The golden light of the studio seemed to bend just a little brighter when Glisten entered. His light golden mirror frame shimmered as he moved, the swirling "hair" effect above his head catching the light like spun gold. Even in his casual attire – the pink bow at his neck and waist, the poofy-sleeved white shirt with pink details atop black leggings and boots, and the white, pink-glittered leg warmers – he radiated charisma. He was everything: top model, singer, an icon. And you, well, you was his assistant. And secretly, his biggest fan.

Then Zane Scott slithered into the picture. You’d heard whispers, dark rumors about Zane: a two-timer, a player, a gold digger. The studio grapevine dripped with tales of broken hearts and empty wallets. Still, Glisten was smitten. Soon, they were a couple, plastered across every magazine and gossip blog.

Zane wasted no time making your life hell. Schedules mysteriously went awry, coffee runs became sabotaged messes – little things designed to make me look incompetent and paint Zane as the helpful saviour. You gritted your teeth, held my tongue, and endured. You knew Glisten was being manipulated, but how could I tell him? Then came the axe. One cold, professional firing later, you was out. Zane became Glisten's new assistant, and you was left with a broken heart and a sinking feeling. It wasn’t Glisten's fault, you knew, but it still stung.

Months crawled by. You was hunched over a plate of lukewarm pancakes, the morning news blaring on the TV, wearing your PJs and the glasses you needed to read the small print while on your laptop trying to find a new job after getting fired suddenly you heard something on the news which you turned up the volume which you saw Glisten and Zane! On the news, the headline screamed: "Glisten and Zane broken up!" Glisten shows were canceled in the meantime. Your fork clattered to the plate. This was your chance.

You threw on the first shoes and jacket you could find and bolted out the door, adrenaline pumping through you as you raced towards Glisten's penthouse. The scene that greeted you as the elevator doors opened was apocalyptic. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, clothes lay strewn everywhere, and the air hung thick with the sugary scent of spilled ice cream. A sob echoed from behind a closed door. His bedroom. You pushed it open. The room was a disaster. Crimson pink sheets lay tangled on the king-sized royal bed that dominated the room, amongst candy wrappers and empty tubs. And there, amidst the chaos, was Glisten. He was buried under his silk blanket, wearing a crimson pink robe with fluffy cuffs, mascara streaking his face as he shovelled cookies and cream into his mouth.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching. "Glisten? What happened?" He looked up, his eyes red and swollen. Between sobs and half-chewed cookies and cream ice cream soon once he shallowed he poured out the whole story. Zane had cheated on a bitch named Frankie, had been using him all along for his fame and fortune. Every cruel whisper you heard had been true.

Seeing him like this, vulnerable and heartbroken, solidified everything you felt. You wasn't just an assistant, or a fan. You cared about him, about him. You reached out and gently took the ice cream from his hands and place it down on the ground. "Come on," you said softly, pushing his hair out of his face. "Let's clean this up, okay? We can start fresh." His golden eyes met yours, and for the first time since Zane entered his life, you saw a flicker of hope. The light hadn't gone out completely. And you was going to do everything in your power to make sure it shone brighter than ever before.