Prologue: A Thousand Lies in One Kiss
Rome, Italy – Midnight
The city below shimmered like a broken mirror—thousands of lights glinting, each hiding a secret no one dared to speak aloud.
High above it all, on the 45th floor of Valtteri Towers, Kairo Seo stood alone on the balcony, his caramel-toned hands gripping the cold marble railing. The night wind tugged at his black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of the gold crucifix that hung from his neck—a symbol of the man he once was. Or maybe still tried to be.
He stared out into the night, brown eyes brooding, sharp as shattered glass. His mind was an endless reel of images: press conferences, award nights, underground meetings with names that were never spoken aloud, and the soft curve of her lips... Celeste Raines.
The woman he had loved for five years.
The woman who had just sold him for a headline and a hotel suite with another man.
He had watched the footage ten minutes ago. No sound. Just images. Her laughter. The way she touched the other man's wrist. Her dress slipping down her shoulder as she leaned in for a kiss.
It hadn't felt like betrayal.
It had felt like annihilation.
And yet… there was no outburst. No broken glass. No angry calls to have her followed. That would be too easy. Too expected.
Kairo wasn't a man who screamed.
He was a man who waited.
He was a man who remembered.
And he was a man who never lost.
A soft knock on the glass door behind him broke his trance. He didn't turn around.
"Mr. Seo," his assistant's voice was quiet, uncertain. "The final audition is waiting. The girl from Verona."
Kairo exhaled slowly, eyes still fixed on the night.
Verona.
The city of doomed lovers.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
"Send her in," he said, voice smooth but hollow.
Moments later, the door creaked open again. Footsteps—light, hesitant—crossed the room. He still didn't turn. He didn't want to see another actress with painted charm and desperation in her smile.
But then…
Something shifted.
The air grew warmer. Softer.
There was no perfume, no practiced giggle. Just quiet breathing, and a stillness that made him finally glance over his shoulder.
She was small—delicate, almost—dressed in a pale blue blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans. No diamonds. No filters. Just a girl with luminous hazel-blue eyes and a kind of rawness in her expression that made him blink.
Elira Wynne.
Twenty-one. Unknown. Unpolished. Unexpected.
And yet, something about her felt… inevitable.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked, finally turning to face her fully.
She nodded. "Yes."
"And you still came?"
"I'm here for a part in your film. Not to fall in love with you."
That stopped him.
She hadn't even flinched. Hadn't flirted. Just spoken the truth like it meant nothing at all.
And that—that—was how he knew:
This girl wasn't like the others.
This girl…
Could shatter everything.
Or save what little remained.