The Idol's Secret Trainee

The livestream camera practically smashed into my face. I was sprawled like a starfish on the prop bed in the dead center of the stage, out cold.

To get kicked off this hellish idol survival show, I was actively trying to ruin my own reputation.

I rolled over, lazily wiping a line of drool from the corner of my mouth in front of hundreds of glaring lenses. Just eliminate me already.

I still need to rush home to inherit my multimillion dollar trust fund and the family empire. Chapter 1 Day one of cohabitation.

I scoffed at this archaic, arranged marriage bullshit forced on me by my parents.

Even though they had cut off my credit cards and dumped me and my luggage into this highend penthouse, I refused to play house with Rowan. I would fight this to the bitter end.

Talk to him? Hell no. The silent treatment was my weapon of choice. Day two of cohabitation. Turns out my socalled fiancé was a massive celebrity. Talk about a plot twist.

Since I spent all day scrolling through gossip sites, I realized he sat at the number one spot on the trending list every single day, worshipped by millions of screaming girls online.

I had a burning urge to interrogate him about the juicy rumors—like if that scandal about the billionaire CEO's secret baby was actually true, or what kind of dark secrets the entertainment industry was hiding.

But his schedule was packed tight. The only time I ever saw him in the apartment was a fleeting glimpse of his back in the mornings while I was brushing my teeth.

Life together consisted of me bingewatching shows, eating instant noodles, and catching up on celebrity gossip. Honestly? It was pretty damn comfortable.

We slept in our separate rooms and stayed out of each other's way. Perfect. Day three of cohabitation.

After taking a twentyfourhour break from the internet, I opened a gossip site only to find a very familiar face plastered across the front page. Top Idol's Secret Romance Exposed!

I clicked the headline.

In a blurry paparazzi shot, a hot model in a tight, lowcut dress and a tall guy in a black leather jacket were getting dangerously cozy outside a luxury hotel.

What a perfect pair of cheating scumbags. Holy shit. The scandal was coming from inside the house. I stared at the screen. Who else could that guy be but Rowan?

Sure, he was geared up in a mask and a hat, but I recognized the sneakers. My mother, Vivienne, had sent over those exact matching couples' shoes just the day before.

For a split second, a weird knot formed in my stomach. But then, a lightbulb went off. This was it. My resistance against this forced marriage was about to end.

Thrilled, I ordered a massive slice of cake to celebrate. Devouring the frosting, everything suddenly clicked. I decided to offer Rowan the truce of the century.

If he already had a girlfriend, we were on the same team. The enemy of my enemy was my friend.

I planted myself on the couch, waiting for him to get back so we could negotiate the termination of our engagement. — I got home close to midnight.

The second I walked in, I spotted her sprawled awkwardly across the sofa, dead to the world, leaving a mess of cake crumbs and a crumpled box on the coffee table.

I almost turned and walked straight back out, but my OCD kicked in, rooting me to the spot.

After a few seconds of internal debate, I walked over, bent down, and swept the trash into the bin.

Hesitating for another beat, I grabbed a throw blanket, tossed it over her, and finally headed to my room. I was running on fumes.

Between magazine shoots, backtoback interviews, and a TV drama launch party, my assistant, Riley, had stretched my twentyfour hours into fortyeight.

I didn't have the energy to deal with this socalled fiancée who had crashed into my life. A forced marriage was the last thing I wanted or cared about.

I crashed on the sofa in my bedroom for a while before dragging myself up to hit the shower.

Halfway through washing off the grime of the day, I heard a rustling sound outside the bathroom door. I figured she had finally woken up and didn't pay it any mind.

A second later, I was forced to care. She barged right into my bathroom. What the fuck? Her eyes were halfclosed.

The neckline of her silk nightgown had slipped completely off one shoulder, exposing a wide expanse of pale, bare skin.

Like a drunk cat, she leaned lazily against the vanity, taking her sweet time brushing her teeth, completely ignoring the man standing directly under the showerhead right next to her.

I stood there stark naked under the hot spray, my jaw ticking as I watched her go through her entire routine. Water rolled down my broad shoulders and tense abs.

I dragged in a harsh breath, fighting like hell to suppress the sudden, primitive rush of heat pooling low in my gut. Shameless.

I was just about to snap at her when she nonchalantly wiped her mouth, turned around, and walked right back out. My eyes darkened. She had used my toothbrush. My towel.

And then, she walked straight out the door and collapsed right onto my bed. The anger hit me like a bucket of ice water.

I was wide awake now. — I woke up surprisingly early the next morning.

It was probably the result of my completely screwedup sleep schedule from bingewatching TV with zero responsibilities.

As I blinked my eyes open, my first hazy thought was that this bed was absurdly comfortable. But then I stared at the ceiling. I stared a little longer.

Something was seriously wrong. Chapter 2 Where am I? I shot up in bed, staring at the pitchblack room in utter confusion. Wasn't my room a sea of pink? Did I just teleport?

I scrambled out the door in my slippers. No teleportation. I was in Rowan's room. Did he not come home last night? I exhaled a massive breath of relief. Thank God.

Otherwise, that would have been humiliating. I was just about to sneak back to my own room when I glanced at the entryway. His shoes. Rowan's shoes were there.

A chill crawled up my spine. Sure enough, my gaze snapped to the living room sofa. My stomach dropped. Who else was lying there but Rowan? Calm down.

Sleeping in the wrong room isn't the end of the world. It was just a nap. It wasn't a crime.

I went back to my room, took a long, hot shower, and walked back out wrapped in my silk robe. He was still dead to the world on the sofa. I glanced at the clock. 9:30.

Didn't he usually leave by 7:30? What the hell was going on today? Curiosity dragged me closer. Panic made me reach out and hold a finger under his nose… He was breathing. Not dead.

I let out a breath, but a second later, I froze. His face was flushed crimson, and his breath burned against my skin. He was burning up with a fever.

This… this had absolutely nothing to do with me sleeping in his bed while he passed out in the living room with zero blankets in the middle of spring, right?

I debated for a few seconds. Purely out of humanitarian concern, I figured I should probably save his life. I grabbed a cold towel from the bathroom to cool him down. "Hey.

Wake up." I reached out to shake him.

I needed to know if he was going to drag himself to a bed or if I needed to call an ambulance. "Mmm…" A pained groan slipped from his lips, his ridiculously handsome face contorting into a tight frown. "This isn't working.

Your shirt is soaked. Go change." I stared down at his lightcolored tshirt. Sweat had plastered the fabric completely to his skin.

I swear to God, I only wanted to help him out of the wet clothes.

I was absolutely not taking advantage of the situation to ogle his abs. "Don't touch me…" The raspy voice hit the air.

My hands froze halfway through pulling up his shirt. "I have zero interest in touching you." I rolled my eyes, but my gaze involuntarily lingered for a split second on the soaked fabric clinging tightly to his sculpted abs.

Damn it, his body was unreal. "Whatever.

I'm calling my mom." I dropped the hem of his shirt and marched over to the window, dialing Vivienne. "Mom, call Rowan's mother and tell her to come pick him up." "…" "He's burning up.

It's bad." "…" "What do you mean you don't care?" "…" "No, I'm not a doctor! How am I supposed to take care of him?" "…" "Hello?" She hung up on me. I clenched my jaw.

I crossed my arms and legs, glaring down at him. This was the first time I actually looked at him up close. Usually, I only saw his face plastered across social media.

All those annoying headlines—Rowan's New Hairstyle is Everything! Rowan is a God! Rowan's Acting is Explosive! Even Rowan's Dark Circles Look Sexy!

He went viral over the stupidest little things every single day. I always just assumed his agency was loaded and bought the trends like water.

Looking at him now, I realized it might just be because the guy in front of me was… obnoxiously gorgeous.

How the hell did he look better in person than in his heavily edited photos? Right then, his phone buzzed again.

It had been blowing up nonstop earlier until I got so annoyed I muted it. But glancing at the caller ID this time, I decided to hand it to him. It was his mom. "It's your mother.

Just talk." I crouched beside the sofa, hit the speaker button, and held the phone up to his ear. "Rowan, honey, why are you sick?

Is it serious?" "I'm fine." He forced his eyes open for a split second before letting them drop shut again, his voice weak. "Good. Put a cold towel on your head.

I'll have a doctor stop by to check on you later." "Okay." That was it? She didn't even give him a time? He was sick as a dog, and he just said he was fine?

I seriously wanted to smack the back of his head. Chapter3 "Is Harlow there? I need to speak with her." Why was I suddenly being called out?

It caught me completely off guard. "I'm here, Ma'am," I answered, bracing myself. "Harlow, sweetie, I know you young newlyweds have a lot of… energy. I understand.

But you really need to pace yourselves." "Rowan has been exhausted lately. You two need to show a little restraint.

If you burn the candle at both ends, it's easy to get sick." What the fuck?! The phone was on speaker!

The sheer mortification of those words made my face burn up, and I saw a dark flush creep up Rowan's neck.

Thanks to his mother, the vibe between us instantly nosedived into unbearable awkwardness. The wait for the doctor felt agonizingly long.

I wiped his forehead with a cold towel, letting out a sarcastic scoff. "Your mother wants me to show restraint?" Rowan’s eyelashes fluttered.

His dark eyes were heavy with exhaustion, and his fever made his lips look flushed and unnaturally red.

A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead. "Well, did you?" his voice was a low, magnetic rasp.

His brow furrowed deeply, his expression darkening like he was recalling something incredibly annoying—probably me casually strolling into the bathroom last night. "What exactly did I do to cross the line?" I let out an exasperated laugh.

I hadn't even laid a finger on the guy, and I was already convicted of draining his life force? How was that fair? "Figure it out." His face darkened.

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to even look at me. "Figure what out? Look, if I actually jumped your bones, that'd be one thing.

But I haven't even touched you!" "Getting accused of this is total bullshit. I'm taking the blame without getting any of the fun!" My temper was starting to flare.

Rowan dragged his eyes open, looking like my complaining was giving him a migraine.

He gave me a single, assessing look before closing them again. "Thinking about it won't do you any good.

I don't have the energy to deal with you today… Besides, you aren't my type." His raspy voice carried a distinct edge of provocation. Go to hell!

What an arrogant, selfobsessed prick. Why was I even helping him?

I smacked the towel down onto his face and started aggressively scrubbing the sweat off him like I was mopping a dirty floor. "Hiss… Fuck, that hurts!" My rough movements made him wince. "Oh, so you can feel pain?" I glared at him.

How could he be such an ungrateful jerk? I was literally nursing him, and instead of a thank you, he was tossing insults? The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.

I deliberately pressed the icecold towel hard against his rocksolid abs, dragging it ruthlessly down the sharp 'V' of his vline in a blatant act of revenge. "Fuck, that's cold!" he gasped low in his throat.

His muscles jerked in shock, and he glared at me like he wanted to rip the towel from my hands if he wasn't too weak to move. "Suck it up." I maliciously swiped the towel across his chest, down his stomach, and over his waist.

I called it cooling him down, but it was straightup retaliation. But the cooling effect wasn't exactly working.

If anything, the skin beneath my hands was getting significantly hotter. "Stop moving." He let out a ragged groan, his large hand snapping out to clamp over my wrist, pinning my rogue hand in place.

He stayed like that for a long moment, chest heaving, before dragging in a deep breath. He slowly opened his eyes and stared right into mine. His intense gaze made my pulse stutter.

Then, through the thin fabric of his sweatpants, I felt the unmistakable, rigid shift of his arousal. Oh, my god.

The air sucked out of the room, leaving us locked in a paralyzingly suffocating silence. Rowan struggled to his feet, towering over me and looking down at me like I was an idiot.

He tugged at the hem of his shirt, shooting a dark, resentful glare down at his own waistline.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "I told you," his voice was a gravelly rasp. "Don't mess around." Without another word, he turned and marched back to his room, trying his hardest to walk normally.

Rowan left shortly after. He probably went to the hospital to get an IV drip. It was just a little fever. What a delicate little princess.

Right before he walked out the door, he shot me this bizarre, complicated look. Then, he violently chucked whatever he was holding straight into the trash can.

Honestly, the way he glared at me… it felt like he wanted to throw me into the trash. Psycho. I crunched on a potato chip and glanced at the trash bin.

A toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a towel. They were brand new, why toss them? What a wasteful snob. Good riddance.

With him gone, I could treat this penthouse like a free fivestar hotel. I'd eat his food, use his stuff, and completely ignore his existence. Life was fantastic.

Chapter 4 My glorious, freeloading days lasted exactly twentyfour hours before Vivienne dropped her next bombshell. "Vivienne, run that by me one more time.

I don't think I heard you right." "An idol survival show? Hahahaha! Me? Are you out of your mind?" "I am not unemployed! I just resigned, okay? I'm between jobs!" "No!

Five thousand a month on my credit card? That's barely enough to cover my—" "Four thousand?! Mom, that's practically extortion!" "Three thousand five hundred is fine!

Seriously, I'll go! I'll pack my bags tomorrow!" Yep. Thanks to my brilliant negotiating skills, I sold my soul to reality TV for a measly three and a half grand a month.

For the sake of cold, hard cash, I bit the bullet. Vivienne promised it would only be three months. After that, she'd finally let me take a cushy job at my dad's company. Fine.

A smart woman knows when to fold. Walking into the trainee boot camp, I stared at a studio packed with flawless, collagenfilled teenage girls and twentysomethings.

A sharp spike of panic nailed my feet to the floor. After surviving the first training session, I collapsed onto the hard floor, questioning every life choice that had led me here.

How the hell did Vivienne even bribe my way onto this show? These other girls could sing, dance, play instruments, and weaponize their cuteness on command.

Meanwhile, I was a chemistry major. What exactly was my talent supposed to be? Mixing a volatile compound and blowing up the entertainment industry? "Did you guys hear?

Rowan just joined our show as a mentor!" "Oh my god, like, the Rowan? The guy from that massive boy band?" "Yes! Exactly him!" "That is insane!" "Holy crap, we are so lucky!

I can't believe he's going to be judging us!" "Right?!

His dancing is out of this world, and his voice… ugh, he is totally my type!" "I'm literally going to die!" The group of girls huddled together, squealing and jumping up and down like they'd won the lottery. "Quick question," I finally cut in. "Are we talking about the Rowan who isn't even twenty yet?" Every single head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing into lethal glares. "Do you have a problem with his age?" "So what if he's young?

When it comes to vocals and choreography, nobody can touch him!" "Are you a hater or something?" The rapidfire interrogation left me blinking in stunned silence.

I held up both hands in surrender and slowly backed into a corner. Message received. Do not provoke the rabid fan girls.

That night, I dragged my exhausted body onto the stiff dorm bed, every muscle screaming in agony. If I committed a crime, send me to prison.

Please don't subject me to the daily torture of dance practice. Vivienne's text message was even more ridiculous. [Rowan's mother and I talked.

He's too busy to see you normally, so he took a mentor spot on your show. Use these next three months to properly bond with him.] Are you kidding me?!

I thought escaping that penthouse meant Vivienne had finally given up. Instead, she had handdelivered me straight into his lap. It was a trap. The whole damn thing was a trap.

Fine. Starting today, my sole mission was to become the ultimate slacker, the reigning champion of zero effort. Get eliminated early, get out fast.

There was no way Vivienne could force me to stay for three months if the producers kicked me out. Give me three days, tops, and I'd be out of here.

The first evaluation stage for Miracle Girls. While the other trainees sweated through their routines, I sat in the corner eating potato chips.

While they practiced their stage smiles in the mirror, I opened another bag. My initial performance went exactly as planned. I was terrible.

So appallingly bad that the mentors physically cringed and shook their heads. I suppressed a smirk. Nailed it.

Elimination is practically in the bag. "Is this how you approach everything in life? With zero effort?" Over at the judges' table, the other mentors sat in stunned silence.

But Rowan, who hadn't said a single word all night, leaned into his microphone, his dark eyes locking onto me with lethal seriousness. My breath hitched.

Every trainee and mentor whipped their heads toward Rowan in pure shock, before snapping their attention back to me.

The heat of a hundred spotlights practically cooked the skin off my face. Rowan, what the hell?

We don't even have a real beef, why are you publicly throwing me under the bus? "I'm just… not really good at this," I answered, shifting awkwardly under the blinding stage lights.

Rowan let out a silent sigh, his expression completely blank as he fired back. "Then what are you good at?

Eating potato chips?" Chapter 5 The entire studio erupted into insane laughter.

At that exact moment, I mentally cursed him out with words that definitely couldn't be broadcast on live television.

Just when everyone assumed I was absolutely getting eliminated, Rowan casually dropped, "Go back and practice hard." What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The next day, I found out exactly what it meant. Thanks to Rowan, not only did I avoid elimination, but I somehow scored two 'B' grades.

Worse, the editors cut a behindthescenes compilation of my zeroeffort, potatochipeating moments. The entire sequence went completely viral.

I was trending across every major social media platform overnight. We had two days off after the initial evaluations. I camped out at the penthouse, waiting to ambush Rowan.

After waiting around all day, I finally caught him. I rolled up my sleeves and marched straight to his room. "Rowan, let me ask you—" The words died instantly in my throat.

My eyes practically burned out of their sockets. He was changing. More specifically, he had just unbuckled his belt and was halfway out of his pants.

Stubborn pride anchored my feet to the floor. I refused to panic and run away like a flustered idiot.

It wasn't even a big deal. "Ever heard of knocking?" Rowan's face darkened, his voice icecold. "Knock for what? We're practically an old married couple.

What's left to hide?" I leaned against the doorframe, crossed my arms, and shamelessly let my eyes rake over him. "Do you have any concept of boundaries?" The muscle in his jaw ticked. "Nope.

Why? Are you going to give me a lecture, Mentor Rowan?" Just thinking about how he intentionally threw me to the social media wolves made my blood boil.

Rowan stared at me for a few agonizing seconds. He let out a heavy sigh, grabbed his clothes, and stalked into the attached bathroom like I was highly contagious.

The heavy click of the deadbolt locking echoed loudly. "Hey! What is your problem, Rowan? Why did you humiliate me on the show? Why couldn't you just let them eliminate me?

Why do you insist on torturing me?!" I stomped my foot outside the door, glaring at the solid wood.

It was useless; the door was heavy and completely locked. "I'm warning you!" I yelled at the door. "We stay out of each other's way and survive these three months.

Vivienne made it clear. After three months, we either sign the papers or burn this contract to the ground!" Click. The door suddenly swung open.

The abrupt movement caught me off guard, instantly wiping all the furious arguments I had prepared straight from my brain.

I stood there, speechless. "You hate dancing that much?" he asked out of nowhere, staring down at me. "I despise it." "Then why are you on an idol show?" His voice was perfectly flat. "Why do you think?!" My temper spiked again. "Because of you, obviously!" It was a total setup.

Our mothers were scheming behind the scenes just to force us into the same airspace. "Because of me?" His jaw visibly tightened, a strange flicker of emotion crossing his dark eyes. "Yeah.

And let me make this perfectly clear right now: nothing is ever going to happen between us." "Oh." His expression shuttered, the temperature in the room dropping instantly. "You aren't my type.

And you already have a girlfriend anyway, right? Forcing this is just stupid.

They're obsessed with this arranged marriage crap, but you weren't even the one originally picked for this, so why—" "I'm going to sleep." Rowan cut me off sharply.

His face was thunderous as he slammed the door shut in my face. "Hey! Jerk! You have zero manners! I wasn't finished!" "I literally knew you when you were still in diapers!

Show a little respect!" Did this guy have zero concept of gratitude? I punched the heavy door, fuming. Whatever. I was going to sleep. — "Rowan, where's your shoot today?

Are you passing by the studio? Let me hitch a ride." First thing the next morning, I trailed behind him like a shadow, turning on the charm. A girl had to do what a girl had to do.

Taking an Uber from the penthouse to the set was going to cost a fortune. After calculating my pathetically low bank balance, I decided mooching off his ride was my only option.

Chapter 6 "Not on the way." Rowan didn't even look up. It wasn't just today. We had spent the entire weekend completely icing each other out.

He had ordered massive, mouthwatering spreads of pizza and fried chicken, living like an absolute king.

Meanwhile, I sat a few feet away, practically weeping as I slurped my sad, pathetic cup of instant noodles.

The contrast was brutal. "Then how about you just drop me off at the subway station?" I flashed him my most obsequious, flattering smile. "I can take the train from there.

Hehe." "I have a flight to catch. No time." His face remained a block of ice. I ground my teeth together, biting back a curse.

In heavy silence, I chewed my lip and opened my banking app to stare at my miserable balance.

He walked past the sofa holding a cup of coffee, his gaze casually dropping to my phone screen.

He paused for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion.

Without a word, he turned, walked into his room, and came back out holding his own phone. "Broke?" he asked casually, taking a slow sip of his coffee while his thumb scrolled across his screen. "Ugh… yeah." I collapsed like a puddle of mud into the luxury sofa cushions, so starving I was starting to question the meaning of life.

I craved a massive, greasy steak so badly my stomach cramped. Vivienne had only given me three and a half grand.

After blowing most of it on La Mer face cream and an expensive serum, I was down to my last five hundred bucks.

I was legitimately dirt poor. "Want to make some money?" Rowan looked down at me, a faint smirk playing on his lips. I stared at him with heavy suspicion. "I only sell my labor.

Not my body." He choked. Hard.

He violently hacked on a mouthful of hot coffee, turning away to cough into his fist. "Don't get too excited." I shot him a look of absolute disdain, like he was a sheltered amateur. "What exactly goes through your head every day?" Rowan glared at me like I was missing half my brain cells. "Please.

Like you're some innocent little angel. Stop acting." I rolled my eyes and flopped back onto the cushions.

Looking entirely done with the conversation, Rowan stood up and grabbed his jacket.

Right before he walked out the door, he threw a look over his shoulder. "Go down to the lobby and grab a package for me later." "And?" Did he think I was his personal maid? "And add my number.

I'll pay you for the labor." "Yes, sir! Have a safe trip!" Suddenly, Rowan looked like an actual angel complete with a glowing halo. The moment he mentioned cash, my eyes lit up.

This guy was actually pretty interesting.

Half an hour later, I was violently tearing into a box of spicy buffalo wings while staring at the one thousand dollar transfer on my phone screen.

Rich guys really were on another level. He tossed cash around like it was nothing. Suddenly, a brilliant business idea hit me.

I quickly typed out a text. [Hey Rowan, if you ever need any other errands run, just say the word. I'm incredibly fast.

Hehe.] — Sitting in the back of the sleek black SUV, I stared at the ridiculous text message lighting up my screen.

A quiet scoff escaped me, the corner of my mouth lifting involuntarily. "Rowan, Skylar from Star Entertainment wants to push a PR relationship with you.

Here's the proposal." My assistant, Riley, handed a thick folder across the center console.

I took the file, casually flipping through a few pages before snapping it shut without a word. "What's wrong?" Riley asked. "That model who hired the paparazzi to snap those blurry hotel photos of you two is completely leeching off your fame.

Now she's blasting the media claiming she's your ex. It's disgusting. Look, even if you refuse to do a PR couple, these random Dlisters are going to keep using you for clout.

You might as well sign a contract relationship with someone toptier like Skylar.

It cuts off the bottomfeeders, and controlling the narrative with one fixed partner is better for your brand." "Yeah. Let me think about it." I stared out the tinted window.

If this had been a month ago, I wouldn't have even bothered giving a PR stunt a second thought. My sole focus had always been on the music and the stage performances.

But right now… for some reason, I hesitated. — Finding out I had been voted into the center position for our performance group made me want to rip my hair out.

Suddenly, the spicy buffalo wing in my mouth tasted like cardboard. "No, seriously, Director. Let me go." I practically begged the showrunner. "I absolutely cannot do this.

I'm not being humble. I legitimately suck!" "What do you mean it's decided by audience voting?!" Chapter 7 I immediately created a burner Twitter account.

I needed to see exactly who the hell was rallying votes for me so I could personally beg them to spare my life.

After scrolling for five minutes, I realized everyone online was obsessing over my potatochipeating clips.

They were literally analyzing the footage to figure out what flavor I was eating. The entire country now knew my deep, personal love for barbecueflavored chips.

The internet truly had zero respect for privacy. [Guys, seriously, I cannot be the center for this performance. This isn't me being humble.

I literally cannot do it!] I typed out my very first tweet since joining the show right before heading to the studio. Then I got to the studio and completely froze.

The voting had spiked even harder. I was sitting solidly in first place. The comments claimed they loved my "unfiltered, relatable personality." Seriously?

Was everyone losing their minds? During a short dance break, I sneaked my phone out and fired off a text. [Vivienne, did you bribe the producers? Totally unnecessary.

Honestly, Mom, I'm not worth that kind of investment.

Why don't you just wire that cash directly to my bank account instead?] My mother's reply popped up a second later. [Your father and I are touring the Grand Canyon.

We don't have time to micromanage you.] She attached a selfie of them looking ridiculously happy against a massive desert backdrop. [My bad.

Have fun.] I locked my screen, entirely defeated. "Mentor Rowan, Harlow doesn't seem to want the center position." Wait, who was that sweet angel?

Was someone actually trying to rescue me from this hell? "Yeah, she's under a lot of pressure.

I mean, she can't dance, and she can't sing." "Honestly, she doesn't really do anything except buy trending hashtags." "I heard she has a sugar daddy, and he's just throwing insane money at the producers." A group of girls clustered tightly around Rowan, whispering their venomous little complaints.

To the girl who mentioned a sugar daddy: step outside right now, let's have a chat. I was currently so broke I only had a few maxedout credit cards to my name.

My biggest sugar daddies were the bank customer service reps calling me every day to collect my debt! "Oh?" Rowan's lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smirk as his gaze flicked in my direction. "Mentor, you smiled!" the girls gasped in unison.

The usually icecold idol actually smiled, and it was so unfairly attractive I practically saw the girls swoon. "Keep practicing." Rowan stood up, closing the distance between us until he was towering over me. "Come with me." I rolled my eyes but followed him out the door.

I was still pissed. As far as I was concerned, he had just been standing there letting those girls drag my name through the mud.

Out in the quiet stairwell, Rowan scanned the area, making sure there were no cameras around before leaning against the concrete wall. "They have a problem with you." "Yeah, no kidding," I brushed him off, crossing my arms. "You could at least try practicing." He stared at me like I was a hopeless case. "I don't know how." Just bringing up the choreography made my chest tight with frustration.

I took a breath to calm down. "I'm twentyfour, Rowan, not eighteen. I spent the first two decades of my life in a lab. Now you're expecting me to suddenly become a dancer?

How the hell am I supposed to learn this? One line of lyrics is broken down into eight different moves.

You could give me eight arms and I still wouldn't hit the beat." Rowan didn't say anything. He just watched me.

His dark eyes studied my frazzled expression, the harsh lines around his jaw slowly relaxing. "Are you coming home tonight?" he asked, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. "No.

Why would I?" I snapped, still feeling petty. He let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to be home tonight.

If you come back… I can teach you the routine." The stairwell went dead silent.

I stared at him, my brain completely shortcircuiting for a solid ten seconds. "Wait… are you trying to hit on me?" Rowan looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. "You're overthinking it." "Oh, thank God." I dramatically patted my chest, exhaling loudly. "You scared the hell out of me." His face instantly darkened.

He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, a muscle ticking furiously along his jawline.

He turned and started walking down the stairs without another word. "Wait, can I hitch a ride back with you later?" I suddenly remembered, spinning around to catch up with him.

He had stopped abruptly right behind me. Moving too fast, I slammed straight into the solid, unyielding wall of his chest. Chapter 8 [Harlow] "…Paparazzi," he muttered.

He quickly averted his eyes, taking a deliberate step back as if the word tasted bitter in his mouth. "What are you so paranoid about?" I bumped my shoulder directly against his solid chest, flashing a wicked grin. "You cycle through so many girls, the press couldn't keep track of your roster even if they tried!" [Rowan] The impact of her shoulder against my chest hit me like a physical blow.

Her casual, teasing jab about my 'roster' of girlfriends twisted like a dull blade in my gut, tying my chest into a hard knot. — "Rowan, pull me up.

I literally can't move." Harlow lay sprawled on the living room floor, driven to the edge of insanity by her dance choreography practice. "Stop thrashing around." I stepped forward, gripping her waist to haul her up before she snapped her spine. "I'm dead." She collapsed onto the luxury sofa, going completely limp like a stranded fish. "Come here.

Give me a massage." Seeing me frozen a few feet away, she enthusiastically patted the empty leather cushion beside her. I stood rooted to the hardwood floor.

My palms still burned from the shape of her waist. I had held countless female costars during choreo and filming, but this was violently different.

My pulse hammered relentlessly against my ribs. "Do it yourself." I took a seat on the single armchair, putting as much physical distance between us as possible.

But Harlow operated on pure, chaotic defiance.

The more you retreated, the harder she pushed. "Hey," she suddenly slid across the cushions, closing the gap until her face was hovering inches from mine. "You helped me out a lot tonight.

How exactly should I repay you?" "You don't need to." I leaned back, my spine hitting the rigid chair. "Well, I'm completely broke." A wicked, teasing glint flashed in her eyes. "How about… I just pay you with my body?" My breath caught.

I turned my head slowly, my gaze locking heavily onto hers, searching the depths of her eyes to figure out exactly how much of that was a joke. "No?

Your loss." She instantly pulled away, turning on her heel and shuffling toward the bathroom in her slippers. "…" The word yes clawed at the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down like crushed glass.

A minute later, the heavy rush of the shower echoed through the quiet penthouse. I sat motionless in the living room, staring blindly at the dark TV screen.

The sound of the water drilled directly into my skull. My blood ran dangerously hot, and a restless, consuming heat curled low in my gut.

I had no idea what was wrong with me, but a single word kept violently looping in my brain: Yes. — When I woke up the next morning, her room was empty.

A hollow, sinking weight dropped in my chest. Throughout breakfast, my eyes kept drifting toward her closed bedroom door.

My schedule was relentless over the next few days, making it impossible to attend her second live performance.

But even sitting front row at a major Fashion Week event, my phone was concealed under my jacket, the live stream playing on silent.

My chest remained tight with tension until she struck her final pose. It was decent. She wasn't winning any awards, but she didn't screw up the choreo.

I let out a long, heavy exhale, the knot of anxiety in my shoulders finally uncoiling. But that fleeting relief didn't last.

On the ride back to the hotel, I opened my social feed only to see her postshow interview sitting at the number one trending spot. The interviewer asked about her type.

She looked dead into the lens and casually stated she only liked older, mature men. She absolutely despised dating younger guys. I stared at the screen.

My grip on the phone tightened until the plastic case groaned under the pressure, my knuckles turning stark white. "Rowan," Riley's voice cut through the ringing in my ears. "Skylar is here at Fashion Week too.

About that PR contract…" "Shoot it. Let them take whatever pictures they want." I gave in completely, leaning my head back against the tinted window. I just felt exhausted.

A bonedeep, suffocating exhaustion that stripped away every ounce of my fight. — [Harlow] After surviving the first stage, the producers granted us a few days of freedom.

I was sprawled on the living room sofa, completely absorbed in bingewatching a reality show, when the front door clicked open. Rowan walked in.

I blinked, genuinely surprised. "Didn't take your girlfriend out on a date?" I asked casually, popping a potato chip into my mouth. He completely ignored me.

He walked straight into his room, emerging a minute later in athletic shorts and a tshirt.

Without a word, he stepped onto the treadmill in the corner of the living room and cranked up the speed. What's his problem? Arrogant prick. I aggressively crunched down on my chip.

Who the hell runs like a maniac in the middle of the night? Ten minutes later… I peeked over the edge of my blanket. Okay, he's running. Why is he sweating so much?

Another ten minutes later… Fine, he's sweating. Why hasn't he taken off that soaked shirt?

A few minutes after that… Instead of pulling the shirt over his head, he grabbed the hem and dragged it up to wipe the sweat dripping from his jaw. My brain shortcircuited.

My eyes snapped directly to his exposed torso. The stark, carved lines of his Vcut. The heavy beads of sweat trailing down the deep groove of his eightpack.

I swallowed hard, the sound obnoxiously loud in the quiet room. Is he trying to seduce me? He is absolutely trying to seduce me!

Half an hour later, he dropped onto the black yoga mat and started executing slow, punishing pushups. The harsh flex of his thick shoulder muscles.

The prominent veins cording along his forearms. The rigid, relentless clench of his glutes. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry for chips anymore.

I was already feasting my eyes on a fivestar buffet.

Chapter 9 [Harlow] Later that night, I sat on the sofa staring blindly at the TV, my brain entirely hijacked by the image of him working out.

Unable to focus on the screen, I started seriously questioning my life choices. So what if he was a few years younger? It wasn't exactly a dealbreaker.

Honestly, it all came down to the face.

Why was I wasting my time bingewatching fictional romances when I had an absolute god with a perfect face and a sculpted body sitting right in front of me?

It was practically a crime not to take advantage of the situation.

I instantly shut off the TV and marched over to Rowan's room. "Rowan." "What?" "Want some fruit?" "No." Strike one. Well, damn. Getting to him was going to be harder than I thought.

My head throbbed just thinking about it. I retreated to my room and pulled up every piece of information about him online. I combed through his hobbies, habits, and social circles.

After a whole night of digging, I summarized him in two words: Fckboy. How the hell did he have so many rumored girlfriends when he wasn't even twenty?

But honestly… that was exactly what I wanted. Hehe. By 1:00 AM, just thinking about Rowan made my blood run so hot I couldn't sleep.

After some deep selfreflection, I came to a profound realization. I didn't actually like him romantically; I was just violently attracted to him. I wanted his body.

So why the hell was I hesitating? If I wanted him, I should just pounce, use him, and ditch him. A player like him had a ridiculously long roster of girls anyway.

I wouldn't even have to take responsibility. So, I actually went for it.

I slipped into a sheer silk slip dress and knocked on his door. "What are you doing in the middle of the night?" Rowan yanked the door open, his face dark with irritation.

My smug confidence instantly evaporated. Originally, I wanted to just pounce on him, but ultimately I put on a pitiful face. "Rowan, the AC in my room is busted and it's freezing.

Can I squeeze in here for the night?" — [Rowan] I stared at her in utter disbelief. Was she out of her mind?

She woke me up in the middle of the night just to ask if she could sleep in my bed? Wasn't she the one constantly screaming about terminating our engagement?

And now she wanted to… Did she have zero concept of boundaries between a man and a woman? "Go back to your own room." I shot her a cold glare, blocking the doorway. "No…" Harlow easily ducked under my arm and slipped right into my room.

Seeing the murderous look on my face, she batted her eyelashes. "Please, just let me stay.

I'm freezing to death." Without waiting for an answer, she bolted straight for my bed and slid under the covers.

I froze in the doorway, watching her make herself entirely at home in my sheets. A strange, twisted knot formed in my chest. She was way too comfortable doing this.

I stood perfectly still for five solid minutes, my jaw clenched tight as my brain tried to process the situation. Finally, I let out a heavy sigh of defeat and shut the door.

I walked over to the edge of the mattress, debating how the hell we were supposed to sleep.

But before I could decide, she offered a suggestion. "You can sleep on the floor, or… if you're afraid of the cold, I don't mind sharing this kingsize bed with you." She raised an eyebrow, an unmistakable glint of provocation in her eyes.

Even she seemed to realize how absurdly shameless her offer was the second the words left her mouth. "Forget it." I yanked open the closet, dragged out a spare comforter, and threw it onto the hardwood floor.

After aggressively smoothing it out, I laid down. But sleep was completely out of the question. I had no fcking clue what she was playing at.

Was she genuinely clueless, or was she just messing with my head? Meanwhile, she had passed out like a rock. I could hear the soft, even rhythm of her breathing above me.

I just lay there staring at the ceiling, the chaos in my brain spiraling out of control.

My thoughts drifted back to the day my grandfather called me into his study. "Your older brother was arranged to be married, but he's already taken a wife. We have no choice.

Our family does not break its promises. So, you have to take his place and get engaged to Harlow." At the time, I thought it was completely absurd. What century were we living in?

Who the hell still did arranged marriages? But then my grandfather slid a photograph across the desk. I had to admit, the second I saw it, I hesitated. It was her.

The older girl who always loved to torment me. Honestly, our history went all the way back to kindergarten.

Chapter 10 [Rowan] I was only a toddler when my parents, too busy building their empire, dumped me at a highend preschool.

I was terrified, completely alienated from the other kids, and constantly having accidents.

That was when Harlow decided to "help"—by yanking my pants down in front of everyone, claiming she was trying to save me from wetting them again.

The sheer humiliation had me crying for half the day. I hated that older girl. I absolutely despised her. But then, Harlow changed.

She was four years older, practically on the verge of first grade.

She started looking out for me every single day—making sure I ate, dragging me to the sinks to wash my hands, hovering behind me whenever I climbed the playground equipment… I still hated her help.

But as we moved through the same private elementary and middle schools, my eyes were always drawn to her.

She was gorgeous, had an infectious personality, and was constantly surrounded by guys vying for her attention.

Meanwhile, I was the quiet loner, always standing in the shadows, silently watching every time she walked past, tracking every flash of her smile.

She probably had no idea we even went to the same schools.

She never knew how many times over those years I wanted to walk up to her, to just say 'long time no see,' only for the words to die in my throat because I never had the courage.

Later, I left for a different high school out of state and threw myself into the brutal idol trainee system. I slowly forced myself to forget her.

I built my own life, a trajectory completely detached from hers. But fate had a sick sense of humor, dragging us right back into each other's orbit.

I told myself I only agreed to move in with her out of obligation to my family. But was there a selfish ulterior motive buried underneath?

Even I didn't know the answer to that anymore. The memories made a dull ache throb at my temples. "Rowan. Are you asleep?" Her soft voice suddenly floated down from the bed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning sleep, refusing to suffer the embarrassment of her finding out I was lying wide awake on the floor. "Are you asleep?" Harlow whispered again.

I kept my breathing even, ignoring her. Then came the rustle of the heavy duvet shifting above me. What was she doing? Getting up to use the bathroom?

A second later, the edge of my comforter was gently lifted. A small, incredibly warm body slid underneath the fabric, pressing directly against my side.

The shock hit me like a live wire. There was no way in hell I could pretend to be asleep after that. I snapped my eyes open.

In the pitch black, illuminated only by the faint slant of moonlight bleeding through the blinds, our eyes locked. — [Harlow] I was absolutely paralyzed with shock. Dammit.

Getting caught redhanded trying to sneak into his blankets was pure humiliation. My fightorflight instincts kicked in, and my immediate reaction was to bolt.

But the second I tried to roll away, a large, powerful hand clamped down hard around my waist, pinning me in place. "What do you think you're doing?" His voice was a low, dangerous rumble coming from right behind me, sending a violent shiver down my spine.

The hair on my arms stood on end. "I'm… just going to the bathroom," I stammered out a pathetic excuse. "The bathroom?" A dark, mocking smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "You took a detour to the bathroom straight into my blankets?" Backed into a corner by his lethal gaze, I opened my mouth, but my brain completely shortcircuited.

My heart was slamming against my ribs so violently I thought it might crack my sternum.

I had no idea if it was from the terror of getting caught or the sheer, suffocating heat radiating off his body. "Rowan," I forced myself to turn around, facing him fully in the dark.

I swallowed hard, testing the waters. "Can I… kiss you?" "…" Rowan just stared at me for a long, agonizing beat, the silence thick with tension. "What exactly are you trying to pull?" What was I trying to pull?

I took a second to think about it. It definitely wasn't going to stop at just a kiss.

If all actions ended with just an innocent kiss, it would be an absolute crime against this perfect body. "Rowan, can you teach me?" I widened my eyes, pouring every ounce of fake sincerity into my voice. "The director mentioned the other day that I'm getting cast in a dating reality show next, but I… I don't know how to kiss on camera." I mentally cursed myself for being a total degenerate.

Even I couldn't believe I managed to pull such a garbage excuse out of thin air! "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, turning rough and gravelly. "Yeah." The muscle in his jaw flexed hard.

Even in the dark, I could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest, matching the sudden, erratic spike of his pulse. "Should I turn on the light?" I couldn't handle the suffocating anticipation.

He was lying entirely too still, his dark eyes burning into me, and I had no idea what was going through his head. "No." The word barely grazed his lips.

A massive shadow suddenly fell over me as he shifted his weight, caging me in. The clean, intoxicating scent of his cedarwood shampoo invaded my lungs.

And then, his mouth claimed mine. God, he was so unbelievably hot. Chapter 11 I was so dizzy from his kiss, my entire body melted into a useless puddle.

My first coherent thought was: If I had known kissing him would scramble my brain this badly, I would have pounced on him ages ago!

The next morning, I woke up to the sensation of his lips trailing against mine. "Morning." I barely managed to flutter my eyes open.

A split second later, full consciousness crashed into me. I grabbed my clothes and instinctively tried to bolt. "About last night…" Rowan's large hand clamped down on my waist.

He looked down, pausing as if struggling to find the right words. My internal alarm bells screamed. I instantly threw up my defenses. "Oh, right!

I just remembered, the director needs me to shoot some behindthescenes practice footage today." "Go later." His dark eyes locked onto me. "No, I can't.

I promised Tessa I'd bring her breakfast." "…" The temperature in the room instantly dropped.

His face darkened, a heavy scowl pulling at his lips. "Plus, our group has vocal recording sessions—" "…" Rowan just kept staring at me in dead silence. Okay, fine.

I had to admit, I had never given a single crap about this survival show.

Trying to suddenly play the dedicated, hardworking trainee card now was a massive stretch. "What exactly are you trying to say?" His voice was a dangerously low rumble. "It's just… you know…" I scrambled for a way to cleanly wrap up this impulsive onenight stand. "Thanks for the lesson last night.

We're both adults. You have a massive roster of girlfriends, right? So let's just treat this as… a onetime tutorial?" I made my stance completely clear. Zero strings attached.

I could practically see the word 'Player' flashing across his furious expression. "That was my first time." The storm clouds fully gathered in his eyes; his face was pitch black. "Your first time?!" I w