CHAPTER 1 — KEVIN WARD
"You're really sure about this?"
Mr. M asked me that for the third time, his brows pulled tight as he studied me from the opposite couch in my rec room. His voice was steady, but the worry clung to it, thick and unmistakable.
"Yes," I said, my tone firmer than I felt. "I want a break. Just a year. I want to know what it feels like to live like a normal teenager."
A sigh slipped out of him—long, heavy, weighted with eleven years of managing me. He reached over and tapped my shoulder, a familiar, grounding gesture that made the air in the room soften. "If that's what you want," he murmured, "then I'll support you. You know I've always got your back, child."
He meant it. He always did.
Mr. M had taken me under his wing when I entered Hollywood at eleven. To him, I wasn't just a job or a brand. He treated me like a son—sometimes more than my actual parents did. Mom and Dad weren't bad. They weren't cruel or neglectful. Just… busy. Their worlds revolved around scripts, meetings, endorsements, and business trips. Their love was real, I knew that, but their attention? That always belonged somewhere else.
And now, at eighteen, I had everything most teenagers fantasized about—millions of fans, movies, dramas, concerts, magazine covers, and a name that trended whenever I so much as breathed. Once, during a concert, someone yanked my long blond hair just to kiss my cheek. It startled the hell out of me. I wasn't flattered—I was scared. The crowd had roared like it was romantic, but all I could think about afterward was how fame was starting to treat me less like a person and more like a possession.
Sometimes… being adored felt like being trapped.
I wanted space. Privacy. A chance to breathe without cameras clicking like machine guns around me.
That's why I wanted school.
"Alright," Mr. M said finally, settling back into the single sofa as if preparing for impact. "Tell me your plan."
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "I'll enroll at Arzea Academy."
"That's one of your father's schools," he pointed out.
"Exactly. Which means he can arrange a system to hide my identity. It would be chaos if everyone knew a celebrity suddenly enrolled."
I grabbed the package beside me and pulled it onto my lap. I opened it slowly, like unveiling evidence of a crime.
"So," I began, pulling out the items one by one, "I'm changing my name. Andrew Claid. A pseudonym only for school—my real name stays on my official records."
I lifted the wig—long, messy black hair, uneven at the ends, strands falling across the face like a curtain meant to hide.
"These glasses," I added, holding up thick black frames with no grade. "Nerdy. Forgettable. Perfect."
Next came the clothes: washed-out jeans, plain shirts that looked like they had survived a decade of laundry cycles, and old shoes with rubber soles slightly worn.
"And I'm getting braces from the dentist," I said. "That should seal the disguise."
Mr. M blinked at the pile on the table as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry.
I continued anyway. "I'll drive a cheap car. And I'll stay in the small resthouse mansion near the forest—the one Dad owns by the school. It's close enough that I can walk if I want. I'll live alone and take care of myself."
His expression softened with something between pride and anxiety. "You really thought all this through."
I nodded.
Because I wasn't just running from fame. I was running toward something I had never been given the chance to experience.
Normalcy.
And… to her. Eight years had passed since I had last seen her. And thinking that I could be with her again, it made my heart clench for the long affection I kept for such a long time. I thought it might just be gone with how busy I was with everything in my life since I entered the industry. But lately, I was feeling more restless, agitated that as I am growing older, she is too, and it could be too late for me to come back.
"Kevin!" Mr. M. exclaimed in front of me with fingers snapping, waking me up from deep thoughts. I flinched and blinked as I shook my head to remain in the present. He disregarded my spacing out and continued with what he was saying. "Have you told your father?" he asked.
"Not yet. I'm meeting him tomorrow." My chest tightened. "I think he'll agree. Hopefully. Just… tell the public I'm on a long vacation. Mom can help with the press."
He nodded slowly. "Then all that's left is convincing your father."
That was the part that made my stomach twist. Dad wasn't unkind, but he was hard to read. Hard to reach. Hard to talk to. Sometimes I felt like a stranger sitting in front of his polished business suits.
Mr. M stood and smoothed his shirt. "I should go. We've covered enough. Good luck tomorrow, young man."
I escorted him to his car. The wind was cool, tugging at my hair as if reminding me how temporary this blond, polished image was.
"Bye, Mr. M," I said. "I'll call you after I talk to my dad."
"Take care," he said before driving out. "And good luck."
• • • • • • •
The next day, I sat alone in the small living area inside my father's office. The leather couch beneath me was cold and stiff—too much like him. My leg bounced uncontrollably as the clock ticked on the wall, each second scraping at my nerves.
I rarely asked him for anything.
Rarely talked to him beyond polite greetings.
Rarely felt like a son in this room.
The door opened.
Dad walked in—tall, sharp, businesslike, his presence filling the space the way silence fills a room right before something breaks. His suit jacket was still on, tie slightly loosened, and eyes tired but alert.
"Dad," I greeted, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
He motioned toward the chair in front of his desk. "Sit." His voice was calm, clipped. "What brings you here?"
Straight to the point.
Never a "How are you?"
Never a "How have you been feeling?"
But I shoved the bitterness aside. I needed him to listen.
So, I told him everything—my reasons, my disguise, the school, the break from fame, everything I had been afraid to admit even to myself.
He listened silently, fingers steepled, eyes narrowing only once. He didn't interrupt. Didn't react. He simply observed me like I was presenting a business proposal instead of begging for a fragment of a life I'd never had.
When I finished, the silence between us thickened.
"That's all?" he asked.
The words stung more than I wanted to admit. "Yes."
He leaned back in his seat. "Alright. I'll arrange everything. I'll inform the staff. No one will know who you are. The school opens next week—prepare yourself."
Just like that.
I stared at him, stunned. "You… agree?"
"Yes, Kevin." His tone softened. Just a little. "If this is what you want, then I'll support you."
Something warm and unfamiliar tightened in my chest.
I stood and stepped forward before I could second-guess myself. I hugged him.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then slowly—awkwardly—his arms came around me.
"It's the least I can do," he murmured. "I'm sorry if I… couldn't be there more. But this, at least—I can do for you."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Maybe because he rarely said anything like that.
Maybe because part of me had waited years to hear it.
• • • • • • •
A week later, everything was set.
I moved into the small mansion near Arzea Academy—a quiet place surrounded by trees and the low hum of cicadas. The windows overlooked the forest, sunlight filtering through the leaves in shifting waves that felt strangely peaceful.
My disguise was stuffed in the wardrobe: wig, glasses, braces, and old clothes. A brand-new persona waiting to replace the boy the world thought it owned.
The staff had been briefed.
The world believed I was on a long vacation.
And tomorrow… tomorrow was my first day at school.
Also seeing her again. Facing my long-buried feelings at last.
I lay on the bed that night, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and thrill.
For the first time in years, no fans waited outside my gate.
No cameras flashed.
No makeup artists hovered.
No screaming crowds.
No rehearsed smiles.
Just silence.
Just me.
I didn't know if school would be freedom or another kind of disaster waiting to happen. But what made me more afraid was how to react to seeing her. How would our encounter take place? And how should I face her after all that had happened in the past?
But I was ready.
Or at least… I wanted to be.
Tomorrow, Kevin—the celebrity—disappears.
And Andrew Claid takes his place.
Whatever happens next…
I'll face it.