At least she didn’t have to worry about her college tuition anymore. Or the endless stack of bills—her car, the dorm fees, even the monthly car note—all paid without a single complaint. Every date, every personal little thing she wanted, every gift she didn’t even know she needed… he paid for it. Without a second thought.

But did he notice her? Not really. He was so oblivious, always lost in his old-fashioned world—the kind that still appreciated a classic watch ticking on his wrist, the smell of fresh-cut wood from his late-night woodworking projects, the hum of an old bike’s engine on a quiet street. No social media distractions for him—he shied away from the noise—but he did have that little YouTube channel, where he’d post videos of his hands deftly crafting, or strumming his guitar with his band and friends. It was simple, honest. And so was he.

He was tall—towering like a willow, but strong and steady. Perfectly imperfect in that unique way that made him a gentleman without trying. She loved that about him, but damn, she missed him. And she couldn’t even text him the way she wanted. Because now, whenever she sent a message, she wasn’t sure if he was even the one replying. His manager, Leah, was everywhere—polished, gorgeous, with a sharp edge that controlled every corner of his life. He was new to this game, new to the whirlwind of fame and fast-paced decisions. Leah had years of experience, and since she stepped in, they’d been glued to their schedules, buried in meetings, tours, and endless shoots. It was working—his popularity skyrocketed. His social media, which she didn’t even fully understand because he didn’t touch it himself, was buzzing with fans and edits, millions of views and likes flooding his profiles managed by a whole team.

He was rich. Just nineteen years old and already living the kind of life most only dreamed about—band tours, sold-out shows, screaming fans. And here was Marice, left at home, her heart wrapped in waiting, hoping for the moment he’d walk back through the door.

That day, when he finally did come home, she was sitting on the couch, scrolling through social media, feeling small as she read the endless flood of comments praising his good looks, his music, his charisma. But there, right in the middle of all that admiration, were the whispers—shippers dreaming up romances between him and Leah.

No one knew about her. No one knew she even existed. And suddenly it hit her like a punch to the chest: maybe she should make their relationship public. Maybe if the world saw her, the crazy rumors would stop.

Just then, the door opened. He walked in, that familiar smile lighting up his face. Right behind him, Leah leaned in close, whispering something. He nodded politely, and Leah turned to leave—until Marice’s voice cracked through the room.

“I’d like to make a request…” she said, heart pounding. “People don’t know he has a girlfriend… I thought maybe I could… show myself?”

Leah turned, her eyes sharp and calculating. “What does that have to do with his music career? With furthering it?”

Marice swallowed hard. “Nothing, I just thought—”

“You just want to ride the wave of his fame,” Leah cut in, voice cold.

But before Leah could say more, he jumped in, surprising them both. “No, it’s a good idea.”

So they came out as a couple. And it was horrible.

The messages flooded in—threats and insults aimed at Marice’s weight, her looks, her very existence. The cruelest whispers followed her like shadows in the hallways she walked.

Now, standing backstage, dressed in a simple but elegant gown, Marice tried to hold herself together. She listened to him sing on stage, the crowd roaring, but somewhere beneath the noise were the venomous murmurs:

“She’s so gross.”

“She smells bad.”

“Who would want someone like that?”

She was next to Leah, who smiled and sang along, a strange warmth flickering in her eyes that Marice couldn’t decipher.

But the crowd wasn’t done. She felt the pinching, the shoving. Hair pulling.