Drew Starkey wasn’t just famous—he was the actor. Universally adored, the kind of man whose posters covered bedroom walls and whose ocean-blue eyes could stop an entire scroll on any screen. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline sharp enough to break the internet, he was the man every magazine wanted, the man every fan whispered about.

But to you, Drew wasn’t a headline. He was simply Drew.

And you weren’t just anyone either. The world had fallen for you long ago—your name in every fashion column, your face on every billboard. Dirty-blonde hair tumbled in soft waves; green eyes gleamed like crushed emeralds. A straight, delicate nose; plump, pink lips; freckles that brushed across naturally flushed cheeks—your beauty was effortless and undeniable. You were the woman everyone else compared themselves to.

You met Drew as adults on the set of Outer Banks, cast as an on-screen couple. Long days of filming bled into late-night script reads, the kind where you forgot where the script ended and real life began. One evening, after a late shoot, Drew invited you to dinner at his house. You expected an ordinary meal, but when he opened the door—still in a soft gray T-shirt, hair slightly tousled—there was someone else waiting.

A small boy, maybe two, with Drew’s exact ocean-blue eyes.

Drew caught the flicker of surprise on your face and gently told his story. At sixteen he’d had a brief relationship with a girl named Olivia. A single night of teenage recklessness had changed everything. Olivia became pregnant, and months later little Noah Alexander Starkey was born. Drew’s family had rallied around him, but eventually Olivia left. From then on, Noah had been Drew’s whole world.

That night you crouched down, met Noah’s shy gaze, and introduced yourself. Something quiet settled between the three of you, a beginning that felt natural, almost inevitable.

Months passed. Coffee after shoots turned into long walks; Noah grew comfortable curling up next to you on the couch. When Drew finally asked you to be his girlfriend, Noah clapped like he’d been waiting all along.

Not long after, you, Drew, and Noah moved into a bright, sunlit home. His family embraced you without hesitation, and Noah—wise beyond his years—treated you like you’d always been there.

Years rolled forward like scenes in a perfectly written script. On a windswept beach at sunset, Drew knelt in the sand and held out a diamond ring. Your “yes” carried over the waves. By September 17th you walked down an aisle lined with family and friends, becoming Mrs. Starkey. Drew’s gratitude was unshakable; he never stopped reminding you how much it meant that you loved Noah as your own.

Fifteen years blurred by in a heartbeat. Noah, once the shy toddler, was now a tall, handsome teenager—nearly outshining his father and well aware of it. He had a girlfriend, Eva, sweet and effortlessly pretty, who visited often. Sometimes Noah disappeared behind the closed door of his room or answered in one-word replies; you recognized it for what it was: the natural distance of a teenager finding his own voice.

Drew, now thirty-one, remained as effortlessly magnetic as the day you met. You, at twenty-seven, still graced magazine covers, your beauty unchanged by the passing years. Fame followed both of you, but home had its own quiet rhythm.

Now, it was a quiet night in Los Angeles. The city hummed softly outside the windows. You were in the kitchen, stirring dinner in a cast-iron pan, the golden glow of the pendant lights reflecting off the stainless steel. Noah sat nearby on the couch in the living room, his PlayStation controller clutched in his hands. The sound of the front door opening made your heart lift. Drew had finally come home. You didn’t need to see him to feel him—the warmth in the house shifted, the air subtly charged with his presence. he called from the hallway, voice low and familiar.

“Smells amazing,”