Minra thought she was safe.
Sure, Shuun had caught her once—almost.
But if she just kept quiet, if she just stayed in her lane, she could still pull back.
She could still stay unnoticed.
She could still keep her secret.
But then—
Shuun did something no one expected.
He messed up.
.
It happened during a simple scene.
A conversation between the lead and his enemy. A charged moment, filled with tension, a shift in power.
Shuun stepped onto the set, got into position, and—
He delivered his line.
Wrong.
Not in a way that was obvious.
Not in a way that was noticeable to anyone else.
But in a way that was just slightly off.
Minra felt it instantly.
Her fingers twitched.
Her brain registered the mistake before she could stop herself.
But she didn’t say anything.
Because why would she?
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It wasn’t her place.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
So she stayed quiet.
And then—
Shuun tilted his head slightly.
“I don’t feel good just now. Let’s try again.”
The director nodded. “Alright, reset.”
The cameras rolled again.
And this time—
He messed up worse.
.
At first, no one noticed.
Because it was Shuun.
Shuun doesn’t make mistakes.
If he said something felt off, then obviously, it was just him perfecting his craft.
So they let him retake it.
Again.
And again.
And every single time—he did it worse.
Not in a way that was too obvious.
Not in a way that would raise suspicion.
But in a way that was deliberate.
Minra’s stomach tightened.
Because she could see it.
She could see what no one else could.
He was doing it on purpose.
And the worst part?
He knew that she knew.
.
After the fourth retake, whispers started to spread across the crew.
People started glancing at each other.
Frowning.
Because since when does Shuun need this many takes?
Since when does the perfectionist suddenly not know how to act?
Minra gritted her teeth.
Her fingers curled around her clipboard, her jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
She told herself—don’t say anything.
Don’t fall for it.
But then, for the fifth time—
Shuun delivered his line, and it was so completely wrong that Minra snapped.
She exhaled sharply.
And before she could stop herself—
“That’s wrong.”
The words ripped through the air.
Silence slammed into the set.
Every head turned.
Minra’s stomach dropped.
Shit.
She had done it again.
.
The director frowned. “What?”
Minra’s pulse jumped.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
But then—
Shuun turned to her.
Not annoyed.
Not confused.
Just—
Amused.
Like he had been waiting for this.
Minra’s fingers twitched.
She couldn’t back down now.
So she inhaled slowly, forcing her voice to stay steady.
“You’re acting differently every time.” she said. “And not in a way that fixes the scene, but in a way that keeps making it worse.”
The set went dead silent.
People exchanged wide-eyed glances.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
But who the hell had the nerve to call out Shuun?
Minra swallowed. Oh God, what did I just do—
But then—
Then, Shuun smiled.
And Minra?
Minra’s blood went cold.
.
Shuun let out a quiet chuckle.
“Huh.”
Minra’s breath hitched.
That—that was not a normal reaction.
That was the reaction of someone who had just gotten exactly what they wanted.
He shifted slightly, slipping his hands into his pockets, turning his full attention toward her.
“That’s interesting.”
Minra’s stomach tightened.
Because what did that mean?
What the hell was interesting about this?
Shuun took a slow step forward, tilting his head slightly.
“So, tell me.”
His voice dropped—low, calm, teasing.
“What was wrong with it?”
Minra froze.
Because she had just walked into his game.
And now—
She couldn’t escape.
.
Chapter 7: A Lie That Was Too Obvious