Rosie Park adjusted the brim of her wide-brimmed sun hat and took a slow breath. The sprawling countryside surrounding her felt entirely foreign. Rolling hills of green, the scent of fresh earth in the air, and the quiet sounds of nature were miles away—both literally and figuratively—from the buzzing metropolis she was used to. In the distance, the production crew was setting up the final camera angles for the music video shoot. But her gaze was focused elsewhere.
"Can’t believe I’m stuck here for three whole days," she muttered under her breath, her eyes sweeping over the rustic farmhouse that stood proudly on the hill. It was charming, she supposed, in an old-world way—white walls, ivy creeping up the sides, with a small stable to the left where horses roamed freely. It felt like it belonged to a different era entirely.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie noticed a figure moving toward her. The farm owner's daughter, Jennie Kim.
They hadn’t exactly gotten off to a great start.
Jennie moved with the grace of someone who had worked on the land her whole life. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, and she wore simple jeans and a loose-fitting shirt, but there was an undeniable confidence in her stride. She looked like she belonged here.
"You’re blocking the sun," Jennie said, her voice clipped, as she stopped a few feet away from Rosie. Her cat-like eyes flicked up to the sky, then back down to the idol. "Not sure if you’re used to it, but the weather can be unpredictable around here. We need to wrap the shoot before the storm hits."
Rosie raised an eyebrow. There it was again—that dismissive tone Jennie used whenever she spoke to her. Ever since they’d met the day before, there had been an undercurrent of tension between them. Rosie, with her glamorous city life, and Jennie, with her no-nonsense rural attitude, had practically clashed from the start.
"Thanks for the weather update," Rosie replied, trying to keep her tone light but failing to hide the edge in her voice. "But we’ve got a whole team of people watching that."
Jennie crossed her arms. "I’m sure they do. Just don’t want your fancy shoes getting ruined in the mud when it does start raining."
Rosie glanced down at her heeled boots—definitely not farm-appropriate. She wanted to fire back with something witty, but instead, she sighed. Maybe Jennie had a point.
Before either of them could say more, one of the production assistants called for Rosie, signaling that they were ready to start filming the next scene. Rosie gave Jennie a half-hearted nod and turned on her heel, heading toward the camera crew. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jennie’s eyes were still on her, and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, the thought made her uneasy.
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Later that afternoon, after the crew had wrapped for the day and the storm had indeed started to roll in, Rosie found herself wandering through the farmhouse. Most of the crew had retreated to their trailers or into the small barn to avoid the rain, but Rosie needed a moment of quiet.
The farmhouse was even more charming inside than it was out. The air smelled faintly of lavender, and every room felt lived-in, cozy. She moved slowly through the rooms, her fingers grazing over the old wooden furniture, the framed photographs on the walls. It was like stepping into a different world—one where time slowed down and life was simpler.
She pushed open a door that led into what seemed like a small library or study. Books lined the shelves, old and worn. Rosie felt a sense of peace in this room, a stark contrast to the tension she’d been feeling since arriving. As she moved toward the window, her eyes caught something tucked away on the bookshelf—a small, leather-bound diary, yellowed with age.
