Uninvited love

Episode one Leslie's Pov A lot of things happen to us, but one thing follows us to the grave: the fear of losing someone we love to another person. Leaving Seoul is one of the things I never thought would happen to me. I loved people, I loved places, but I guess I fell in love with the wrong person at the wrong time in the wrong place. Lee Min-tae — a very talented, young, handsome, loving, and caring singer… or so I thought. When we first met at the 2028 Grammy Awards, he was well-spoken and well-mannered, shining brightly in the spotlight. He looked absolutely glorious, and I felt lucky that he even noticed me. It was my first time at the Grammys, and having him be kind and supportive throughout the entire night made me admire him even more. With time, we became friends. We started collaborating, featuring in each other’s songs, even acting in movies together. Soon, our fans began spreading dating rumors, and the company suggested we lean into it with fan service. Not long after that started, I caught feelings for him… and he caught feelings for me. So we began dating for real. I was so happy. After a year, we got married. That was probably the worst decision of my entire life. Two years into our marriage, a girl entered our lives. She acted like the sweetest person in the world, but I knew better. I could clearly see what was happening in my own marriage, even if my husband couldn’t. After years of watching K-dramas and C-dramas, I recognized the signs — she was bad news. Soon after she returned, she needed a place to stay. Then she was constantly sick. Then my mother-in-law — who had never approved of our marriage because I am an African woman — started coming to our home every single day. She would tell stories about how my husband and that girl had once been lovers, implying that if I hadn’t existed, they would have continued their love story from where it ended. It wasn’t her words that hurt me. It was the way my husband would blush like a teenager in love whenever those stories were told. That was when I knew I had already lost the war before it even began. So I wasn’t shocked when I walked into my bedroom and saw my husband on top of her on our matrimonial bed. I wasn’t surprised. I was just… disappointed. If I had known this was how it would end, maybe I would have married the Igbo boy my mother wanted. Now here I am at the airport, crying like a newborn baby, holding my divorce certificate. At least I’m rich. At least I’m still beautiful. At least my career is intact. And at least I don’t feel the urge to hurt myself. Life goes on. I’m going back to my country to rebuild my life through business. I can’t stand the thought of seeing that man again. I’ve decided to leave the entertainment industry once my business reaches its peak. Oh, my mother must be laughing right now. But my mental health is at stake, and I can’t afford to keep delaying my healing. I need to get my life together. I bump into someone. Ugh. Can this day get any worse? At least I’ve left that place behind. I’m heading back to the country I once hated — and now it feels like my only safe haven. While waiting at the airport, my mom calls. Apparently, the news has already reached Nigeria: I’m divorced, and my ex-husband is holding a press conference, begging me to come back home. Now the whole world thinks I’m the villain. How comforting. I need to get home — right now.