Sunlight poured gently through the tall windows of the grand estate, illuminating polished marble floors and elegant furniture that whispered tales of wealth and legacy. Outside, the gardens were immaculately manicured, guarded by tall iron gates and a line of luxury cars that gleamed under the morning sky.
Inside, the staff moved with silent efficiency—maids dusting chandeliers, cooks preparing breakfast, assistants shuffling files. It was a household where everything followed structure and command.
Among the gentle murmurs of morning routine, a maid's phone buzzed quietly. She answered it at once, her voice respectful, her eyes widening as she recognized the caller.
"Has KD gone to college?" asked a voice on the line—sharp, composed, and unmistakably that of Kiara.
The maid hesitated, then answered as expected, "Yes, ma'am."
But that was a lie.
KD—Kiaan Daniel Vanshaj—was the youngest heir of the prestigious Vanshaj family, known across his elite university campus as the most unmotivated student to ever enroll. His interest in academics was fleeting—so fleeting it might as well have been imaginary. He treated studying like a bad habit he was trying to quit.
Yet, his outward appearance told a different story. He looked like a magazine-cover rich kid: flawless hair, designer clothing, and a confidence that didn't match his grades. Anyone seeing him for the first time would assume he was an Ivy League scholar on vacation.
In truth, college was just a place for him to socialize, flirt, and pretend to care about deadlines. He never showed up before 10:30 a.m.—not out of respect for morning lectures, but because by that time his sister would have left for work, giving him a peaceful few hours to sneak back home and nap uninterrupted.
For KD, skipping class wasn't rebellion—it was routine.
That day was no different. He had slipped back into the mansion unnoticed and was now snoring deeply on his bed, utterly detached from the responsibilities of a student.
But fate had a different plan.
Unannounced, Kiara returned home with her executive assistant. She needed to retrieve urgent documents from her room. Unlike her brother, Kiara believed in self-sufficiency. Despite the wealth surrounding her, she handled her own tasks with precision.
Kiara was everything KD wasn't.
She was fierce, elegant, and unquestionably intelligent. Possibly the most admired woman in the city, her online presence overflowed with admiration. Messages of love and adoration poured into her social media inbox every single day. She dressed only in luxury brands, wore only signature watches and heels, and stepped out of cars that others only saw in magazines.
To Kiara, lifestyle wasn't just expression—it was identity. She believed a person's standard of living defined their class, and class defined worth. She didn't entertain anyone who didn't meet her standards. If someone lacked elegance, organization, or ambition, they simply didn't matter.
She walked toward her room with poise, retrieved her documents, and was heading out when something caught her eye—a door slightly ajar.
She paused.
Inside, KD was lying upside down on the bed, mouth open, snoring with the innocence of someone utterly unaware of the storm approaching.
"KD!" she screamed, her voice piercing the air like a gunshot.
Startled, KD jolted awake, flailed for balance, and fell off the bed with a loud thud. He looked up with sheer terror in his eyes.
Damn. She saw me. I'm finished.
Kiara's face was unreadable. Her tone was pure ice.
"What are you doing here? Did you not go to college? Or are you skipping class again?"
She walked toward him, voice rising with each word.
"Because of your laziness, our family name is turning into a joke. Every single member of our lineage has graduated top of their class from the most elite institutions. And you? You've managed to fail four semesters in a row. If our parents were alive, they would've died of shame."
Her breath hitched—just slightly—before she composed herself again.
"If I see you ignoring your studies one more time, I will throw you out of this house. Learn how to carry yourself with dignity. Maintain some class. Otherwise, there will be no difference between you and a street beggar. I don't even know how Ria fell for you."
And with that, she turned away and stormed out.
KD sat on the floor, humiliated and crushed. Her words echoed in his mind like the ticking of a guilt-filled clock. He stood up quietly, grabbed his bag, and made his way to the only person who gave him some sense of peace.
Ria.
Ria was his girlfriend, the university's academic queen, and the daughter of the university's head administrator. Ironically, she was also one of Kiara's close friends. As KD flipped through her neat, color-coded notes, Ria looked at him thoughtfully.
"Why is Kiara so obsessed with class and status?" she asked.
KD didn't answer at first. Then he exhaled, slowly.
"After our parents died... things changed. They were killed in a staged accident. The people responsible weren't criminals in the usual sense—they were low-paid workers manipulated by a corrupt developer to cover up a scandal. Since then, Kiara doesn't trust people without money or power. She believes poor people will do anything for money. She thinks only those born into wealth know the value of life—and can be trusted."
Ria nodded quietly, her eyes scanning his tired face. She handed him the notes, and they began studying together.
But in the back of her mind, a question bloomed:
Has Kiara ever allowed herself to fall in love?
---
Meanwhile, across town, under the tall glass tower that housed the Vanshaj Corporation's headquarters, a man stood guard in a standard blue uniform.
Manoj.
He was invisible to most. A security guard with no flair, no charm, and no fancy words. Some young executives whispered behind his back, mocking his clothes, his country accent, or his quiet nature. He heard them—but never responded. He simply smiled, like he always did.
After his shift, he returned to a small rented apartment, barely more than a single room. He lived alone. Cooked his own meals—simple, healthy dishes made from scratch. He was an orphan who had built his life one day at a time, with no shortcuts, no favors.
Though he had little money, he was more organized than most millionaires. His shirts were always ironed. His shoes always clean. His room spotless. Time mattered to him. Respect mattered to him. But class? Status? Those were illusions.
To him, being well-kept, disciplined, and kind was all that mattered. He didn't need a fancy car or designer shoes. To him, charm wasn't in the face—it was in the behavior.
No woman had ever looked at him twice. If they had spoken to him, it was usually out of politeness—or mockery. He'd overheard groups of women at work laughing at his appearance, his plainness.
Did it hurt? Of course. But he swallowed the hurt every single day. And still, he smiled.
---
That night, the world went to sleep.
Kiara lay in her bed, wrapped in velvet sheets, sleeping peacefully. She didn't dream—never had. Her sleep was quiet, unbothered. As if life had no questions left to ask her.
In the room next door, KD stayed awake. Sketching.
No one knew, but he was an artist. A gifted one. His hands moved with fire, charcoal dancing across the page. Art was his hidden truth. His rebellion. His dream.
He looked toward the closed door between them and whispered in his thoughts:
She never dreams. She sleeps like the world has never touched her. Maybe she's the only person alive who's never been broken—not even by her own hopes.
---
Elsewhere, on a rolled-out mattress in a dim room, Manoj slept deeply.
In his dreams, a woman in a tailored suit stepped out of a luxury car. She walked toward him, smiled, and said the words he had never heard aloud:
"I love you."