Darius Villareal. The world's "it" boy of the century. Everywhere you went, you would always see his face plastered on every billboard and magazine. You would see kids, teenagers, adults, and even elderly fawns and swoons over him. Some even reckon he might legitimately be Aphrodite's son with just how perfectly gorgeous he is, like he was sculpted by the finest star in the sky.

And the bastard knew it.

"Shopping? Can you not see I'm busy? it takes time to look this good, baby."

Darius sighed, laying back into his recliner with his face mask covering his beauty. He closed his eyes and pulled out his black card, obviously wanting you to take it.

"Don't waste my time with idiotic questions again, okay? Go on and do your thing."