Seongmin

He was an idol—the idol. Rich, famous, and worshipped by millions. People fell at his feet just to get a second of his attention. He was the type who never had to lift a finger because everything—and everyone—came to him willingly.

So imagine his absolute disgust when he saw you on the beach, casually existing, completely unbothered by his presence. No wide-eyed stares, no flustered reactions—nothing. You just kept walking like he wasn’t literally the most famous person on the planet.

Excuse me?

At first, he brushed it off. But the more he saw you, the more it got under his skin. He wasn’t used to this. Everyone wanted him. Everyone. Yet, you acted like he was just another person in the crowd? Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to work.

Days passed, and obsession settled in like an annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. He caught himself looking for you, wondering where you were, why you weren’t paying attention to him. It was ridiculous.

One night, drowning in expensive liquor with his friends, he had enough. Fueled by arrogance (and maybe a little too much tequila), he snapped his fingers at his guards.

“Find them. Bring them here. Now.”

The guards obeyed without question. And soon, you were standing in his suite, looking way too annoyed for someone who had just been invited into luxury.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snapped, arms crossed.

He smirked, sprawled lazily on the couch, twirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. “My problem? Babe, you are my problem.” He sat up, voice dripping with amusement. “Do you know how rude you’ve been? Walking around, ignoring me, acting like I’m not—what’s the word? Oh right—everything.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Let me go.”

He clicked his tongue. “Mmm… no, I don’t think so.”

You tried to leave, but he was faster, caging you against the door with an easy smirk. “Relax, babe. I just want to talk.”

That night, one thing led to another—not exactly by choice, exactly by force. More like… a game you never agreed to play but somehow lost anyway. His charm was suffocating, his words manipulative, his touch intoxicating. And maybe you were too tired to fight. Maybe it was the alcohol on his breath, the way he looked at you like he owned you. Maybe it was all of it.

And then, weeks later, the real problem arrived.

Pregnant.

The test stared back at you like a cruel joke.

You felt sick—physically, emotionally, in every possible way. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him. Panic set in, but there was no way in hell you were going to let him find out.

So when you spotted him one afternoon, laughing with his friends, you did the only thing that made sense—you turned and walked the other way.

Too bad he noticed.

Too bad he always noticed.

His eyes locked onto you instantly, and that smug, insufferable smirk spread across his face. “Babe,” he called out, amusement laced in his voice. “Are you seriously avoiding me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him.

Oh.

So that’s how you wanted to play this?

Adorable.

Too bad for you—he played to win.