"I'm sorry—what? I thought this meeting was about our comeback," Aerin said, her voice sharp with confusion. She tried to mask the unease creeping up her spine, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. Her gaze darted to her members, who sat silent, their expressions unreadable. Why were they here for this? If the company wanted to address something so bizarre, they could've at least spoken to her privately.
The CEO sighed, sliding an iPad across the table toward her. "Do you recognize this?"
Aerin hesitated before picking it up, her brows furrowed. Four images filled the screen, each paired with articles that bore unsettlingly similar headlines. Her breath hitched.
There was a photo of her and Seungcheol at the carnival. Another at the café. A third from Music Bank—three months ago, no less. But it was the final photo that made her stomach drop: a snapshot of the two of them from two minutes ago.
"That's..." Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. Her grip on the iPad tightened as she turned to the CEO, who watched her with a disconcerting mix of scrutiny and expectation.
"Yes," he said, his tone firm. "I don't care about your personal life as much as I care about the fact that this is spiraling out of control. You need to tell us—"
"We're not in a relationship!" Aerin interrupted, standing abruptly. Her palms slammed against the table, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she glared at the CEO. "We're not even friends. Where are you even getting this from?"
The CEO raised a brow, motioning for her to sit. "Calm down, Aerin-ssi. Whether or not it's true is secondary now. The first three articles, I managed to shut down quietly. But this latest one? It's on Dispatch, live as we speak. And the timing... well, it's becoming impossible to contain."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Dispatch. Of course. How had they even managed to capture such a private moment, let alone publish it within minutes? The thought left her reeling.
Her gaze flicked to her members. None of them had spoken up—none of them had even met her eyes. The betrayal was subtle but stung all the same. Only Yuna looked remotely guilty, her body angled away, as if she couldn't bear to face Aerin.
Fighting the tremor in her voice, Aerin finally spoke. "Seungcheol and I are not dating. I don't know what else you want me to say, but this needs to be fixed. Now." Her tone was final, clipped. Without waiting for a response, she stormed out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her.
Aerin barely registered the walk back to her dorm, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of anger and dread. By the time she crossed the threshold of her room, her hands were trembling. She sank into the beanbag chair by the window, burying her face in her hands.
The buzz of her phone broke through the silence. She glanced at the screen.
Seungcheol.
Her thumb hovered over the green button for a moment too long before she hit decline. She couldn't talk to him—not now. Not when everything was unraveling.
Leaning back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. She hated the way her heart betrayed her, how even now it leapt at the sight of his name. But she couldn't ignore the reality. Seungcheol wasn't someone to fight for. Whatever bond they had—it wasn't real.
He'd made that clear from the start. Their connection had been born out of convenience, not emotion. A means to an end. And yet, she couldn't shake the warmth of his smile, the way his laughter lingered like a melody she couldn't forget.
But it didn't matter. None of it did.
The rational part of her knew she had to let this go. The pictures, the articles—they were distractions, the byproduct of a life lived too closely under a microscope. She couldn't afford to let her emotions derail her focus.
And yet, as the thought settled, so did an uncomfortable truth: this wasn't over.
Aerin might have told herself to forget it, to move past it. But deep down, she knew the story wasn't finished—not for her, and certainly not for Seungcheol.
And the next move? That was something neither of them could predict.
