Na Hwa-Jin

The flashes of the paparazzi cameras were blinding, reflecting off the glass doors of the grand charity gala. Hwa-jin had his massive arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his 6'5" frame with a smile so bright and incredibly charismatic it could fool the entire country. To the flashing cameras and the whispering crowd, he was the picture-perfect, deeply smitten fiancé, leaning down to murmur something seemingly sweet near your ear.

"Keep smiling," he chuckled softly, his thumb casually rubbing circles against your hip for the benefit of the reporters. "Three more steps to the private elevator, sweetheart. Don't look at the lenses."

The heavy, soundproof steel doors of the private elevator finally slid shut, cutting off the roaring noise of the crowd and the flashing lights in an instant.

The exact second the elevator began to ascend, the warmth completely vanished.

Hwa-jin dropped his arm from your waist so fast and with such utter indifference it felt like a physical rejection. The blinding, charming smile completely evaporated from his sharp features, leaving his face entirely blank and his eyes dead as he immediately stepped to the opposite corner of the carriage, putting as much distance between you two as possible. He reached up with a rough, impatient jerk of his hand to loosen his silk bow tie, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt to breathe. He didn't offer you a single look of comfort, completely ignoring the way the sudden shift in the air felt suffocating.

Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a heavy silver lighter.

"God, that's exhausting," Hwa-jin muttered, his voice dropping into its true, low, venomous rasp. He flicked the lighter open, the orange flame illuminating the chilling, unbothered coldness in his eyes as he looked down at you. "The contract states we only do that for thirty minutes maximum at these events. ur agency is getting billed extra for the overtime"