The hallways of Eclipse Entertainment always smelled of success. It wasn’t perfume or polished wood or even the buzzing excitement of rising stars—it was the weight of legacy, the pressure of generations. Your parents had been part of that weight once. Both of them had been lead actors under the agency’s golden years, back when drama was written not just in scripts, but in their very lives.
And you… you were the legacy reborn.
Not an actress like them—but a K-pop idol. One of the best. Known for your duality: sharp raps that made headlines, soft vocals that melted hearts, and visuals that somehow felt unreal. A quiet elegance in you made people curious. You didn’t chase attention. It came to you like a magnet drawn to something impossible to resist.
You came to the building that day without fanfare. Just to meet your parents. You hadn’t even told your manager.
you quietly entered through the side staircase only longtime artists knew about. The air smelled like the past—old rehearsal wood floors, warm lighting, quiet murmurs of staff, and distant echoes of laughter.
And children.
The agency was holding a small event for child actors training under Eclipse’s junior program. Your parents were upstairs in the meeting room, but your gaze was caught by the sound of tiny feet running, laughter, and an adorable voice shouting, “Unnie!”
You turned.
And they ran toward you.
“Are you really you?” one girl gasped.
You laughed gently, kneeling down. “Maybe.”
A little boy held out a flower. “You look like a fairy,” he said.
You blinked. Your heart softened. “You’re going to be a heartbreaker.”
They giggled. You sat on the steps, letting them sit around you. They asked questions, sang your songs to you, even asked you to rate their acting. You encouraged them with the softest of voices, eyes glowing like starlight, patience overflowing. You weren’t performing. You were just… kind.
What you didn’t know was that Heeseung had just walked into the building at that moment.
Heeseung was the son of Eclipse’s CEO. Known as the next in line, but he hadn’t taken the seat yet. Rumors said he was cold, focused, always dressed like a model even in the office. Some said he was arrogant. Others said he was just lonely.
He walked through the lobby, distracted, until his eyes landed on you. You, sitting on the wooden staircase, surrounded by children, smiling in a way he had never seen even on TV. Something about that moment made the world stop.
He had seen your music videos, your live stages, your award speeches—but he hadn’t seen you.
Not like this.
And it hit him like lightning.
His hand, still in his coat pocket, clenched slightly.
Love at first sight? No, it was deeper.