❥ || chapter three

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By the time I stumbled away from the lobby, the coffee had already turned cold against my skin. It soaked through the pale pink silk blouse, the same one the sweet, perfect Kim Eunseo wore when she met Lee Heeseung for the first time. Except she didn't ruin it with her own incompetence. She didn't stand there like a wet dishrag while the male lead brushed her off like lint on his designer jacket.

I ducked into the nearest hallway I could find, a side corridor lined with marble columns and sleek glass doors. Some fancy conference room, probably. I didn't care. I just needed a corner to breathe in before I collapsed for the second time today.

I leaned my back against the cool wall, heart still thudding like it hadn't gotten the memo that the worst was over. Except the worst wasn't over, was it? It was just beginning.

Okay. Think, Eunseo. Think.

I closed my eyes and tried to put the pieces back together.

Step one: I'm inside Fated Hearts.

Step two: I'm not just a random extra, I'm the Kim Eunseo. The sweet, beloved heroine who's supposed to win Lee Heeseung's cold heart and walk away into a soft focus happily ever after.

Step three: When that final scene rolls, the credits roll too, and I go home. Right?

It had to work that way. It made sense, in the most nonsensical way possible. This wasn't real life, it was a story. Stories have endings. I just had to get there.

But if Heeseung wasn't acting like Heeseung...

If he didn't care...

If he didn't say the lines...

What did that mean for the ending? For me?

A tiny, horrible thought lodged itself behind my ribs. What if I'm stuck?

No. I couldn't think about that. I wouldn't. I just had to stick to the plot. Even if it was already veering off track, I could steer it back. I knew how the beats went: awkward meet cute, forced proximity, family disapproval, Heeseung's hidden soft side, the tragic misunderstanding, the classic K-drama confession, and the final kiss. The second lead's heartbreak. Park Sunghoon's death.

I flinched at that last part. I didn't want to think about it yet. Not now. First, I needed to make sure I'd even get that far. If I messed up the early chapters, I might never reach the ending.

And if I didn't reach the ending, I might never get home.

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I dragged my sticky, clammy self toward the nearest door that looked like it might lead to a bathroom. My reflection in the glass made me wince. The coffee stain was massive, spreading across my chest and down one side. It looked like I'd lost a wrestling match with an espresso machine.

I pushed the door open. Thankfully, it was a pristine, empty restroom, the kind with marble countertops and fancy little cloth towels stacked in a basket. The overhead lights were so bright they made my headache spike again. I locked the door behind me, dumped my bag on the counter, and braced both hands on the cool marble.

My reflection stared back. This Kim Eunseo wasn't the poised, delicate drama heroine who turned every tragedy into soft piano music and longing stares. She looked like... well, me. A real mess. Puffy eyes. Coffee all over her expensive blouse. A sheen of panic sweat on her forehead.

"Get it together," I hissed at her, or at myself. "You're the main character now. You're supposed to be the sweet innocent angel everyone wants to protect. You can't look like you got mugged by a Starbucks barista."

I grabbed a handful of the cloth towels and ran them under cold water. I dabbed at the stain, flinching at the chill. Of course, the coffee had already set in. Of course it would, because why would anything cooperate with me today?

The door behind me creaked open. I stiffened. I thought I'd locked it, but apparently locks work differently in K-drama land.

I turned, mentally preparing myself for the worst. Maybe it was Heeseung, come to deliver his cutting one liner belatedly. Or maybe the hotel staff, ready to escort the "crazy girl" off the premises.

Instead, the woman who walked in looked like she'd stepped straight off a magazine cover. Sleek black heels clicked against the marble tiles. Her fitted cream blazer hugged her waist so perfectly it had to be custom made. Her dark hair cascaded in a flawless wave over one shoulder, not a strand out of place.

Yun Minchae.

The villainess. The rival. The cold, cunning heiress who made Eunseo's life hell for sixteen episodes, clawed at Heeseung's attention, and sabotaged the heroine at every turn. I knew her scenes by heart. The icy smiles, the carefully timed tears, the slap heard around the fandom.

And now she was here. Standing in the same bathroom as me. Her eyes flicked from my dripping blouse to my trembling hands still clutching a damp towel.

"Oh dear," she said, her voice like silk and knives all at once. "Rough morning?"

Her tone wasn't quite mocking, but it wasn't exactly gentle either. My heart slammed against my ribs. This was it. The slap. The hissed insults. The stay away from Heeseung, you worthless girl monologue.

I swallowed, forcing words up through my dry throat. "I- I spilled coffee. It was my fault. Sorry-"

Sorry? Why was I apologizing to her?

Right, because in the show, she practically owned this hotel. Because she was powerful and beautiful and terrifying and I was basically wearing a "Kick Me" sign.

Minchae took another step closer. Her heels clicked like a countdown. She reached into her bag, a sleek designer thing that probably cost more than my entire student loan debt, and pulled out a little pink compact.

I flinched. I half expected her to whip out a tiny dagger instead.

But she just held the compact out to me.

"Here," she said. "You've got coffee on your chin. And-" She made a vague gesture at my general disaster zone of a blouse. "Everywhere else."

I stared at the compact. Then at her perfectly manicured hand. Then at her face, smooth, unreadable, slightly amused.

"Are you... are you giving me makeup?" I blurted. Like an idiot. Like someone who hadn't spent dozens of hours watching this woman sabotage entire families for a hostile takeover.

She arched a brow. "Would you rather I let you walk out there looking like a clumsy intern on her first day? Or do you have a spare blouse hidden somewhere in that bag of yours?"

I looked at my bag. Of course I didn't. I was lucky it hadn't spontaneously combusted from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

I reached for the compact with shaking fingers. Our hands brushed. Hers were soft. Warm. Not claws tipped with poison like the fandom jokes said.

"Thank you," I mumbled, staring down at the delicate floral design on the case. It smelled faintly of roses when I popped it open.

Minchae leaned against the counter, arms crossed. She watched me dab powder over my damp skin like I was an interesting new exhibit at an art gallery.

"So," she said, tone casual but eyes sharp. "You're meeting Heeseung this morning?"

My throat locked up. Here it came. The real attack. The possessive, jealous tirade. The He's mine, you stupid girl speech.

I forced myself to nod. "Yes. I mean, I was supposed to. I- we met. Kind of."

One elegant brow lifted. "Kind of?"

I huffed out a shaky laugh. "I spilled coffee. On myself."

Her lips twitched. Not into a sneer, but an almost smile. "You are new at this, aren't you?"

I almost dropped the compact. "Excuse me?"

She pushed off the counter, stepping closer until I could see the tiny flecks of gold in her dark eyes. "Don't look so terrified. I'm not going to do anything to you."

My mouth fell open. She said it so plainly, like she knew exactly what I'd been bracing for.

"But-" I stammered. "Aren't you- I mean, you and Heeseung, you're-"

She rolled her eyes. Rolled her eyes. Like I'd just asked her if the sky was blue or if grass was green.

"I'm not his fiancée yet," she said. "Not officially. And even if I were, do you really think I'd throw a fit over one of Heeseung's little flings?"

"Flings," I echoed. The word tasted weird on my tongue. "You think I'm a fling?"

Minchae's smile didn't reach her eyes. "That's not an insult, sweetheart. That's a fact. He gets bored. He toys with people. And you-" She gestured at my blouse, my hair, my trembling hands. "You look like a girl who's in way over her head."

I didn't know what to say to that. She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't right, either. Because this wasn't just some scandal for her to shut down, this was my life. My ticket home.

She must've seen the panic on my face because her expression softened, just a fraction. "Look," she said, voice lower now, almost gentle. "I'm not here to make your life miserable. Not unless you give me a reason to. Are we clear?"

I nodded so fast my neck popped. "Crystal."

She made a humming sound, then fished a sleek phone from her bag. Not the pink floral kind I'd been cursed with, but a matte black monster of a device with gold trim. She tapped out a message with quick, graceful swipes of her thumb.

"Here," she said after a beat. "I'll have housekeeping send you a fresh blouse. And a steamer for your skirt. You can't run around looking like this. People will talk."

I blinked at her. "You're... you're helping me?"

Minchae looked up, lips curved in a small, secret smile. "Don't read too much into it. If anyone's going to humiliate you, Miss Kim, it'll be me. Not half the hotel lobby."

My laugh came out half choked, half hysterical. It bubbled up my throat before I could stop it. Minchae just shook her head, amused.

"Pull yourself together," she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder like a queen dismissing her court. "And don't spill any more coffee on yourself. Or on Heeseung. He hates stains."

Then she was gone. Just like that. The door swung shut behind her, leaving behind a faint swirl of expensive perfume and the echo of a scene I knew had never existed in the drama I'd watched a hundred times.

I stared at my reflection again. Rumpled, blotchy, bewildered, and laughed under my breath.

The villainess didn't slap.

The villainess didn't snarl or scheme or tear me apart.

The villainess helped.

And if she was different, if Heeseung was different, if the plot was already changing under my feet, what did that mean for the ending?

I pressed a damp towel to my forehead and whispered, "How am I supposed to get home now?"

The mirror didn't answer.

It never did.

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