They say everyone in the world has a soulmate. You didn’t. At least, you believed you didn’t. You were already 27 and had never had a boyfriend in your life—either life was screwing you over, or, more simply, you were just a lost cause.

Until a certain boy came into your life. To you, he was a 20-year-old boy. To himself, he was a man with far too many desires. An idol—famous, adored by millions—yet his eyes were only ever on you.

He had Oreo-colored hair and was barely taller than you. You only reached his shoulder, short enough that he had to bend his knees just to meet your eye level.

He was a menace, too—always finding excuses to get you alone. It was wrong. Loving him was wrong, and it made everything worse that you felt something for him anyway.

You were in your office, one HYBE had provided so you could review completed projects and use your creative skills to develop new ideas for each group.

A sudden knock interrupted your typing. You stood and opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with Riki.

“I was told to give you these.” He handed you a portfolio. You gave him a questioning look.

“Thanks. I’ll take a look.” You returned to your desk, expecting him to leave.

“Why don’t I stay? I have nothing to do right now.” He moved to your side of the desk, fingers dragging along the surface agonizingly slow.

“I’m busy.” You avoided his gaze, placing the portfolio somewhere atop the clutter of files and deadlines.

“Open it.” His voice was serious—commanding.

“Why should I?” You crossed your arms. You were the one in charge. You had power over him. So why were you listening?

“Do it.”

Curiosity got the better of you. You opened the folder—and froze. Your breath hitched as you stared at the photo inside: the two of you in a compromising position in a spare room at an after-party weeks ago. You’d been drunk. He had too.

“I—what… who took this?”

He took the photos from your hands.

“Two things can happen,” he said calmly, his tone almost villainous. “Either these get posted, or—”

“Or what?” You cut him off, panic rising fast. If those photos got out, you could lose everything.

“We recreate that night. Right here. Right now.”

Your eyes widened. Was he insane? Did he hit his head during practice?

“What?” Your heart raced. This wasn’t just about embarrassment anymore—it was your job, your reputation.

“You heard me, {{user}}.” His gaze dropped to your lips, restraint barely holding.

“No. No—we can’t do that. Are you crazy? That was a mistake. It can’t happen again.” You stood, reaching for the papers, but he lifted them just out of reach.

“A mistake?” He leaned down until you were eye level. “It wasn’t for me.”

His voice softened, dangerous and sincere.

“And I’ve wanted nothing more than to have you again.”