#1 TOXIC SERIES
It's the typical Enemies to Lovers story, flavored by yours truly.
Raised in the same neighborhood and social circle, Minho and Hyunjin know each other far too well. Both families are well-known chaebols with deep roots in the South...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It symbolizes emotional clarity.
The pad of my finger softly touched the blue stone. The bracelet was pure silver. I knew because I was allergic to cheap stuff. That, and it had a tiny 999 stamped on it. This also meant this wasn't something I could wear every day; pure silver was very malleable—it could break easily.
That Felix took his time finding out what I would like was something I had a hard time comprehending. If this was truly genuine, no reason behind it whatsoever, then I understood now why Lee was adamant to find out who his cousin was talking to in the sculpture garden. If his interest was one in our close circle... shit, heads would roll.
So now that I knew that... I couldn't help myself by trying to solve the puzzle. Now that Lee was a no-show, doing whatever the fuck he was doing, I got bored, and studying interactions was the new way of killing time.
But Felix was like honey, they were glued to him. How the fuck was I able to figure this out when every single one of them acted like a love-struck puppy?
Short answer: I couldn't.
My birthday ended uneventfully with a lot of alcohol, me paying for it, and shoving Yang into a taxi because he kept trying to get into my car.
My fingers were back on the little stone. Maybe if I rubbed it, it would activate or something.
"The fuck am I on?" I mumbled to myself, annoyed. I threw my head back into the chair and sighed.
"Sir, everything is ready for you." I peeked my eyes open. An assistant came into the changing room holding a clipboard. She pushed her glasses back on her nose while holding a to-go coffee with a pen between her fingers, and her phone somewhere wedged in there too, and I thought she should put that skill on her resume—if she ever needed it.
"Coming." I eyed myself in the mirror. My hair was black. It was a washout, nothing permanent, but I haven't seen this color ever since I dyed it blond. I remembered that day like it was yesterday when I wanted a change. I was fourteen, Yang must have been twelve, and we were at his father's salon. We used the place to hang out when we were bored, checking on pretty women who visited the place. A lot of dares were made there. Flirting with customers was one of them. Yang getting grounded because he fucked with the formula of a customer's dye. That was fucking hilarious. And then my hair turned blond. The woman working for Yang's father was hesitant at first but I learned at a young age that money persuades everyone.
God, my father was livid. My mother, on the other hand, found it unique and knew how to work it in her favor.
I entered the studio. The set-up for the photoshoot was simple. There was a white backdrop. Some red props, a white table, and a red sofa. I sat down at the table, knowing from the photoshoot call sheet that this was where they wanted to shoot first.
