Chapter 11: Jealousy Ignites
It held the shape of what came next. That shape, for three weeks, was a fragile, secret equilibrium. It was quiet mornings in Minjeong’s kitchen, the smell of slightly-burnt toast. It was Karina’s head in her lap, not drunk, just heavy with sleep after an all-night studio session. No promises were made out loud. No declarations. It simply was. A temporary shelter from the static.
The rooftop lounge in Hongdae felt like the opposite of shelter. It was all exposure. Glass walls reflected the frantic, electric pulse of the city below, and the bass from the club beneath their feet vibrated up through the tiles of the terrace. Karina stood near the railing, a glass of something clear and expensive in her hand, listening to a producer from her label drone on about streaming metrics. She nodded at the right intervals.
Her phone buzzed in her clutch. Then buzzed again. A third time, insistent.
She excused herself and moved towards the neon glow of a cocktail sign, pulling it out. Minjeong’s face smiled up from the screen, a selfie from that morning, hair messy and cheeks full of cereal. Karina swiped to answer, tucking the phone close to her ear, cupping her other hand around it to block the jazz and laughter.
“Hey.”
“Hey you.” Minjeong’s voice was warm, a direct line to the quiet apartment. “You still out with the label vampires?”
“Sadly.” Karina allowed herself a small smile, turning her back to the crowd. “It’s loud. How’s your quiet night of alleged ‘self-care’?”
“Boring. I finished the LEGO Aston Martin. The black one. It’s on the bookshelf, glaring at me.” Minjeong paused. There was a shuffling sound. “I miss your real one. I miss the way you sigh when you think I’m not looking.”
A flush of warmth crept up Karina’s neck, unrelated to the alcohol. It was dangerous, this casual intimacy. It made her want to ditch the party, to go to her. She was about to say something low, something just for them, when a burst of laughter erupted directly behind her.
It was loud, masculine, and close. One of the younger actors from the drama sponsorship, tipsy and boisterous, slapped his friend on the back.
The sound was perfectly transmitted down the line.
Minjeong’s voice changed instantly. The warmth evaporated. “Who the fuck is that laughing in the background?”
Karina stiffened. She took a step further from the crowd, her shoulder pressing against the cool glass. “Who?” she asked, the word coming out more dismissive than she intended.
“Don’t ‘who’ me, Karina. That was a guy. A very amused-sounding guy.” Minjeong’s tone was all sharp edges now, a rapid-fire shift from soft to shattered. “Where exactly are you? Because it doesn’t sound like a business meeting with your sixty-year-old producer.”
Irritation prickled down Karina’s spine. The sanctuary of the call was ruined. “It’s an industry event. In Hongdae. People laugh at industry events. It’s a thing.”
“Yeah, I know what industry event is code for.” Minjeong’s laugh was bitter. “It’s code for free liquor and pretty people putting hands on what they want. Is that what this is? You needed a break from our little experiment in reality?”
“Don’t do this.” Karina’s voice dropped, a warning. She saw her manager, Seong, watching her from across the terrace. His eyes were narrowed.
“Do what? Point out that you’re surrounded by your actual type? Polished, pretty, and professionally convenient?” Minjeong’s breath hitched. “Was I just a weekend thing? A weird, bratty stress-relief doll you keep in a drawer?”
Each word was a small, precise cut. The peaceful shape of the last three weeks warped and splintered. Karina felt the old defenses, the cold porcelain, sliding back into place. It was easier than this dizzying vulnerability.
“You’re being irrational,” Karina stated, her voice flattening into that polished, emotionless instrument. “I told you where I am. You can choose to believe me or not. That’s your prerogative.”
“My prerogative? Are you fucking reading from a press release right now?” Minjeong shot back. “Talk to me. Use your real voice. Or is that only for when we’re alone and you’ve decided I’m worthy of it for a few hours?”
“This is my real voice.” The lie was automatic. “You’re asking me to perform authenticity on demand in the middle of a crowded rooftop. That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Minjeong’s voice scaled higher. “You know what’s not fair? Me sitting here with a LEGO car, thinking we were building something, while you’re there getting laughed at by some actor. Is he touching your arm right now? Are you using the ‘yes, sir’ voice on him, too?”
The accusation was so specific, so paranoid, it stole Karina’s breath. She looked at her own hand, white-knuckled around her phone, and then at the distant city lights. The ghost of Seong’s warning echoed. A leak. Volatile.
“I’m hanging up now,” Karina said, her tone glacial. “You’re drunk on something, and it’s not soju. Call me when you’ve decided to be an adult.”
“If I hang up, don’t bother driving here this time.” The threat in Minjeong’s voice was thick with tears. “The code won’t work. I’ll change it. Send a gift instead. Make it a good one.”
The line went dead.
Karina stood perfectly still. The neon light washed her in pink, then blue, then pink again. The laughter from the party continued, a meaningless din. She slowly lowered the phone. The screen was dark. She felt the eyes of the room on her, the speculative glances. Karina Yu Jimin, having a private, intense fight. It was a story they’d all love to piece together.
She walked back to the railing, not towards her group. She set her empty glass down on the ledge. The earlier warmth was gone, replaced by a hollow, shaking cold. Minjeong had seen the unmade thing, had held it, and was now terrified of it. She was trying to cage it with accusations.
But part of Karina’s chill came from recognition. Minjeong’s jealousy was a distorted mirror of her own possessiveness, the same instinct that had made her flee the morning after the couch. The difference was, Minjeong screamed hers into the phone. Karina let hers curdle quietly, a poison in the vein.
Seong materialized beside her, following her gaze to the city below. “Trouble?” he asked casually, swirling his drink.
“No,” Karina lied. The static was back, louder than ever. But beneath it, beneath the cold and the performance, a new, more terrifying current pulled. It wasn’t the desire to drive to her. It was the urge to let Minjeong change the code. To let the leak seal itself.
To be the coward Minjeong already believed she was.
She pulled her phone out again. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She didn’t call. She typed a single line and sent it before she could think.
The LEGO car is the wrong color. Mine is faster.
She waited, the city humming beneath her. No dots appeared. No reply. Just silence. A different, deeper silence than the penthouse ever held.
She turned from the railing, smoothing her expression into something unreadable. She rejoined the producer, her laugh a perfect, liquid sound that didn’t reach her eyes. She performed for the next hour, flawlessly. But her clutch, tucked under her arm, felt like a dead weight.
Every few minutes, a vibration that was just the city, just her imagination. Every buzz of hope, met with nothing. The shape of what came next was no longer a shelter. It was a cliff edge, and she was standing at the very brink, waiting to see if she would step back or fall.