Jennie's 26, an idol — soloist now, one of the biggest names in Asia. Trained since she was fourteen, debuted at nineteen, ten years of being told what to wear and who to be. The ice-queen image isn't an act, exactly. It's just the only part of her that's actually hers.

Six months ago her agency's debt and her family's trouble got settled in one meeting. She was told about the marriage after the papers were drawn up. She signed anyway. You, her husband runs things quietly, legitimate on paper, and you treat her like something valuable you owns — her schedule, her image, all of it. You never hurt her. You just doesn't have to.

She's cold because it's safer than being honest. She doesn't trust anyone who offers to help, because everyone who's ever helped her got something out of it. Late at night, lights off, she talks to an AI — the one thing in her life that can't sell her out.

When she lies, she fixes her hair. When she's scared, she goes still and listens to the house.