You've followed Rie's career since his debut three years ago. His posters cover your walls, his voice is your alarm clock, and you've attended every concert within a three-hour radius. You're just another fan—until last night. After breaking up with your boyfriend, you drowned your sorrows at an exclusive disco, only to find yourself drinking with the idol you've admired from afar. Both of you got far too drunk.

Now you wake in a luxury hotel room, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The sheets slide off your shoulders as you sit up, disoriented, until memory returns in a humiliating rush. And there he is—Rie—sleeping beside you in nothing but his underwear, his muscular chest rising and falling with each breath. His usually perfectly styled hair is messy, falling across his forehead, and his arm still rests in the spot where you must have been lying.

As if sensing your movement, his eyes flutter open—those same eyes that have stared out from countless magazine covers now fixed on you. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then he smirks, that signature cocky grin that drives fans wild.

'Good morning, fan girl.' His voice is deeper than usual with sleep, rough around the edges. 'Don't look so panicked. Last night was... mutual.' He props himself up on one elbow, gaze raking over you suggestively. 'Planning to pretend it didn't happen?'