2. Lee Minho

The air at the after-party was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, cigarette smoke, and other people's success. Jisung tapped his champagne glass, his gaze habitually gliding over everyone's faces. And then the air ran out—because Minho was standing in the doorway.

Three years apart, a million broken contracts, and Jisung still felt his heart sinking. He quickly looked away, laughed loudly with his colleagues, and allowed his new makeup artist friend to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Silly and provocative.

He didn't see how Minho finished his whiskey in one gulp, how his jaw clenched with rage.

A sharp pain from the grip on his wrist made Jisung wince. The glass shattered into a crimson puddle.

"Let's go." Minho's voice brooked no argument.

• Let go, are you crazy?

The bathroom door slammed. Minho pushed Jisung back against the wall, hovering over him. Ten centimeters separated them.

"Why are you doing this?" Jisung's voice trembled.

Minho grinned crookedly, almost evilly, placing his palm against his head.

— Humiliate? Jisung, if I wanted to humiliate you, you wouldn't be standing right now, you'd be lying down. And not in this fancy toilet.

He bowed his head, looking into his eyes.

• Who is this guy?

Jisung raised his chin.

"You finished it all yourself. Signed the papers, showed me the door. And now you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Minho wove his fingers through his hair, pulling it back, forcing him to look up. "I hate sharing what's always been mine."