Beomji Sitrius Garde handsome, brilliant, rich, and undeniably famous. His family was already a prominent name in the Philippines, yet his rise to fame wasn't built on connections. Nope, this man climbed the ladder all by himself - in Gucci shoes, no less.
He first stepped into the spotlight when he auditioned for a singing competition. He didn't win, of course, his voice could make an angel file a noise complaint and possibly take an early vacation. Dancing wasn't his strength either; he moved like a worm sprinkled with salt that is alarmingly committed. But who cares about talent when you've got a jawline that could cut glass and confidence thick enough to use as sunscreen.
That blinding self belief caught the eye of a talent director who said, "He can't sing, can't dance... perfect. Let's make him a star." And just like that, Beomji went from awkward contestant to a nation's brightest star. One show led to another until his face was on billboards, coffee mugs, phone cases, notebooks and allegedly, someone's graduation tarpaulin.
By all accounts, Beomji lived a good life. His family adored him. His friends were genuine. His career was thriving. To everyone around him, he had it all the looks, the fame, the success, and the mirror he clearly loved a little too much. Even he believed his life was close to perfect. Since childhood, he'd achieved more than most people dreamed of. He had every reason to be proud maybe a little too proud, but who's counting?
Yet sometimes, when the noise faded and the lights dimmed, he felt an emptiness he couldn't explain. Something was still missing. Something he couldn't name. But something he keep on searching.
He was lost until she arrived.
Clerid Romero, the woman who disrupted the stillness of his soul and awakened the parts of him he never knew existed.
"I'll find you."
"I'll wait for you."
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