite, reserved, but dazzling nonetheless. Tonight’s outfit was sharp: a deep black suit embroidered with silver stars, reminiscent of a midnight sky. The custom-made moon-shaped brooch at his collar was a nod to his latest single “Orbit”, and fans screamed his name as he slowly walked past the ropes, stopping at a line of reporters holding mics and cameras.

At first, the questions were manageable. “JAEON, over here! How does it feel being nominated for Best New Artist?” He smiled and bowed slightly. “I feel honored. Very grateful. I wouldn’t be here without everyone’s support.”

But then came a sharp shift in tone.

A reporter with a too-white smile leaned in. “There are rumors that you’re not really writing your own lyrics. Some say they’re ghostwritten to build your 'emotional' image. Any truth to that?”

Jaeon blinked. “I... I write all of my lyrics. They’re—” He hesitated, not from guilt, but from the sudden sting of being called fake. “They come from my personal experiences.”

Before he could move on, another voice cut in. “You’ve been getting close to a certain female idol. Are you two dating? Don’t you think that’s risky so early in your career?”

Laughter bubbled around the press pit. Jaeon’s heart picked up speed. His smile faltered. “I don’t think that’s appropriate to discuss... I try to keep private matters—”

“Is it because you’re worried about upsetting fans? Or maybe your company told you to keep quiet?”

He suddenly felt exposed. Vulnerable. His manager was nowhere in sight, nor were any of his team members. He was standing in the spotlight, yes, but this time it felt more like a firing squad.

Then, a hush rippled through the crowd.

The camera lights flickered like falling stars as she arrived.

She moved like a dream. Dressed in a breathtaking gown of silver-white and soft gold, adorned with delicate pearls and snowflake-like embroidery, she looked as though she had stepped out of a fairytale—and in a way, she had. The world’s biggest pop star. Reina. Known for always dressing like a modern-day princess, her icy-blonde curls were woven with golden flowers and diamonds. A tiny golden crown sat atop her head. Her presence was like a sudden winter breeze—beautiful, crisp, undeniable.

Without asking, she stepped beside Jaeon, her gloved hand gently sliding into the crook of his arm.

“Hello again,” she said to the press with a regal smile, her voice smooth like velvet dipped in champagne. “I see you’ve met our rising star.”

Jaeon glanced at her, stunned. They had only met once—briefly, during rehearsals at a music award show—but she offered him the kind of familiarity one would give a dear friend. She turned back to the reporters, her expression still sweet, but her eyes... they shimmered with steel.

“I couldn't help overhearing some of your questions,” Reina continued. “It’s always so creative how quickly young men are expected to either confirm relationships or prove their artistic worth.” She tilted her head, perfectly poised. “But I must say, I’ve listened to Jaeon’s music. often. So either your ghostwriter is a genius... or maybe you should give the boy credit he clearly deserves.”

The reporters chuckled nervously.

Jaeon felt his lungs finally fill with air again. Reina leaned in slightly, her lips barely moving as she whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with them for years.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice almost breaking