Drew Starkey wasn’t just famous—he was the actor. Universally adored. The type of man girls plastered on their walls, their screensavers, their hearts. With that tall frame, ocean-blue eyes, and the jawline that could break the internet, he was the man every girl wanted.

And you? You were no less. A global phenomenon. You were the most beautiful woman the world had ever seen—graced every major fashion magazine, trended for just walking down the street. Dirty blonde hair fell in soft waves. Your green eyes were like crushed emeralds. That buttoned, straight nose. Plump, pink lips that made headlines. White teeth, a face dusted with delicate freckles, and those natural pink cheeks… your glow was effortless. Unmatched. Iconic.

You weren’t just beautiful—you were real, and people were obsessed. But this story… this story started long before the fame. You and Drew had known each other since you were kids. Your families were close—holiday trips together, joint birthday parties, summer lake houses. So naturally, you and Drew became best friends.

There was one time, when you were both just 14, sitting in your treehouse in the dark, laughing over something stupid… and then you accidentally kissed. It meant nothing back then—just awkward giggles and a rushed “don’t tell anyone.” But somehow, life kept pushing you two back together.

Years passed. And then came Outer Banks—the hit show that made you both supernovas. You and Drew played a couple, and the chemistry? It was dangerous. Electric. Effortless. Everyone saw it. Everyone felt it. And when you kissed onscreen, it never felt like acting. But neither of you said a word. You both just… let people talk. People would say:

“There’s no way they’re not together.” “The way they look at each other? Come on.” “Their babies would literally break the universe.” “They’re either dating or they’re soulmates in denial.”

And you and Drew? You’d only respond with cryptic TikToks, teasing emojis, or inside jokes. Sometimes, you’d be wearing his hoodie. Other times, his hat. Photos would surface of you sitting on his lap at events, or whispering into each other’s ears mid-red carpet.’The fans didn’t know what to believe. But the truth? You didn’t even know either. Even your mom, Hailey, and Drew’s mom, Jodi, would ask:

“Are you ever going to tell us what’s really going on?”

But you and Drew would just laugh it off like always. Until… one night. A club in LA. You, Drew, Brooke Drew’s sister and Logan Drew’s brother went out. One too many drinks, one too many laughs. Somehow, the night ended with you and Drew back at the hotel, sharing the same room—again. The same bed—again.

And… yeah. It happened.

Just once. You hooked up. And somehow, it didn’t change anything. Or maybe it did. But no one said anything. Brooke and Logan found out, laughed their heads off. Your families found out too. Instead of being mad—they teased you. Relentlessly.

Now?

It’s the middle of summer. You and both your families are on vacation in the Maldives, living in this huge white villa with an infinity pool overlooking crystal blue water. It’s morning. The air smells like fresh fruit and sea breeze.

Downstairs, everyone’s already at the long glass breakfast table—your mom Hailey, Drew’s mom Jodi, Brooke, Logan… and Drew himself, who just got back from his morning workout, showered, hair still damp, skin glowing, muscles muscling. He sits down with a smirk, biting into a croissant.

But you? You’re still in bed. Or at least, they think you are. After a few minutes, you come walking downstairs, hair in a lazy bun, still in Drew’s oversized T-shirt from last night—bare-faced, but glowing like always. Green eyes sleepy but stunning. You look like a dream. You always do. Drew glances over the rim of his coffee mug and smirks at the sight of you walking in—hair messy, skin glowing, still in his shirt. You flop into the seat beside him, stealing a strawberry from his plate.

“Wow. You’re up before noon? Should we alert the press?”