Frans King is a modern day popstar who lives his life on the outside as if everything were perfect. But, inside, he faces the tumult of an emotional typhoon.
His father and his record company force him to live a faux life in order to support a good...
"Where the heck were your bodyguards?! Do you have any idea how stupid it was?" Timothy kept yelling at Frans, who casually leaned on the leather couch, closing his eyes. It's odd how many times he has already found himself on the same uncomfortable couch trying to sleep and turn the world off. But yet again, he was failing.
Timothy was highly respected man in this business, he was the one who's word counted the most.
Martha was standing behind Tim, nose high and holding a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in other. Her eyes were looking down at Frans, accusing and cold. The woman's blond hair was pulled back into a neat bun, the results of her lipstick was matching her pale skin. She looked beautiful outside, but inside she was like a rotten apple. "Well?! Are you going to answer or not!" Timothy yelled, slapping Frans on the side of his head. His eyes flew open and he looked up to fuming Timothy. He was tired and wanted nothing more than just go home. Home. Perhaps home is more like a feeling rather than a place? Perhaps, he was just craving something that was out of his reach?
"I don't remember." Frans said calmly, leaning back on the soft couch. He showed no emotion, and that's what made the modest angry. Because unfortunately Frans must do whatever they want. And most of the time he did. It's just the feeling of being suffocated that made the young man act this way, or perhaps it was just stress acting up.
"No? You don't remember?" Timothy said calmly, taking dangerous step closer. "But that's why we have hired bodyguards! You don't run away from them! Remember what happened with Tommy? Huh Frans?" Timothy mocked him, narrowing his dark eyes.
Frans' apple green eyes flew open and he jumped up, glaring at the man. "It wasn't his f-" he cut him off, pushing him back on the couch. "Of course it wasn't my son's fault. It was yours. Why? Because you keep making stupid mistakes." Timothy snapped at him. Curly haired lad looked down because as much as he wanted to deny it, Tim was right. Frans kept making stupid mistakes.
Timothy huffed and cursed him more and then calmed down a little, getting the frustration out.
"So Lena tell us something interesting, he needs to make this up for us." Timothy announced while glaring at Frans who almost fell asleep already.
The office was too crowded for his liking, but it doesn't matter what he likes and what not. It hasn't mattered for a long time now. He didn't even know half of the people here, yet they were looking down to him, holding their electronic devices and trying to be as standing out as possible.
