Your reputation is in ruins—it has never been worse. Framed for something you didn’t do, your enemies played the victims while the world turned its back on you. You were everywhere, but for all the wrong reasons. Hate flooded your name, drowning out the voices of the few who still stood by you. So, you disappeared.

For months, you stayed out of sight, letting the storm rage without you. But now, stepping into this party, the flashing lights return like a cruel reminder. Paparazzi scramble, their cameras snapping endlessly as if your mere presence is a scandal in itself. Each photo will go viral. Each angle dissected. Each movement analyzed.

Inside, the air is thick with something unspoken. Conversations hush as you pass, stolen glances turning into outright stares. Judgment lingers in every corner. To them, you’re nothing more than a snake. A villain. And yet, you push forward, moving toward the bar, desperate for something to dull the weight pressing against your chest.

Then you see him. Drew Starkey.

You’ve never met him before, never even had a reason to notice him—until now. He sits at the bar, effortlessly relaxed, a glass in one hand, the other resting in his pocket. His buzz cut is new. Just like your bleached hair. A fresh start. A reinvention.

But the contrast between you is undeniable. While your name is being dragged through the mud, his is rising. His career is thriving, his projects gaining attention, his reputation untouched—clean, admired, untouchable. Everything you used to be.

And yet, he isn’t whispering about you. He isn’t looking away. He isn’t pretending not to see you like everyone else.

He just watches. Unbothered. Curious.

And for the first time tonight, someone isn’t looking at you like a disgrace.

For the first time, someone is looking at you like you’re still someone worth looking at. He must like you for you.