They called it the perfect life.
From the moment I was born, I was unstoppable—a star destined to shine brighter than the rest. While others dreamed of a taste of luxury, I was drowning in it. Money flowed like water, fame followed me like a loyal pet, and power… power came simply by breathing my name.
Admiration? Please. I had crowds worshipping the ground I walked on.
Envy? Naturally. Not everyone can handle watching someone live the dream life they'll never have.
But really… can you blame them?
After all, not everyone gets to be me.
A princess-like life—that's what everyone calls it.
Father, a powerful conglomerate tycoon. Mother, a sharp-tongued politician feared in the senate. My older brother? A decorated colonel admired by the entire nation.
And me? The shining popstar adored by millions. A role model for girls, a symbol of empowerment for women across the globe. Sweet. Inspiring. Untouchable.
…Or so they thought.
Because behind the perfect smile and glittering stage lights, I have a little secret.
A twisted hobby, if you will.
I like to play with men's hearts.
Who said only guys get to break hearts and walk away?
I do it better.
And oh, how I love the moment they fall to their knees, voices cracking, begging me to stay… right before I throw them away with a smile.
[NEWS FLASH]
"Breaking news! Business tycoon Alexander Thyssen Mera once again dominates the headlines as his conglomerate surpasses last quarter's profits by a staggering 40%. Economists are calling it the 'Mera Phenomenon,' citing his strategic expansions as the key to his empire's unstoppable growth."
"Meanwhile, Senator Isabella Cervera Mera officially announces her bid for the presidency this coming election season. Political analysts predict she may be the first female president to win by a landslide if polls continue in her favor."
"And in international news, Colonel Adrian Cervera Mera leads the nation's military unit to victory in a high-risk counterterrorism operation overseas. The daring mission was hailed as a 'masterclass in strategy and courage.'"
"Finally, the nation's sweetheart—global pop sensation Samantha Cervera Mera—has confirmed her much-anticipated world tour kickoff this weekend. Fans are already camping outside arenas, with tickets selling out in record time."
The broadcast ends with a glimmering shot of the Mera family photo—a perfect portrait of power, wealth, and influence.
....
In the Mera mansion, opulence was practically dripping from the walls—golden chandeliers casting warm light across marble floors, and tall glass windows revealing the city skyline like it was there solely for her viewing pleasure.
Samantha Cervera Mera sat sprawled on an Italian leather couch, her legs elegantly crossed, swirling a glass of ridiculously expensive wine like she owned the entire world. Which, in a way… she did.
Her dark eyes glimmered with the same confidence she wore on stage—an untouchable aura of someone adored by millions, envied by the rest, and backed by a family so powerful even tabloids didn't dare cross them.
But that illusion of calm cracked when her phone—an exclusive limited-edition model, naturally—buzzed for the tenth time in a row.
She sighed sharply, her crimson lips twitching in annoyance.
Another bouquet of roses from the chaebol heir. A string of desperate voice messages from the young senator's son. A barrage of texts from the crown prince of some small European kingdom.
And, of course, her fan club president begging for a photo for the official fan page.
And somewhere in the chaos, her poor manager was trying—and failing—to coordinate her concert schedule because the men in her life were flooding her inbox like moths to a very expensive flame.
Samantha swirled the wine one last time before downing it in a single, elegant gulp.
"Men," she muttered, setting the glass aside with a smirk and an annoyed flick of her wrist.
The princess of the stage, the daughter of powerhouses, the sister of a national hero—yet here she was, fighting off suitors like it was a full-time job.
....
Outside the international airport, the air trembled with anticipation. News crews lined the barricades, fans screamed her name until their voices cracked, and paparazzi flashes lit up the entrance like a thousand tiny suns.
Then, the glass doors slid open.
And there she was.
Samantha Cervera Mera—Sammy to the millions who adored her—stepped into the frenzy like a queen walking into her coronation.
A tailored white blazer glittered subtly under the afternoon sun, her long hair perfect, her lips curved in a soft smile that could disarm the coldest heart.
The reporters lost their composure instantly.
"The princess of pop has arrived in Manila!" one shouted into his microphone, nearly drowned out by the deafening screams. "For the first time ever, Samantha Cervera Mera kicks off her global concert tour right here in the Philippines!"
Another reporter chimed in breathlessly, cameras flashing around him:
"Tickets? Sold out in under fifteen minutes! Every seat, every section—gone! The world has been waiting, and tonight… she performs for the very first time on a stage built just for her."
Fans pushed closer to the barricades, waving neon signs and lightsticks that spelled out SAMMY in flashing colors. Some cried. Others simply stared like they were witnessing a living legend.
"Sammy, over here! Sammy!" the paparazzi yelled, clicking away as if they could capture the moment's electricity through sheer persistence.
Samantha paused mid-step, lowering her sunglasses just enough to meet the cameras with a cool, confident gaze. She gave a single wave—elegant, poised—sending the crowd into a fresh wave of chaos.
"She's here," the anchor said dramatically, as if the entire nation had been holding its breath. "And tonight marks history. The princess of pop begins her reign on the global stage… right here in Manila."
With that, Samantha slipped into the waiting black limousine, its tinted windows reflecting the blinding lights. Behind her, the fans were still screaming, the cameras still flashing, but the countdown had officially begun.
Because tonight, the world would hear her sing.
....
Backstage was a whirlwind.
"Samantha, hold still for a second—this liner has to be sharp enough to cut glass," one makeup artist muttered, carefully drawing a wing at the corner of her eye.
Another was behind her, curling the last strands of her long hair. "Five minutes till showtime," he reminded, even as the third stylist knelt to adjust the glittering silver outfit that shimmered like liquid stardust.
Sammy—Samantha Cervera Mera—sat calmly through it all, her reflection in the mirror radiating poise and perfection. The queen before the storm.
From outside, the deafening chant of thousands flooded the dressing room:
"SAMMY! SAMMY! SAMMY!"
The president of her fan club, standing atop a platform near the stage, grinned ear to ear, megaphone in hand.
"Alright, you guys know the drill! When our princess comes out, I wanna hear you louder than you've ever been in your lives! For Sammy!"
"FOR SAMMY!!!" the crowd screamed back, the stadium shaking with the force of it. Neon signs flashed her name, lightsticks painted the sea of people in every color imaginable.
But the front row was a world of its own. Seated there were her infamous suitors—sons of billionaires, heirs to political dynasties, celebrity athletes—each one dressed sharply, each one desperate for her attention. Their eyes never left the stage, a mixture of obsession and longing written on their faces.
"Is she wearing the necklace I gave her?" one billionaire heir whispered sharply, gripping the edge of his seat.
"Doesn't matter," another suitor, the son of a senator, muttered with clenched fists. "She's singing my song tonight."
They sat like kings, all powerful, all obsessed, each silently promising the universe to the girl who hadn't even looked at them yet.
Then the lights dropped. The arena sank into darkness. The opening chords hit.
And there she was—Sammy—stepping into the single spotlight like it was her throne.
"Good evening, Manila!" she called, her voice smooth yet electrifying.
The crowd went feral.
BOOM! Fireworks erupted above as the floor beneath her lit up in cascading lights.
The stadium echoing with chants and cheers, while the front row of suitors leaned forward like men possessed, the glow of the stage lights reflected in their hungry eyes.
Sammy commanded the center stage, her figure poised like a queen ascending her throne. Her glittering silver outfit caught the light, reflecting like shattered stardust.
The opening notes of her song rumbled through the air, deep and electric, vibrating through the floor, through the seats, through the hearts of everyone present.
And then she moved.
One powerful step forward, the beat dropped, and the entire stage erupted into life—columns of fire roared skyward, holographic phoenix wings burst open behind her, and laser lights swept across the arena like dancing comets.
The crowd exploded.
"SAMMY! SAMMY! SAMMY!"
Her voice soared over it all—rich, flawless, a tidal wave of emotion and power. She hit every note like she was carving her name into music history itself, the kind of voice that made the hair on your arms rise and your chest ache with something you couldn't explain.
On the giant screens, her eyes burned with fire as she sang the chorus, her body moving with effortless precision, every turn and every leap perfectly in sync with the pulse of the music.
Confetti rained in gold and silver as dancers flooded the stage around her, the choreography explosive and sharp, but Sammy stayed at the center—commanding it all, owning it all.
Holograms spun around her, meteors streaking through a galaxy projected across the arena ceiling, until it felt like she was singing from the heart of the universe itself.
Then came the high note.
She leaned into it, her voice climbing higher and higher until the entire arena seemed to hold its breath—then exploding in a wave of cheers so loud the ground shook beneath them.
Fans were crying, strangers hugging, the front-row billionaires on their feet, each one looking at her like she was something otherworldly.
Because in that moment, Samantha Cervera Mera wasn't just a girl on stage.
She was a phenomenon.
She was the music itself.
She was the best popstar in the world.