When the World Turned Ugly
The first time Aura saw people tear Adrian apart online, she felt sick.
They called him fake.
They said his smile didn't reach his eyes anymore.
They said he only cared about money — that he was "washed up," "irrelevant," "a ghost clinging to fame."
Aura sat in her dim apartment, phone screen glowing against her face.
The comment section kept refreshing — hundreds of voices typing venom faster than she could breathe.
Every word felt like a blade aimed straight at him.
They didn't know him.
They didn't see how hard he worked, how much he gave up, how tired his eyes looked after every performance.
They didn't understand.
But she did.
That night, she couldn't sleep.
The thought of him scrolling through those comments — seeing all that hate — made her chest twist.
She imagined him alone in some hotel room, staring at his reflection and wondering if they were right.
If maybe he really wasn't enough anymore.
And something inside her snapped.
"They don't deserve you," she whispered to the dark.
"You're too good for them."
The next morning, she deleted her fan account.
She stopped talking to other fans, stopped sharing photos, stopped pretending she was just one of them.
Instead, she made a new profile — anonymous, private — and began collecting everything she could about him:
his schedules, his interviews, the cafes he visited, the hotels his team booked.
She told herself it was for his safety.
If she knew where he was, she could protect him.
Keep the wrong people away.
Keep him from falling apart.
The first time she followed him again, she did it calmly, methodically.
No shaking hands. No guilt.
It wasn't obsession — not to her.
It was devotion.
And when she saw him smile for the cameras again — the same forced, tired smile she'd noticed that first night — she whispered to herself:
"It's okay, Adrian. You don't have to smile for them anymore. You'll never need to, once you have me."