Mordred leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling of Jayden's loft. The thought of Nevaeh lingered in his mind like an ache that wouldn't fade. He hated how much he thought about her.
This isn't supposed to happen.
He had spent years perfecting the art of being untouchable. He was a brand, an image, a carefully curated persona that didn't allow room for real emotions. Everything about his life was planned—who he talked to, who he worked with, even who he dated.
Fake relationships. Arranged flings. Temporary illusions.
His contracts made sure of that.
There was no space for something as reckless as real affection.
Jayden poured himself another drink, watching him with curiosity. "You look like a man who just found out love exists and can't stand it."
Mordred exhaled sharply. "I can't have anything to do with her."
Jayden raised a brow. "Why not?"
"Because it would be awkward." Mordred ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "She's a journalist, and I'm—" He gestured vaguely. "Me. She'd think I'm just playing around with her, like I do with all the others."
Jayden scoffed. "Well, are you?"
Mordred shot him a glare. "No."
"Then what's the problem?"
Mordred clenched his jaw. "You don't get it, Jay. Even if I wanted something real, I can't have it. My schedule is booked for the next two years. Concerts, endorsements, scripted relationships—it's all part of the job. I don't even have time to breathe, let alone be with someone for real."
Jayden leaned forward. "And that bothers you?"
Mordred hesitated. "I don't know."
But he did.
It did bother him.
Because no matter how much success he had, how much money he made, or how many people screamed his name—he would never get to experience the simple things that others did.
A normal relationship.
Real affection.
Love without conditions.
For a moment, he let himself imagine it—what it would be like if he could just be with Nevaeh without all the complications. Without the world watching. Without contracts controlling his every move.
But that wasn't his reality.
And it never would be.
Jayden sighed, shaking his head. "Man, for someone who has everything, you sure do sound miserable."
Mordred chuckled dryly. "That's because I am."
Meanwhile in nevaeh's house....
Nevaeh sat on the couch in her small apartment, her three best friends surrounding her like an interrogation squad.
"So… have you been getting closer to Mordred?" Donna asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.
Nevaeh paused, sipping her tea. "Why would you ask that?"
"Oh, come on," Lilly groaned, tossing a pillow at her. "You literally work in the same industry as him. You must have at least had a real conversation by now."
"Yeah," Teresa added, nudging her. "Don't tell me you're one of those journalists who just sees him as another story. He's not just some random celebrity—he's Mordred."
Nevaeh sighed. "I mean… we've talked. Just small things. He's professional."
"But is he nice?" Donna pressed. Her brown eyes sparkled with the kind of admiration that only a true fan could have.
Nevaeh hesitated. She didn't know how to explain what she saw in Mordred's eyes—the loneliness he hid beneath all the glamor. He was polite, but distant. Guarded, yet strangely vulnerable when he thought no one was looking.
"He's… complicated," she finally said.
"Ugh, of course, he is," Lilly rolled her eyes. "Mysterious hot guys always are."
Nevaeh chuckled, shaking her head.
"But seriously," Donna cut in, her voice softer now. "You don't understand how much I admire him. Ever since high school, I've been obsessed with his music. His teenage voice was my comfort during my worst days. I had his posters, memorized his lyrics, and—" she blushed, embarrassed. "I even wrote a cringey fan letter once but never sent it."
The girls burst into laughter, but Donna waved them off, getting back to her point.
"My birthday's coming up next week," she continued, biting her lip. "I know this is a long shot, but… if there's any way you could get me just a picture of him—an autograph, even—I'd literally owe you my life."
Nevaeh blinked.
A picture? An autograph?
It should be easy.
But when it came to Mordred, nothing was easy.
He wasn't the type of celebrity who entertained casual requests. He was always surrounded by security, managers, and fake relationships crafted for publicity.
Still…
Donna had been her friend for years. She knew how much this meant to her.
And for some reason, the idea of doing something thoughtful for Mordred's fan—something real instead of the artificial interactions he was used to—felt like something she wanted to do.
Would he agree? Probably not.
Would she try anyway?
"Fine," Nevaeh sighed, setting down her tea. "I'll see what I can do."
The room erupted into cheers, and Donna threw herself onto Nevaeh with a squeal.
"You're the best!"
Nevaeh only smiled, but deep down, she was already dreading how complicated this was going to be.