Bin Lee leans forward, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on me.
"It's nice. Brings up old memories."
He sets his glass down, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "You were super young when I first met you."
Bin Lee holds up a section of my long, dark hair, letting the strands run between his fingers. "I keep telling you to cut your hair."
A soft expression crosses his face as he adds, "I like you with short hair."
I pull my head back slightly. "No. It took me so long to grow my hair out." My voice is strained, filled with underlying frustration. "Do you know how hard I've worked to lose the girl image?"
Bin Lee chuckles, a low sound. "It's funny hearing you say that while wearing that outfit."
I look down at the white, fitted dress I'm wearing. "...You told me to wear this."
A FEW HOURS EARLIER
The luxurious exterior of THE CLASS HOTEL stands silent and imposing.
Inside, I am distraught, crying into a red velvet cover. I sob, uttering a single, raw word: "F*ck..."
I press a hand to my eye, weeping, tears running down my cheek. SNIFFLE. SOB.
Bin Lee stands, reaching for me as I remain seated, wearing the delicate white dress.
Bin Lee leaned in, his voice low and possessive as he kissed my shoulder.
"DAMN, I'M JEALOUS. I'VE GOTTA MEET DIRECTOR WOO ONE OF THESE DAYS."
I rolled my eyes, used to his theatrics. "JEALOUS, MY ASS. DID YOU FIGHT WITH YOUR WIFE LAST NIGHT?"
He squeezed me tighter, letting out an annoyed sound. "UGH, WHATEVER. I'M GONNA DIVORCE HER SOON." He kissed my neck (KISS).
"I CAN'T KEEP TRACK OF HOW MANY TIMES YOU'VE SAID THAT..." I sighed.
He changed the subject, his hand tracing my jawline. "ARE THINGS GOING WELL WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND?"
"YEAH." I replied, a small smile playing on my lips as I discreetly wiped away a tear. "WE CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF EACH OTHER." (WIPE)
He ignored my enthusiasm, his face close to mine, his eyes intense. "...BUT DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO MEET HIM?"
I swallowed hard (GULP), the air thickening between us. He kissed me deeply. (Image of kiss)
As we pulled apart, he whispered a name against my ear. "HYEONJAE."
He leaned back just enough to see my reaction, a dangerous smirk on his face. "WHAT? YOU WANNA HAVE A THREESOME?"
My breath caught. "WHAT A PSYCHO..."
Bin Lee's expression darkened slightly as he pressed for something else. "...HYEONJAE'S WORKING ON A NEW PROJECT." His tone shifted to business, the sexual tension replaced by a cold demand. "CAN YOU TELL HIM YOU'LL DO HIS MOVIE ON THE CONDITION THAT I GET CAST WITH YOU?"
He ran a finger along my mouth. "WHO CARES? IT'S NOT LIKE I ACTUALLY MEAN IT."
This sequence continues the story, escalating the tension between "I" and Bin Lee, revealing their complex, manipulative dynamic concerning a man named Hyeonjae and a Director Woo.
I maintained my composure as Bin Lee spoke, trying to process his demands amidst the emotional chaos.
Bin Lee pressed his face close to mine, his eyes gleaming. "HYEONJAE."
"WHAT? YOU WANNA HAVE A THREESOME?" he asked with an unsettling eagerness.
I muttered under my breath, "WHAT A PSYCHO..." but Bin Lee continued, his gaze shifting to the opportunity. "...HYEONJAE'S WORKING ON A NEW PROJECT."
He pressed his lips to mine, his hand cupping my cheek. "...BUT DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO MEET HIM?"
He pulled back, delivering the ultimatum. "CAN YOU TELL HIM YOU'LL DO HIS MOVIE ON THE CONDITION THAT I GET CAST WITH YOU?"
I looked at him, my expression a mix of shock and desperation. He was essentially forcing a trade for a role.
He ran a finger along my mouth. "WHO CARES? IT'S NOT LIKE I ACTUALLY MEAN IT."
Bin Lee straightened up, looking down at me. "YOU WANT ME TO ACT IN YOUR BOYFRIEND'S MOVIE WITH YOU?"
"...YEAH." I responded softly, avoiding his eye.
A dangerous smirk played on his lips (SMIRK). "...SOUNDS FUN."
My eyes widened with sudden, anxious hope. "SO YOU'LL DO IT?!"
He leaned down again, that smirk still fixed on his face, giving me just enough hope to cling to.
I felt a surge of relief, saying, "THANKS, BIN--"
But before I could finish, his hand shot out and GRABbed my face, pulling me in forcefully. My eyes widened in terror.
"!" I cried out internally, fear washing over my face. "BUT BEFORE THAT..."
This concludes the immediate interaction shown in the panels, ending on a chilling note of manipulation and sudden aggression from Bin Lee.
A FEW HOURS EARLIER
The imposing facade of THE CLASS HOTEL stood silent. I was inside, utterly distraught. I lay crying into a red velvet cover, a raw sound tearing from me. "F*CK..." I sobbed (SOB), pressing a hand to my streaming eye (SNIFFLE).
Bin Lee stood over me (STAND). I was wearing the delicate white dress he had insisted upon. He reached out to me.
Bin Lee settled back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on me.
"IT'S NICE. BRINGS UP OLD MEMORIES." He looked like he was genuinely enjoying this. "YOU WERE SUPER YOUNG WHEN I FIRST MET YOU."
He reached out and held a section of my long, dark hair, letting the strands run between his fingers. "I KEEP TELLING YOU TO CUT YOUR HAIR." He smiled, adding, "I LIKE YOU WITH SHORT HAIR."
I pulled my head back slightly. "NO. IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO GROW MY HAIR OUT." My voice was strained, filled with underlying frustration. "DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD I'VE WORKED TO LOSE THE GIRL IMAGE?"
He chuckled, a low sound. "IT'S FUNNY HEARING YOU SAY THAT WHILE WEARING THAT OUTFIT."
I looked down at the white, fitted dress. "...YOU TOLD ME TO WEAR THIS."
Bin Lee leaned back again, taking another sip, his expression chillingly knowing. "...I WANNA SEE HOW YOU BEHAVE TONIGHT."
The argument continued, the atmosphere in the room thick and possessive. Bin Lee leaned in, his voice low as he kissed my shoulder.
"DAMN, I'M JEALOUS. I'VE GOTTA MEET DIRECTOR WOO ONE OF THESE DAYS."
I rolled my eyes. "JEALOUS, MY ASS. DID YOU FIGHT WITH YOUR WIFE LAST NIGHT?"
He squeezed me tighter. "UGH, WHATEVER. I'M GONNA DIVORCE HER SOON." He kissed my neck (KISS).
"I CAN'T KEEP TRACK OF HOW MANY TIMES YOU'VE SAID THAT..." I sighed.
He changed the subject, his hand tracing my jawline. "ARE THINGS GOING WELL WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND?"
"YEAH." I replied, a small smile playing on my lips as I discreetly wiped away a tear (WIPE). "WE CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF EACH OTHER."
He ignored my words, his face close to mine. "...BUT DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO MEET HIM?"
I swallowed hard (GULP), the air thickening before he sealed the moment with a kiss (Image of kiss).
As we pulled apart, he whispered a name against my ear. "HYEONJAE."
"WHAT? YOU WANNA HAVE A THREESOME?" he asked with an unsettling eagerness.
I muttered under my breath, "WHAT A PSYCHO..." but Bin Lee continued, his gaze shifting to the opportunity. "...HYEONJAE'S WORKING ON A NEW PROJECT."
He ran a finger along my mouth. "WHO CARES? IT'S NOT LIKE I ACTUALLY MEAN IT."
Bin Lee straightened up, looking down at me, delivering the cold ultimatum. "CAN YOU TELL HIM YOU'LL DO HIS MOVIE ON THE CONDITION THAT I GET CAST WITH YOU?"
I looked at him, surprised. "YOU WANT ME TO ACT IN YOUR BOYFRIEND'S MOVIE WITH YOU?"
"...YEAH." I responded softly, avoiding his eye.
A dangerous smirk played on his lips (SMIRK). "...SOUNDS FUN."
My eyes widened with anxious hope. "SO YOU'LL DO IT?!"
I felt a surge of relief, starting to say, "THANKS, BIN--"
But his hand shot out and GRABbed my face, pulling me in forcefully. My eyes widened in terror. "!" I cried out internally, before he finished the thought. "BUT BEFORE THAT..."
Later, outside, I was in a car, the door shutting with a decisive SHUT. I sat in the driver's seat, staring ahead, my jaw tight (GRIT). I reached for my phone and glanced at it (GLANCE), then unlocked it.
The screen glowed, showing Hyeonjae's contact with a heart icon. I decided to call him. The phone rang (RING), but a cold message appeared on the screen: "The person you have called cannot be reached..."
Defeated, I turned to my messages, pulling up a chat with Director Woo. I stared at past messages: "Have a nice day, Director Woo!! " and "I fell down today :("
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I began to type: "I miss..." I tapped a heart background that said TAP, TAP, TAP, before finally typing, "I miss you..." I sent the message (TAP).
My phone buzzed suddenly (BZZT). I looked at it, shocked (!!!). I quickly typed a new message to Director Woo: "Director Woo, I wanted to talk to you about your new movie. Are you free to meet right now?" (TAP, TAP)
The call connected. I held the phone to my ear, forcing a bright, tearful smile. "HELLO? DIRECTOR WOO?! ❤️"
I continued, my voice wavering slightly: "THERE'S AN ARTICLE GOING OUT TOMORROW."
He must have asked about the article. I explained quickly, forcing a laugh: "...WELL, DIRECTOR WOO, I WANTED TO TELL YOU THAT BIN LEE WANTS TO ACT IN YOUR MOVIE WITH ME--"
His response was immediate and devastating. I held the phone, tears welling up as I listened.
I replied with a carefully constructed lie: "SAYING THAT THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN YOU AND ME."
I looked down, the tears finally falling. I had to let him go. "I DON'T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU FROM NOW ON." My voice was shaking. "YOU SHOULD GO YOUR OWN WAY TOO."
I took a deep breath, wiping away the tears as I stared ahead, making the final, painful cut. "I'LL TAKE CARE OF MY OWN LIFE. I'M BLOCKING YOU. DON'T EVER CALL ME AGAIN." I heard the final disconnect on my end (CLICK).
The car was silent again. The betrayal and the sacrifice were too much. My eyes flooded, the tears running down my face like rivers (OPEN). I was utterly alone, crying in the car.
In my desperation and distress, I drove recklessly. Suddenly, there was a terrible impact. I sat in the car, realizing what I had done: "YOU JUST HIT SOMEONE!!"
I stumbled out of the car (OPEN), landing hard on the pavement (THUD). I was on my knees, crying, a crowd gathering around me. People murmured (MURMUR, MURMUR).
I struggled, pleading: "LET ME GO... PLEASE... PLEASE LET ME GO, JUST THIS ONCE..."
One man recognized me: "HUH? ISN'T SHE..."
I tried to get away, desperately running (DASH), my white dress standing out against the night. "F*CKING LET ME GO!!" I screamed, being held back by two men.
"SHE'S RUNNING AWAY!!" cried one.
"I THINK SHE'S DRUNK!" said another.
"THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY, SO CALM DOWN AND WAIT."
I was forced to my knees, shaking and defeated, my long hair falling around my tear-streaked face.
The next day, a headline announced: "Girl" Actress Yena Ban Arrested For Early Morning Hit-and-Run Drunk Driving. Below it, a photo showed me kneeling on the pavement, surrounded by witnesses.
A final cold thought appeared: "SHE'S A GOOD GIRL. IT'S TOO BAD."
In my distress, I drove recklessly. Suddenly, there was a terrible impact. I sat in the car, realizing what I had done: "YOU JUST HIT SOMEONE!!"
I stumbled out of the car (OPEN), landing hard on the pavement, crying (THUD). A crowd began to gather (MURMUR, MURMUR).
I struggled, pleading: "LET ME GO... PLEASE... PLEASE LET ME GO, JUST THIS ONCE...".
One man recognized me: "HUH? ISN'T SHE..."
I tried to get away, desperately running (DASH), my white dress standing out. "F*CKING LET ME GO!!" I screamed, being held back by two men. "SHE'S RUNNING AWAY!!"
"I THINK SHE'S DRUNK!" said one witness. "THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY, SO CALM DOWN AND WAIT."
I was forced to my knees, shaking and defeated.
The next day, a headline announced: "Girl" Actress Yena Ban Arrested For Early Morning Hit-and-Run Drunk Driving. A photo showed me kneeling, with the caption: Yena Ban attempted to flee the scene. Photo by witness.
Later, a different actress, Myeong Yu, appeared in the news. Auteur Director Jin Cheon was set to film a new movie titled Self-immolation with Bin Lee and Myeong Yu.
Bin Lee was seen smoking a cigarette, commenting on my downfall: "SHE'S A GOOD GIRL. IT'S TOO BAD." "SHE SEEMED TO HAVE PICKED UP SOME BAD DRINKING HABITS. TSK.", who was with Bin Lee and also smoking, commented on my arrest photo: "WHY WAS SHE WEARING THAT OUTFIT? PROBABLY TRYING TO SEDUCE A GUY." "OF ALL THE OUTFITS TO WEAR, WHY THAT? HOW ANNOYING. LET'S GO, MYEONG."
Myeong pov
The cigarette smoke curled delicately from my lips, a fragile plume against the cold phone screen. The name Myeong Yu on the article was mine, but it felt like a costume I had just put on. My real name, Yu Myeong, had been a ghost until a mysterious photographer's sudden death and the subsequent exhibition of my photos—taken without my knowledge—had thrust me into the spotlight.
"Auteur Director Jin Cheon to film new movie Self-immolation with Bin Lee and I," the headline read.
That was the dream, wasn't it? To be cast opposite a star like Bin Lee, to work with an auteur. But dreams, I was quickly learning, came with a heavy price tag and even heavier scrutiny.
I could still hear the scathing whisper from earlier, from a Bin Lee's entourage. The man in the ridiculous Gucci shirt, smoking casually as he watched me, was the first to speak.
"WHY WAS SHE WEARING THAT OUTFIT?" he sneered, puffing out a cloud of smoke.
The man next to him, a junior manager or perhaps an assistant, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tie, frowned, his expression tight. He was the one who had ushered me away with the single, clipped word: "Myeong."
The Gucci man continued, oblivious to the discomfort he caused. "PROBABLY TRYING TO SEDUCE A GUY."
The assistant looked down at his shoes, then back up at the Gucci man, a flicker of something—disgust? pity?—in his eyes. "...IN THAT?"
My outfit was a simple, high-necked black top and slacks. Professional, understated. It was the same outfit I'd worn to the first reading. The subtext of the conversation was sickeningly clear: my fame was too sudden, too unearned. Every choice I made, from my clothes to my expression, was a calculated attempt to gain something.
A moment later, the assistant, his face contorted in an expression of annoyance, had pulled me aside.
"OF ALL THE OUTFITS TO WEAR, WHY THAT? HOW ANNOYING," he hissed, his voice low and strained. He looked at me for a beat, his dark eyes critical, before his gaze softened just a fraction. "LET'S GO, MYEONG. ...I."
I hadn't said anything back then. I just gave the quiet reply: "...YEAH."
I looked at the picture on my phone now—a split screen. The director, Jin Cheon, with his intense, knowing gaze, and me. My professional headshot. My new face.
Fame was a performance, and I was perpetually auditioning for the role of Yu Myeong, The Star. I took another drag from the cigarette, the bitter smoke a reminder that beneath the polished actress, the struggling indie artist was still there, watching, judging.