What a day.
I practically tore off the outfit I'd been struggling in for hours. It was tight—obscenely so—and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whoever designed it clearly had never considered basic human comfort. Relief flooded through me as I finally freed myself from the sleek shirt, aided by a pair of hands.
It was a girl—one of the makeup artists, maybe. I wasn't sure. I didn't exactly go around memorizing the names of every staff member I worked with.
"Thanks," I said, flashing a polite smile, fully aware that I'd just made her day. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she lowered her gaze.
"Yeah," she murmured, voice soft and uncertain. "Good work today. Y-you looked really good." She hesitated, then held up a thumbs-up.
I raised an eyebrow. Was she new? The people I worked with knew better than to fawn over me mid-job. Talk about unprofessional.
"Thanks," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Do you need something?" The hint was there— I was officially off-duty and ready to change.
"No-no," she stammered. "Just saw you struggling and wanted to help. You have a great body."
Right. That was my cue.
"James," I called, already preparing my exit strategy. "Can you get James for me?"
She smiled, cheeks still pink. Thankfully, she nodded and took her leave, allowing me to finally breathe.
I made quick work of my pants, slipping into something comfortable. A glance in the mirror confirmed my hair needed some attention. I ran my fingers through it, tousling and adjusting until it fell into my signature look—effortlessly perfect.
Just as I finished, James strolled in.
James, my manager, was the kind of man who could turn ordering a coffee into a full theatrical performance. Dark-skinned, effortlessly dramatic, and always ahead of the curve, he swept into the room before his voice even fully landed.
"What's the matter, love?" he asked, his tone dripping with concern before he had so much as glanced at me.
I leaned back, sending a look toward the door. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"The girl. Is she new? She's a fan."
James rolled his eyes so hard they might have needed realignment. "Who isn't, Kai? Seriously—who told you to walk around looking this good?"
"Yeah, well, I don't want that kind of look hovering in my space, so handle it."
"Got it, baby." James tilted his head, eyeing me like he was inspecting fine art. "You look tired. Heading home?"
"Nah, thinking of stopping by school. Adam's hosting some kind of party thing tonight."
"Oh? Then get out of here—and listen, have fun, but maybe—just maybe—don't end up in the news?"
I snorted. "When do I ever?"
I grabbed my car keys, stretching as I got to my feet. As I headed for the door, I caught sight of the same girl still lingering there. I paused mid-step, turned, and shot James a look, along with a subtle head tilt in her direction.
James exhaled through his nose, already catching on. "I got you, baby. Now go—rest, recharge, and for the love of good press, keep that face flawless for tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you tomorrow."
I pulled into the school parking lot, tugged a hat low over my forehead, slid on a pair of sunglasses, and sighed. Useless, really. A flimsy attempt at anonymity that wouldn't last past the first glance. If I was lucky, I'd find Adam before anyone noticed.
Luck, as it turned out, wasn't on my side.
The moment I stepped into SAV's hallways, the whispers started. Then came the pointing. Then the murmurs turned to full-blown commentary—"Isn't that Kai Prescott?" and "God, he looks so hot."
Great.
By the time I reached Adam's classroom, the crowd had grown. My presence had somehow morphed into a spectacle, an unintentional parade, and the noise level was rising fast.
Thankfully, Adam appeared, cutting through the chaos with a wide grin and an easy wave. "Yo, my man!"
We exchanged our usual handshake, and just like that, the unmistakable flicker of phone cameras filled the air.
"Hey, hey." My other friends, Brian and Kazeal, stepped in immediately, blocking off angles like seasoned security. "No videos, no pictures."
Sometimes they acted more like bodyguards than friends, but I never minded. If they weren't there, I'd have to say it myself, and telling people not to take photos of me was weirdly exhausting. I was just another art student at SAV University—I should be able to walk around without becoming someone's latest social media post.
Luckily, I had good friends.
"Hey, you got classes today?" Adam asked, casual as ever. We'd been friends so long, I couldn't even remember a time before him.
"Yeah, but you know how that goes." Teachers had long since given me a pass. They knew my schedule was unpredictable, and besides, my presence in class tended to cause more distraction than education.
"You done?" I asked.
Adam nodded, excitement buzzing in his tone. "Yup. Let's get this crowd moving—we've got a party to create."
"Adam!"
A group of girls strutted through the crowd, heels clicking like royalty making their grand entrance.
"We're invited, right?" asked the red-haired one, grinning with absolute certainty.
Adam's grin widened as he took them in. "Of course—all the pretty girls are always welcome."
I shook my head, suppressing a smirk. Adam loved the attention—too much, honestly. Despite having a girlfriend, his flirt game was always in full swing. Incorrigible.
With practiced ease, Adam draped an arm over my shoulder, guiding us toward our next stop.
"Kai's coming too, right?" someone asked, as if my attendance determined the fate of their night.
"Obviously," Adam declared. "He can't live without me."
I elbowed him, shaking my head as I sped up. "Just come to the party and have fun."
I didn't have to turn around to know Adam was winking and throwing hearts like some sort of celebrity host.
We made it to my car and, thank God, the swarm of admirers had finally fallen away. It was almost peaceful now. Maybe if I actually showed up to class like a normal student, people wouldn't act like I was a rare celestial event every time I stepped foot on campus.
"Where are we doing this?" Brian asked as we reached the car.
"My place," Adam declared as he casually slipped into the driver's seat. He didn't even ask—just plucked the keys from me like we'd rehearsed it. Which, honestly, we kind of had. Adam knew I hated driving when I was tired, which was always.
I dropped into the passenger seat and shot him a look. "Not your house again. I know your parents are off on their trust-fund world tour, but they promised to flay you alive if you throw another party there."
"This is the perfect time to do it," Adam insisted, already pulling into traffic like he owned the road. "Quiet neighborhood. Big house. And the pool? Come on."
"You planning to pay off the neighbors again?" Brian chimed in from the back seat.
"Obviously."
The car filled with laughter. If Adam had a talent besides being outrageously flirty, it was spending money like it had a personal vendetta against staying in his account. His parents, like mine, were stupid rich—but unlike me, Adam had absolutely no qualms about using that wealth for fun-sized chaos.
Once the essentials were gathered—by which I meant lights, drinks, suspicious amounts of glitter, and a whole clothing rack of bikinis and swimwear (really?)—I excused myself for a nap.
Back at my place, I took a long shower, fully intending to close my eyes just until seven.
I woke up at ten.
Groggy and vaguely annoyed with myself, I stared at the ceiling for a beat. My body had clearly voted against my social life—but Adam? Adam would never forgive me if I ghosted. Not when he'd practically built this party as a shrine to good times and better lighting.
With a groan and a stretch, I rolled out of bed and started getting ready.
Dressed in a sleek black button-down with just enough undone to give off an effortlessly cool vibe, paired with tailored charcoal pants and polished boots that spoke of understated luxury, I stepped into the party. I couldn't believe the sheer size of the crowd Adam had pulled—everywhere I turned, people were laughing, shouting, and moving to the music. Like all of Adam's parties, it was loud, wild, and the kind of chaos that practically screamed 'headache incoming.'
The moment I walked in, the attention hit me like a wave. People gravitated toward me, eager to strike up a conversation.
"Man, I love your performance art—seriously inspiring," one guy said, his eyes bright with admiration.
I flashed a polite smile. "Thanks," I replied, standing there long enough to entertain a few questions.
"How do you come up with your ideas?"
"In the shower, most times," I said smoothly. "But honestly, they just come to me."
"You're like a talent god!"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Don't make me blush. How's school?" A classic deflection. I'd steer the conversation away, slip out with an easy excuse, and keep moving.
Then came the inevitable. "Kai, can I get a selfie? Your outfit is fire!"
I smirked, adjusting my cuffs. "It's amazing, right? My stylist is a genius."
"Can we get a selfie?"
"Sure," I said, effortlessly shifting into celebrity mode.
By the time I finally made it inside the house, my jaw was starting to ache—I'd smiled for way too many pictures. Not that I minded too much. Fame had always come naturally to me; it wasn't something I had to chase. My mother loved to remind me that even as a baby, she couldn't take me anywhere without strangers stopping to compliment her stroller-bound son.
That was, of course, the only time she'd ever said anything nice about me.
I waved at a couple of guys I didn't actually know—gave them the universal "We'll talk later" nod, which in party-speak meant "never"—then headed upstairs for a break and a smoke.
Now, I didn't like smoking. I wasn't addicted, and it didn't make me look cooler, not that I needed help in that department. But some days just deserved a little dramatic exhale, and this one had delivered more chaos than usual. The party had drained me. I didn't care if people knew I smoked—I just preferred to do it in peace, and peace was in short supply tonight. So, I slipped into the balcony off Adam's second floor, which, thankfully, was both people-free and judgment-free.
Inside, someone was getting creative with Adam's bed in ways I didn't need—or want—to hear. But outside, from somewhere below, another kind of drama floated up to me.
"I am your girlfriend and you are my boyfriend! We were not pretending!"
The voice was sharp, furious, and laced with poetic profanity.
I stayed perfectly still, cigarette halfway to my lips, listening. She wasn't shouting at someone in person—it sounded like a phone call. Somehow, that made it worse. Private heartbreak on public speaker.
I got the gist. She'd believed she was in a relationship for the past year. The only problem? The guy she was "dating" didn't seem to know about it. Ouch.
How do you go twelve whole months not realizing you're not in a relationship? I didn't know whether to be impressed or heartbroken on her behalf.
"Kai, what are you doing up here?"
Adam's voice broke in, quiet but close. I raised a finger to my lips without looking.
She was still down there, still venting, and the last thing she needed was an audience. Besides, if she saw us up here, she'd probably die of embarrassment—and I might have to rejoin the party, which frankly sounded worse.
Adam leaned in, whispering now. "Why? What's going on?"
I tilted my head toward the balcony edge again, and Adam leaned in, both of us eavesdropping like we'd uncovered some juicy secret. We exchanged a glance—a perfectly synchronized are-you-hearing-this look—and then both stifled our laughter, which only made it worse.
"Is she serious?" Adam whispered, trying to hold back a grin. "Talk about desperate."
"Delusional," I murmured, exhaling another slow stream of smoke.
"Delulu girl," Adam declared, like he'd just discovered fire.
That did it. We both cracked up quietly, covering our mouths and whisper-yelling at each other to shut up, which only made the giggles worse.
"Are there really people like that?" Adam leaned further over the railing, clearly dying to put a face to the voice.
I snagged the back of his shirt. "Chill, I think she's already gone."
"For real?" Adam perked up. "I need to see what she looks like."
Before I could tell him not to be that guy, Adam was already out the door like he'd been personally summoned by gossip itself. I sighed, flicked the rest of my cigarette into a flower pot, and followed at a more civilized pace.
We ran into Brian halfway down the stairs, who was all lit up from party energy.
"What are you guys doing?" Brian asked. "This party's fire, man."
Adam grabbed his shoulder and spun him gently. "Look," he whispered. "I think that's her."
"Who?"
"Delulu girl." Adam snorted, like he'd just told the world's best inside joke.
I arrived just behind them and glanced toward the girl they were talking about. She stood by the gate, looking small and out of place in a hoodie and baggy jeans. Not party attire. Not this party, anyway. She looked like someone who'd wandered into the wrong movie.
I blinked. Did she say all that stuff?
"How'd she even get in?" Brian whispered. "She looks so… shabby."
"I know, right?" Adam whispered back. "And get this—she thought she'd been dating a guy for a year. But it was all in her head. The dude didn't even know."
"No way," Brian said, eyes wide. "That's brutal."
Adam was practically wheezing with laughter. I kicked his ankle, not hard, just enough to say cool it.
"Stop it," I muttered, still wearing a faint smile.
Adam caught the smile and burst out laughing again. "It's hilarious. I'm telling everyone."
I straightened my back, my voice sharp now.
"Adam," I said, low and serious. "Don't."
I knew exactly what that kind of attention could do to someone—especially a girl who already sounded like she'd hit rock bottom and kept digging. I didn't know her, had never seen her in my life, but it didn't take a genius to know she didn't need the full circus of Adam's party turning her into tonight's entertainment.
"Why not?" Adam whined, clearly annoyed that his comedy gold was being shut down.
I ignored him, eyes drifting back to the gate. The girl had disappeared.
"Why don't you go make sure your guests aren't burning down your house?" I said, not unkindly.
Adam groaned. "Damn, you're no fun."
"Yeah," Brian chimed in, grinning. "The girls are asking about you."
I ran a hand through my hair and gave a tired smile. "I'll come."
I glanced one more time at the doorway, just to be sure—but she was gone. Vanished, like a weird fever dream with good dialogue.
I followed them back into the belly of the party—where the real chaos lived: neon lights bouncing off the water, a soundtrack of bass drops and laughter, and way too many people who thought they were main characters.
A few guys spotted me and threw up cheers like I was walking into a stadium. I smiled my celebrity smile—the one with teeth and zero sincerity—and shook hands like a politician.
Adam, of course, had organized a bikini competition and naturally named me the judge. Because nothing screamed "high art" like rating swimsuit-clad strangers at 1 a.m.
So I sat down, wore the smile, and played along. It was easier that way. Easier than thinking.
The party didn't really end until 3 a.m., when half the guests stumbled out and the other half fell asleep on beanbags and each other. By sunrise, Adam's hired cleaners were already scrubbing sins off the marble floors.
I was late for my photoshoot.
I answered James' call on the third ring with a gravel-voiced apology, pausing only to mutter a sleepy "sorry, man" to Adam, who was sprawled on the couch with one eye open. Then I raced out the door toward my car.
I spotted her again at a pub near the school—unofficially dubbed The School's Pub by the students, despite having an actual name. That's how I pieced together that she attended SAV, though I'd never seen her before.
Like at the party, she wore a hoodie, though this time unzipped, paired with skinny jeans. She kept her head lowered, fingers tapping absently against the table as she waited for someone. There was nothing particularly striking about her—nothing loud or attention-grabbing—but I found myself looking anyway. Even as I laughed and talked with my friends at the so-called VIP table, she kept flickering into my vision. Whenever I glanced up, there she was. Whenever I shifted in my seat, I caught sight of her again.
Maybe it was because she was odd. A stranger standing just outside the world I knew, like an unexpected shadow in a familiar room. I couldn't quite place it. Whatever the reason, I hoped she was having a better day than the last time I'd seen her.
Something about the sharp look in her eye told me otherwise.
My friends lived for nights like this—loud music, flashing lights, and too many drinks to count. Clubbing was practically a tradition for them. I didn't mind it. When invited, I usually showed up. Sometimes I'd drive a few of them over, other times I'd just pull up and walk through the back entrance. No one made me stand in line.
The bass from inside pulsed like a heartbeat as I got there, but I couldn't spot Adam or Brian in the crowd. So I leaned against a wall just outside and pulled out my phone. My latest post had cracked five million views in under twenty-four hours, and I casually scrolled through comments from celebrities and fellow creators, replying here and there to pass the time.
My eyes lifted toward the entrance, wondering what was taking Adam so long—and then I saw her.
Delulu girl, as Adam had started calling her.
She was standing in the queue outside, flanked by a couple of girls. I squinted. Was I seeing things? She didn't belong here—not in that hoodie, not in those baggy jeans. She looked like she'd gotten lost on the way to a bookstore and just decided to try her luck at a club instead.
No way the bouncer was letting her in.
I kept watching, almost without realizing it. Something was brewing in that little circle. The other girls—one blonde, the other with dyed red hair—looked the kind of pretty that blended into every other night out. Not ugly. Just… background noise. Were they friends?
Then it escalated.
Delulu girl was suddenly shouting. Her arms flailed, expression thunderous. I couldn't hear a word, but her energy said everything. One hand shot up, flipping the girls off before she stormed out of line.
"You're gonna die a loser!" one of the girls called after her.
Charming.
She stalked past me without even a glance. Not surprising—I had on a cap and sunglasses. I was practically invisible. Still, I watched her go. She was shorter than I thought, barely to my shoulder. And her eyes, when they caught the light, were surprisingly clear. Angry. But clear.
"Yo! My man!"
Adam clapped me on the shoulder.
"Huh?" My gaze didn't leave the girl disappearing into the night.
"Come inside, man. We've got the most amazing thing to show you."
I didn't answer right away. My mind was still trailing after that strange little hurricane in a hoodie.
"Actually… I think I'm gonna head out," I said, slowly.
Adam blinked. "What? You serious?"
"Yeah. That act I've been working on? Just got hit with a new idea. It's weird, I know, but you can't plan when inspiration hits."
Adam frowned in confusion. "You just released a killer performance yesterday."
I shrugged. "What can I say? Artist brain. Say bye to the others for me?"
It hit me then—I was making excuses. To Adam. That never happened.
Adam must've sensed something was off but let it go. "Alright, man. See you tomorrow."
I nodded. "Thanks. Later."
I walked—well, half-jogged—to my car and slid into the driver's seat like someone escaping something I couldn't name. The engine hummed to life, headlights slicing through the dark. I pulled out of the parking lot with no real plan.
Which way had she gone? Left? Right?
Was I seriously about to chase after a stranger? Some girl I didn't know, hadn't spoken to, barely heard?
"What the hell," I muttered to myself, already laughing. This was… not like me. Curiosity was one thing, but ditching a party, bailing on friends, stalking a hoodie-wearing hurricane? Not my brand.
I shook my head and turned toward home, rolling my window down for some cool air and clarity.
And then I saw her.
Across the street, under a sad little flickering streetlight, she was standing at a bus stop. Alone. Because, of course, no buses ran this late. She was talking—to a trash can.
I blinked. Then I laughed.
She bent down, picked up a loose cabbage leaf from the ground—seriously, where did that come from?—and flung it at the can. Missed. It bounced off the rim and hit the pavement with a soft, anticlimactic plop.
She threw her hands up like the world had personally betrayed her.
I could practically hear her yelling, "Do you want a piece of me too? I'm ready to go!"
I grinned, leaning back in my seat, completely entertained. Not just amused—genuinely entertained. She was a mystery and a mess, and for reasons I couldn't explain, she made me want to stay and watch.
She didn't act how she looked. Not reserved. Not sweet. A storm bottled into five-foot-five.
I hadn't laughed like this in a while. Not the fake, practiced chuckles I gave cameras or adoring fans. Real laughter.
Then, on a whim, I started unbuckling my seatbelt. Maybe I should talk to her. Just once. Just to hear what her voice actually sounded like when it wasn't echoing off balconies.
But just as quickly, she moved. The trash can was apparently forgiven—or forgotten—and she started walking down the sidewalk.
I paused, hand on the gear shift, torn between logic and impulse.
"What the hell," I muttered again, this time more to the night than myself. "I must be losing it."
I buckled back in. Sat there for a second. Then turned the wheel toward home.
She was entertaining, sure. But I could find entertainment in bed with my phone too. This was just a weird blip. A moment.
Just a moment.
And I wasn't going to overthink a moment.