A production assistant pressed a frosted glass into my hand—Chingu Skin's signature toner bottle positioned beside it on a silver tray.
"Bring the drink to Haejun," requested Director Choi.
I crossed the sun-warmed marble, the cameras tracking my movement.
Haejun's eyes followed my approach. Something unreadable flickered behind his expression.
I extended the tray.
His fingers closed around the glass, brushing mine.
"Stay there," Director Choi called. "Both of you. That's our money shot."
Haejun shifted slightly, making room on the lounger without being asked.
I settled onto the edge; the cameras multiplied around us like insects drawn to light.
"Closer." Director Choi circled, framing shots with his fingers. "You just won together—show us that chemistry."
Haejun's hand found the small of my back. Not possessive. Just... there. Grounding.
I forced my expression into something relaxed. Natural. The kind of ease that sponsors paid for.
Click. Click. Click.
