Being part of the richest family in the world didn’t feel like how people imagined it.

Yes, you lived in a palace. Not a mansion—an actual palace. It was perched in the hills of Los Angeles, pure white walls gleaming under the California sun. Everything about it screamed luxury: the huge swimming pool out back, cherry blossom trees swaying gently in the breeze, palm trees lining the backyard, and flamingo and pineapple floats drifting lazily across the water.

The backyard was massive. Basketball court, football court, an island bar with stools, lounge chairs—everything perfectly arranged, like it belonged in a movie. The front yard was just as meticulous, with trimmed grass, lights tucked into expensive bushes, and limos always parked out front beside the luxury cars. It was aesthetic, modern, and somehow still cozy. Inside, you lived with your parents and siblings. Your family was known like royalty—untouchable, admired, envied.

You were more than just part of that powerful family. You were a star. A child actor who’d become the face of Hollywood. You were in movies, TV shows, podcasts, interviews. People watched your vlogs, followed your travels, and memorized your lines. You weren’t just famous—you were the most famous, richest, and most successful actor in the world. And still a teenager.

Yet between filming schedules, scripts, and red carpets, you still had school. A private one, of course. Uniforms, strict tutors, and quiet hallways. Most days were packed from morning until late night. Studying, shooting, traveling, repeating.