Eugh
The Neon Green-Eyed Monster
The morning sun bled through the heavy curtains of the luxury suite, casting long, golden fingers across the rumpled silk sheets. Stella stirred, her body aching in places that served as vivid reminders of the night before. The scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne still clung to the pillows, but the space beside her was empty.
She sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on Martin. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, already dressed in a fresh pair of black slacks, though his white dress shirt remained unbuttoned and untucked. He was holding a tablet, his brow furrowed as he scrolled through the morning’s headlines.
"You're up early," Stella murmured, her voice raspy.
Martin turned, and for a split second, the cold professional mask he wore for the public flickered. A soft, possessive warmth filled his eyes as they raked over her messy hair and the faint red marks he’d left on her collarbone. "The news cycle doesn't sleep, Stella. Neither does the competition."
"Let me guess," she said, sliding out of bed and reaching for her discarded dress. "The forums are arguing about who had the better dance break at the after-party?"
Martin’s expression darkened slightly. He tossed the tablet onto the bed. "Actually, they’re talking about you. Specifically, you and that rookie from Zenith. What was his name? J-Min?"
Stella paused, one arm in her sleeve. She remembered J-Min. He had approached her at the bar shortly before her encounter with Martin, asking for advice on "stage presence" while leaning in uncomfortably close. "He was just a junior being polite, Martin. Don't tell me you’re already back to being the jealous rival."
Martin crossed the room in three long strides, stopping only when he was inches from her. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "I’m not a rival when we’re in this room. But seeing him put his hand on your waist for that 'candid' photo that’s currently trending? It makes me want to remind the world that some things are off-limits."
Stella smirked, leaning into his touch. "Territorial looks good on you, but we have a schedule. H2H has a recording at ten, and I’m sure Cortis has some 'golden boy' duties to attend to."
"Don't remind me," he groaned, though he leaned down to steal one last, lingering kiss that tasted of mint and possessiveness. "Stay away from the rookies, Stella. I mean it."
***
The recording studio was freezing, a stark contrast to the heat of the hotel room. Stella sat in the lounge area, her headphones on, trying to focus on the bridge of H2H’s new title track. However, her eyes kept drifting to the television mounted on the wall, which was currently playing a rerun of a popular variety show.
Cortis was the guest of the week.
She watched as Martin charmed the hosts, his laughter easy and his posture relaxed. He looked perfect. Too perfect. Then, the segment changed to a "chemistry test" with a popular female soloist, Hana. The two were tasked with a Pepero game—a classic variety show trope where two people eat a biscuit stick from opposite ends until their lips almost touch.
Stella’s grip on her water bottle tightened. She watched the screen as Martin leaned in, his eyes fixed on Hana’s. They got incredibly close—close enough that the hosts began screaming in excitement. Martin pulled away at the last second, flashing that signature, dimpled smirk that made fans swoon.
"He’s just doing his job, Stella," a voice said beside her.
Stella jumped, looking up to see her groupmate, Minji, watching her with a knowing look. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You’re crushing that bottle like it’s his head," Minji pointed out, nodding toward the mangled plastic in Stella’s hand. "We all know the rivalry with Cortis is intense, but you’ve been acting... different lately. Ever since the after-party."
"It’s just stress," Stella lied, turning her attention back to her lyric sheet. "I just hate how he plays the camera. It’s manipulative."
"If you say so," Minji shrugged, heading toward the vocal booth. "But if I didn't know better, I'd say you looked jealous."
Jealous? Stella scoffed to herself. She wasn't jealous. She was just... annoyed by his hypocrisy. He had the nerve to lecture her about a rookie's hand on her waist when he was practically kissing soloists on national television for "entertainment."
***
The opportunity for a confrontation came sooner than expected. Both H2H and Cortis were booked for the "Golden Harmony" special stage rehearsals that afternoon. The massive stadium was a hive of activity, with staff rushing about and idols from various groups huddled in corners.
Stella was finishing her solo rehearsal when she saw Martin standing in the wings, watching her. He didn't have his usual smug look; instead, he looked tense.
As she walked off the stage, wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel, she deliberately steered herself toward him. "Great performance on 'Weekly Idol' yesterday, Martin. You and Hana really seemed to enjoy that game."
Martin’s eyes narrowed. He stepped back into the shadows of a heavy velvet curtain, pulling her with him. "Are we doing this here?"
"Doing what? I’m just complimenting your professional dedication," Stella snapped, her voice low and sharp. "You told me this morning to stay away from rookies, yet you’re out there making eyes at every girl with a microphone."
Martin let out a short, dry laugh. "That was a scripted segment from three weeks ago, Stella. It just aired yesterday. And if you’re going to talk about 'professional dedication,' maybe we should talk about the flowers that arrived at your dressing room an hour ago."
Stella blinked. "What flowers?"
"The massive bouquet of lilies with a card signed 'Your biggest fan, J-Min,'" Martin hissed, his hand gripping the edge of a flight case. "The staff are already whispering about it. Do you have any idea how that looks?"
"I didn't ask for those! I haven't even seen them!" Stella argued, her heart racing. "And why do you care what the staff thinks? I thought we were 'rivals' in public."
"There’s a difference between rivalry and watching someone else try to move in on what’s mine," Martin growled. He stepped closer, his chest nearly touching hers. The air between them was thick with the same volatile energy as the night before, but this time it was laced with a bitter edge.
"I’m not yours, Martin," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction. "We’re two idols caught in a PR nightmare. This... whatever this is... it’s a mistake."
Martin’s hand shot out, catching her waist and pulling her flush against him. The darkness of the wings shielded them from the busy stagehands just a few feet away. "Is it? Because when I was inside you last night, you didn't seem to think it was a mistake. You called me 'Daddy.' You told me you loved me."
Stella’s face burned. "Keep your voice down!"
"Make me," he challenged, his eyes flashing with a dangerous mix of anger and desire. "Tell me you don't care about the flowers. Tell me you didn't watch that show and wish it was your lips I was inches away from."
Stella looked up at him, her breath hitching. The jealousy was a physical weight in her chest, a heavy, green-tinted stone. She hated that he had this power over her. She hated that he could see right through her.
"I hated it," she confessed, her voice trembling. "I hated seeing her look at you like that. And I hate that you’re so arrogant you think you can control who sends me flowers."
Martin’s expression softened, the anger bleeding out of him to be replaced by a raw, hungry desperation. "I don't want to control you, Stella. I’m just... I’m losing my mind. Every time I’m not with you, I’m wondering who is. I’m wondering if you’re realizing that life would be easier with someone who isn't your direct competitor."
"It would be easier," Stella agreed, her hand reaching up to rest on his heart. It was beating as fast as her own. "But it wouldn't be you."
He groaned, leaning down to bury his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. "I’m going to kill that rookie."
"You’ll do no such thing," she said, though she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "You have an image to maintain, Golden Boy."
"To hell with the image," Martin muttered. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. "Tonight. My place. No tablets, no variety shows, and definitely no flowers."
"And if I have other plans?" she teased, though she already knew she would go.
Martin leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Then I’ll just have to come find you and remind you who you belong to in front of everyone. Don't test me, Stella. My patience is already at its limit."
He stepped away then, smoothing his jacket and putting on his professional mask as if nothing had happened. He walked out into the light of the stadium, every bit the composed, untouchable leader of Cortis.
Stella stood in the shadows for a long moment, catching her breath. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a text from an unknown number.
*The lilies are beautiful, but they don't compare to you. Hope to see you after the show. - J-Min.*
Stella stared at the screen for a beat, then deleted the message. She looked out at the stage, where Martin was now going through his choreography with lethal precision. He looked over at the wings, his eyes finding hers for a split second.
The rivalry was still there. The charts still mattered. The fans were still watching. But as Stella watched him move, the jealousy that had been simmering all day turned into something else—a fierce, protective fire.
She walked toward her own dressing room, passing the bouquet of lilies sitting on the vanity. Without a word, she picked them up and handed them to a passing intern.
"Give these to the catering staff or something," Stella said coolly. "I’m allergic to lilies."
The intern blinked, confused. "But Miss Stella, these are expensive—"
"I don't care," Stella interrupted, her eyes cold. "I already have everything I need."
She sat down in front of her mirror, picking up her lipstick. She chose a shade of deep, bruised crimson—the same color as the marks Martin had hidden beneath her collar. Tonight wouldn't be about industry rankings or chart-topping hits. It would be about the only truth that mattered in their chaotic, manufactured world.
They were rivals by day, but in the dark, they were each other's only sanctuary. And if Martin wanted to be territorial, she was more than happy to show him exactly what happened when someone tried to claim what was hers.
The "Golden Harmony" special stage was going to be the most intense performance of her career, and it wasn't because of the choreography. It was because she knew Martin was watching, and she intended to give him every reason to be the most jealous man in the building.
After all, if he wanted to play the game of possession, Stella was more than ready to win.