What the actual fuck had she done?
She lay perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid the smallest shift would wake him and force her to face what she’d started. Last night played in merciless detail behind her closed lids: the silk robe pooling at her feet, the way his pupils had blown wide when he saw her naked. His hands lifting her like she was weightless, her legs locking around his waist as she ground against the hard length of him through his boxers. The endless, devastating slide of his tongue—slow circles, soft flicks, long deliberate licks thathad her thighs shaking and her fingers twisting in his hair. The stretch when he finally pushed inside her, the burn giving way to fullness so perfect it stole her breath. The way she’d come—twice—clenching around him like her body had been waiting years for exactly that.
She’d never felt anything like it.
And that terrified her.
Because she still loved Min-Jae.
She did. She had to. They’d been together since she was nineteen—six years of firsts, of promises, of building a life around each other. He was all she’d ever known. No one else had ever touched her. No one else had ever made her feel safe, wanted, understood. The curated Instagram posts, the staged affection with Jax, the entire performance—it had all been built on the certainty that Min-Jae would see her thriving, see her desired, and realize what he’d thrown away. That he’d come back. That they’d fix it. That she’d never have to learn how to be without him.
Then that photo had appeared on her feed right as Jax crossed the finish line.
Min-Jae’s arm around the actress’s waist. Her head on his shoulder.
She’d wanted revenge. She’d wanted to feel wanted. She’d wanted to erase the humiliation with something reckless and consuming.
So she’d gone to Jax.
Used him.
The shame rolled through her in hot, suffocating waves. She pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound.
How was she supposed to look Min-Jae in the eye now? How was she supposed to meet him in Seoul, sit across from him, and pretend she hadn’t betrayed everything they’d built? He’d given her his firsts too. His trust. His future. And she’d thrown it away for one night of anger-fuelled pleasure with a man who wasn’t him.
Worse—she couldn’t stop thinking about how good it had felt. How Jax had taken his time, how he’d made her come undone in ways Min-Jae never had. Min-Jae had been gentle, careful, loving—but never like this. Never relentless. Never so focused on her pleasure that she forgot her own name.
She felt disloyal. Dirty. Like she’d crossed a line she could never uncross.
Jax stirred. His arm tightened reflexively, pulling her closer for a sleepy second before loosening again.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick and gravel-rough. He nuzzled the curve of her shoulder, lips brushing skin in a lazy, contented kiss. “You want breakfast? Room service does those ridiculous French toast things you like. With the berries and the stupid amount of whipped cream.”
Her throat closed so fast it hurt.
She forced a small, brittle laugh. “I… can’t. I’ve got an early call with the studio. Online meeting. They want a full progress update on the album. Like, now.”
He lifted his head just enough to squint at her through one eye. “It’s barely seven.”
“Time zones,” she said quickly. “Seoul’s ahead. They’re already in the office.” The lie tasted sour.
She slipped out from under his arm before he could argue, the cool air hitting her bare skin like a reprimand. She scooped therobe from the carpet—crumpled, smelling faintly of last night—and shoved her arms into it, tying the belt with fingers that refused to cooperate.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” She kept her back to him. Couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t risk seeing confusion, or worse—hurt.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final click.
Her own room felt colder. Sterile. The bed untouched, sheets still crisp.
She locked the door. Leaned against it for a long second, breathing too fast.
Then she tore the robe off again—threw it across the room—and walked straight into the bathroom.
The shower came on scalding. She stepped under it without waiting for the temperature to adjust, gasping as the heat hit her skin.
She stood there, arms wrapped tight around her middle, letting the water pound against her shoulders until her skin flushed red.
She couldn’t believe she’d ruined everything.
