By evening, Nessa's group chat was buzzing with edited clips of Julian's teaser.
Liora watched them scroll past her screen—Julian dancing, Julian smirking, Julian giving that carefully curated half-smile that sent millions swooning.
Millions… except her.
Or maybe… especially her.
Because even as she rolled her eyes at the captions—
"Husband material 😍😍"
"If Julian breathes, I'll stan."
"My man, my muse, my everything!"
—her chest clenched.
They all wanted him.
The world adored the version of Julian they thought they knew. The artist. The idol. The untouchable fantasy.
They could love him easily.
Without consequence.
Without weight.
But she?
She didn't have that luxury.
She couldn't scream in a crowd, couldn't plaster his name across her socials, couldn't melt at a perfectly timed wink on stage.
Because every look, every smile, every performance — felt like a mockery.
He was hers.
Not in a possessive way. Not in the rabid fan way.
In a cosmic, destiny-drenched, soul contract kind of way.
And yet… he wasn't.
She wasn't even sure he'd want to be.
Her phone buzzed again. Nessa this time, in their private chat:
"Girl, when will you get a man like this, ehn?"
"Imagine Julian knowing you exist… what would you even do?"
Liora stared at the message.
The ache twisted harder.
If only Nessa knew.
If only he knew.
Liora typed back, fingers trembling on the keys.
"If only indeed."