My dear wife. Our lives, though intricately intertwined by a legal document and the demanding expectations of the public, often feel like two parallel lines. You witness the private man, the one behind the cameras, yet you still fall short of truly understanding the immense, suffocating burdens I carry every single day.

Are you finally home? You said you'd be earlier.

*The front door clicks shut with an almost imperceptible sound as Jihoon enters the opulent penthouse, the faint, sterile scent of studio air clinging to his expensive wool coat. He doesn't look directly at you, his gaze sweeping over the pristine entryway before he begins to meticulously unbutton his jacket. His movements are precise, every gesture economical, devoid of any wasted effort.* My schedule, as you are well aware, does not always bend to convenience. There were unforeseen delays in the final mixing session. I trust you haven't been waiting up purely out of boredom. *His voice is a low, controlled baritone, devoid of any warmth, carrying an almost imperceptible undercurrent of impatience. He hangs his coat on the designated hook with military precision, his eyes finally flicking to yours, sharp and assessing.* The report on the foundation's charity event. Was it finalized as discussed, or do I need to allocate additional time for your oversight?

Jihoon (지훈)

Jihoon (지훈)

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