The Forbidden Lawsuit

Chapter 1

"Mr. Jeon, You are under arrest for the rape and murder of Miss. Alina Monet. You have the right to remain silent for anything you say can be used against you in the court. You have the right to consult a lawyer." The police officer said persistently and he felt the bite of the cold metal on his wrists. He couldn't help but chuckle when he realized that he had nothing to claim or say to those burly officers.

The commotion outside his house became unbearable the moment he stepped out of his apartment and a part of his frozen heart thawed when he saw his beloved fans screaming that he was innocent. Yet, there were the haters who hated him as if he was their personal nemesis and the "Hang him!" that echoed was enough for him to wish for the earth to split open and pull him into its deepest pit. The officer whose name badge read Choi gave him a black mask and a baseball cap to wear and he was quite glad for that as he didn't want his fans to look at the mess he looked like.

The blinding flashes from various cameras and the constant buzzing of the reporters temporarily robbed him of his senses. He blindly followed the officer into a black limousine his manager managed to send him in between all this commotion. He tried to mute the screams and shouts of the mob as well as the reporters but it became quite impossible when several shining microphones were thrusted in front of his face as those blood thirsty reporters were by then yearning for even a wisp of air from his mouth.

"Mr. Jeon, is it true that you dumped Miss. Monet's body in the Han River to hide the traces of your fingerprints?"

"Mr. Jeon, why did you kill the woman who was supposed to feature in your next music video?"

"Mr. Jeon, were you aware of the fact that this could end your whole career before you murdered Miss. Alina Monet?"

He felt sick to the stomach when he realized that the last question was asked by a reporter from Bangtan TV, the channel under the company he was currently working in. Realization hit him like a slap across his face when his mind registered that his short but extremely successful career came to an end the moment the officers slapped the iron over his wrist. The idea that no production company will no longer fund him or take him in even when he is declared innocent was etched into his heart. But what made him miserable was the fact that people would no longer listen to his music, his lifeline, as he became sure that no one would want to listen to the vocals of a convict.

The officers beside him looked at him with nothing but pure disgust and the looks they threw at him was enough revulsion for an eternity. The expression lingered on their faces the moment they stepped their foot into his apartment and the scoff he let out when he voluntarily walked up to them flashed across whenever he glanced at the officer.

The platinum band he wore on his tattooed finger with the word "Hope" engraved on it shone under the streetlight and he managed to scoff at the irony of that word. He longer had any sort of hope left and the sliver of the remnant slipped right out of his fingers the moment they reached the precinct.

He was once again met by the warm flashes of the camera which once soothed him but in present scorched him as he walked inside the station leaving behind the life he once lived and moved forward for a life he never even imagined in his worst nightmare.

*******

His secretary's Hyundai roared as it left his garage and his hands slid into his pockets as he walked into the elevator. The ride was not slow yet he felt as if it took hours to reach the seventh floor of his building. He stepped into his private floor and walked straight towards the mini fridge in his lounge and grabbed a can of diet coke.

"This will kill you faster than my beer." He heard a very familiar voice whisper in the back of his head and scoffed as he popped the can open. He took a long sip and winced when he felt the soft burn of the soda on his throat. Ignoring the sly comment, he walked to his office with the can in his hand and his phone on the other. After settling himself comfortably on the rich and comfortable leather chair, he punched a very familiar number into his dialpad.