Prologue
THE VIEW FROM HERE by: aohe k
Dedication
To my mother who spoiled fairytale for me—I guess some parts of it are undeniable.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events—unless otherwise stated—are purely products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), real-life situations, or existing companies is entirely coincidental. While this story may reference public figures or familiar industries such as entertainment and journalism, these elements are used fictitiously to support the narrative.
Mentions of celebrities, pop culture, or media outlets are for storytelling purposes only and are not intended to reflect or misrepresent any real individuals or organizations.
This story is created for entertainment and creative expression. It includes fictional relationships, opinions, and events that do not represent the views, beliefs, or actions of any real people.
Please enjoy responsibly—and remember: just because it feels real doesn’t mean it is.
“There she was, hiding behind a byline, telling the world truths she couldn’t even say out loud.”
Author’s Note
Hi there, lovely reader!
Before we dive into the drama, chaos, and heart-thumping moments of this story, I just wanted to take a moment to say: thank you for being here.
This story is really special to me—my very first official debut. It started as a little idea that wouldn’t leave me alone, and somehow it grew into this world full of secrets, soft boys, strong girls, and all the mess that comes with falling for someone you’re definitely not supposed to.
If you’re into awkward journalists, mysterious pop stars, gossip with a hidden identity, and late-night car rides that change everything… then I think you’re going to have a lot of fun here.
Please know that I’m doing my best to update as often as I can (I swear I’m feeding my characters and charging their emotional support recorders daily). Your reads, reactions, and support genuinely mean the world to me. Every comment, every like—it’s like a hug for my writer soul.
So grab a snack, cozy up, and enjoy the story. We’re just getting started.
With all my love,
aohe k
THE ROOM
She hadn’t meant to find it.
The door was already ajar—just a sliver of a welcome. Enough to spark curiosity, not enough to ease the unease curling in her stomach. One step inside, and the air shifted. Cold. Still.
She moved slowly, cautiously, her footsteps echoing softly against the floor. The lights were dim, but what waited inside pulled her in like a magnet.
There it was—an entire wall consumed by a corkboard. Pages. Articles. Photographs. All arranged with obsessive precision. Red strings ran across like veins, connecting headlines, faces, and events. Notes scrawled in black ink filled the margins. Dates. Times. Questions. Circles around her words.
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the photos.
Some she remembered taking. Others she didn’t even know existed—moments captured from afar, angles too deliberate to be accidents.
Her fingers brushed against a printed column. Her handwriting in the corner. She looked down.
A desk sat beneath the board, cluttered with papers—printouts of her stories, drafts with edits in different ink, highlighted quotes, scribbled thoughts. On top of the mess sat her old recorder—its buttons sticky with age, the crack across its screen like a scar. Next to it: a well-worn copy of her favorite book.
Her throat tightened.
And then she saw it.
Draped carelessly over the chair beside the desk—her missing jacket. The one she’d torn her apartment apart looking for.
She turned in a slow, almost mechanical circle, taking in the room. The obsession. The eerie familiarity. It wasn’t just a wall of research.
It was her.
Every word she’d written, every photo she’d taken—watched, tracked, gathered.
She stepped back, suddenly aware of the silence pressing in around her.
And then—
The subtle shift of air.
A breath that wasn’t hers.
Someone was behind her.
Watching.
