Guilty

Past

Success has a sound. It is the rhythmic, sharp clink of champagne glasses, the low hum of expensive laughter, and the constant, aggressive click of cameras capturing moments that feel more like high-stakes performances than genuine celebrations. The company hosts our success party in a luxury hotel ballroom overlooking the dark, shimmering expanse of Tokyo Bay. Crystal chandeliers hang like frozen constellations above our heads. The entire room glows in a palette of polished gold and white, looking every bit as perfect and artificial as a movie set.

Everyone who matters in the industry is here. Actors, directors, high-profile producers, and influencers drift between tall tables dressed in black silk and fresh white orchids. The scent of the flowers is heavy and sweet, clashing with the sterile smell of the floor wax. Our faces are everywhere. Massive posters of After the Bell Rings line the walls.

I stand near the edge of the stage with Haru. Both of us are holding wireless microphones that feel heavy and cold in our hands. My dress is an elegant but simple column of soft blue fabric that falls cleanly against my frame. Haru looks composed and striking beside me in a dark, tailored suit. His posture is calm and grounded. From the outside, we look exactly how the company wants us to look: successful, controlled, and untouchable.

Inside, my stomach performs a slow, sickening twist.

Abby and Rie are backstage, waiting for their cue to join us. We are supposed to speak together as a unit. I glance toward the side of the stage. Rie is pacing in the shadows. Abby stands several feet away from her. He looks tall and rigid, his jaw set in a tight line that highlights his high cheekbones. Even from this distance, I can feel the jagged tension radiating off them.

“Are you okay?” Haru murmurs, leaning slightly closer so his shoulder brushes mine.

I nod, though the lie feels thin and fragile in the air between us. “We will be fine. It is just a few speeches.”

He gives me a small smile, the one that always manages to steady my racing heart. His gentle brown eyes crinkle at the corners. For a fleeting second, I forget the crowded room, the prying cameras, and the layers of lies. It is just us.

The host announces our names with dramatic flair. The applause swells like a physical wave crashing against the stage. We step forward into the light.

The spotlights are blindingly white. Heat floods my skin instantly. I grip the microphone with both hands as Haru begins to speak. His voice is calm, measured, and unmistakably sincere.

“Thank you for celebrating this moment with us,” Haru says, his gaze sweeping the room. “After the Bell Rings was created by a team that believed in telling stories about youth, growth, and the power of friendship.”

I take my turn next, forced to summon a soft, practiced smile. “This project taught us all that success is not just about numbers or awards. It is about trust. It is about people believing in the work you put your heart into.”

The audience nods in approval. Cameras zoom in on my face. I can feel a hundred sets of eyes dissecting every inch of us. Behind the stage curtains, Abby and Rie are meant to be waiting quietly for their entrance.

They are not. And their microphones are still live.

“I am sick of this, Abby,” Rie’s voice suddenly echoes through the ballroom. It is amplified, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

The room freezes. The clinking of glasses stops mid-air. Every head in the ballroom turns toward the speakers. I feel the blood drain from my face as a cold chill settles in my chest.

“What do you want me to do?” Abby snaps back. His voice is equally clear, vibrating with a frustration he has kept bottled up for weeks. “Refuse the awards? Walk off the stage? Lie badly to the people paying our bills?”

“I want you to stop pretending this does not hurt,” Rie says. Her voice is thick with emotion now. “I want you to stop acting like this is all just fun and games.”

Haru stiffens beside me. His hand twitches, instinctively reaching toward mine before he catches himself.

“You knew I had to play the role, Rie,” Abby says. “You knew Aurora and I were paired as the leads.”

“That is not what I am talking about!” Rie fires back. “I am talking about the way you look at the cameras. The way you soak it all in while Haru stands there pretending he is not watching his girlfriend get shipped with you every single night!”

The word girlfriend hits the ballroom like a sheet of shattered glass.

The ballroom explodes into pure, unadulterated chaos. My heart stops. I forget how to breathe. Haru’s fingers tighten around mine behind the podium before he realizes the gravity of what was just said. I hear my breath turn shallow and fast.

Phones rise into the air instantly. Journalists whisper urgently into their headsets. The sound of camera shutters becomes a frantic, nonstop roar. Someone near the front of the stage lets out an audible, “Oh my God.” The host stands frozen near the wings, his professional smile shattered into a mask of horror.

I feel like I am underwater. The bright lights blur into streaks of white. I can barely register the room rushing headlong toward total disaster. Haru leans down, his voice low and urgent in my ear.

“Aurora, look at me.”

I force my eyes to meet his. There is a flicker of fear in his brown eyes, but there is also something resolute and steady.

“We will handle this,” he says firmly. “Together.”

The microphones cut out abruptly, but the damage is absolute. The truth is already everywhere.

Security guards with stern faces escort us off the stage through a side corridor, while the ballroom dissolves into a riot of noise behind us. Abby and Rie emerge from behind the curtains seconds later. Their faces are pale and furious in equal measure. No one speaks. Not until we are ushered into a private, windowless conference room upstairs.

Executives and managers fill the room within minutes. Their faces are tight with anger. Their voices are sharp. The air in the small room feels hostile and suffocating.

“This is catastrophic,” one producer snaps, slamming a folder onto the table. “Do you have any idea how many global contracts are at risk at this very second?”

Another executive turns directly toward Haru and me. “You violated our trust. Dating was strictly prohibited for a reason.”

“We did not announce it,” I say quietly. My voice trembles despite my best efforts to appear strong.

“That does not matter now!” someone cuts in. “Perception is everything in this business. The illusion is broken.”

One by one, they list the consequences. Drama offers are paused. High-end endorsements are withdrawn. Meetings are canceled indefinitely. Each word feels like a heavy door slamming shut on our future.

Rie stands rigid beside Abby, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Abby’s expression is unreadable. His usual charm has been stripped bare, leaving behind someone who looks tired and hollow. When the scolding finally ends, a heavy, suffocating silence settles over the room.

Rie exhales a shaky breath. “This is our fault.”

Abby does not look at any of us. “We did not plan it,” he says flatly. “But what done is done.”

Haru steps forward, his voice calm. “We never blamed you, Abby.”

Rie flinches, guilt flashing across her expressive face. “We cannot keep doing this,” she says suddenly. “The fighting. The hidden pressure. Us.”

Abby finally meets her eyes. Something breaks at that moment, visible even to the rest of us. “You are right,” he says quietly. “We are done.”

The words land without drama or shouting. They are heavy with a simple, profound exhaustion. Rie nods once, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We are better apart.”

She turns toward the door, and Abby follows her without another word. Neither of them apologizes to us. The heavy door clicks shut behind them. The silence they leave behind is louder and more painful than any argument we have ever had.

I sink into a nearby chair, my legs finally giving out. Haru kneels in front of me. His hands are warm and steady as they hold mine. “We lost a lot tonight,” he says gently. “But we did not lose each other.”

Outside the conference room, the voices of the media grow louder. The world is already busy rewriting our story. I squeeze Haru's hands back, anchoring myself to him. Whatever comes next, there is no going back to the pretending.