The studio office smelled of coffee and paper, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Young Kwang had been summoned early, a text from his manager that simply said: Meeting. Urgent.
He walked in to find three people waiting: his manager, two executives from the studio, and a lawyer. All in suits, faces tight. Ashling followed quietly, settling into the chair beside him. The executives glanced at her once, then deliberately looked away.
"Thank you for coming," one of them began, voice clipped. "We'll keep this brief." He folded his hands on the table. "There's a situation that must be addressed immediately."
Kwang leaned back in his chair. "The marriage."
The man didn't flinch. "Yes. Your… union with Miss Ashling has caused significant disruption. Fan clubs are in uproar, sponsors are threatening to withdraw. We cannot afford the narrative this creates."
Ashling's spine stiffened, but she kept silent.
The second executive leaned forward. "The solution is simple. We deny it. Publicly. Issue a statement: it was a misunderstanding, a rumor exaggerated by social media. You remain unattached. Clean. Marketable."
Young Kwang's jaw tightened. "So you want me to erase her."
"This isn't personal," the lawyer interjected smoothly. "It's business. You're an actor with a public image to maintain. Fans buy the illusion. They don't want to see you married to a stranger."
Something hot and sharp twisted in his chest. Stranger. That word. He glanced at Ashling — the calm way she sat, hands folded in her lap, expression unreadable — and anger burned through him.
"Let me be clear," he said, voice low but steady. "I don't erase people. And I sure as hell won't erase my wife."
The room went silent.
His manager cleared his throat nervously. "Kwang-ah, think about this. You've worked for years to build your career. If you fight them on this, you could lose everything."
"Then I'll lose it." He leaned forward, eyes flashing. "Because what you're asking isn't about my career. It's about my life. And none of you get to own that."
The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. "You signed a contract. The studio has authority over—"
"I signed a contract to act," he snapped. "Not to hand you my soul."
Ashling touched his arm lightly, but he didn't stop. The words poured out now, hot and relentless. "You've meddled in my scripts, my schedules, even my meals. Fine. But you don't touch this. You don't touch her. If you try, I'll call my lawyer and drag this circus into court. And then we'll see who the public believes — the studio that forges contracts, or the actor who just wanted to be left alone."
The executives exchanged uneasy glances. "Be careful what you threaten, Mr. Kang."
He smirked coldly. "That wasn't a threat. That was a promise."
They left the building in silence. The tension clung to him, his fists still tight, his heart hammering.
Ashling finally spoke as they stepped into the sunlight. "You didn't have to do that."
"Didn't I?" His laugh was sharp, bitter. "They wanted to erase you. Pretend you don't exist."
"And why does that make you so angry?" she asked softly.
He stopped walking. He didn't have an answer. All he knew was the burn in his chest at the thought of her being erased, of her reduced to a rumor.
He turned away, jaw tight. "I'll call my lawyer tonight."
Ashling watched him quietly, her eyes unreadable. Somewhere inside, she knew this wasn't just rebellion against the studio. This was something else — something neither of them was ready to name.