By the time the girl in the oversized hoodie spilled her mocha all over the marble floor, every phone in that Los Angeles café was already pointed at her.
At first, all anyone saw was coffee splattering across white sneakers and the wide-eyed barista frozen behind the register. Then somebody near the back whispered, just loud enough to start a chain reaction:
“Wait… that’s Lia Han.”
It hit the room like a spark in dry brush.
“Lia!”
“Lia, is it really you?”
“Oh my God, Lia!”
Chairs scraped. Girls in USC sweatshirts tripped over one another to get closer. Screens lit up. Even in a city where spotting famous faces was a local sport, seeing her—South Korea’s biggest pop star—standing in a random coffee shop off Melrose felt unreal.
Behind the counter, Alex Reyes wanted to disappear into the espresso machine.
He knew who she was. Everybody did. Lia Han had been all over YouTube and Spotify and Times Square billboards. She’d flown into LAX the day before; he’d seen the airport clips on TikTok that morning while feeding his little sister cereal. Now she was here, eyes wide, cheeks flushing as strangers shouted her name.
“Everybody, move! Back up, back up!” a man in a dark suit barked, muscling his way through the crowd. Two other suits fanned out, forming a human barrier around Lia. A sleek black SUV idled in the red zone outside, hazard lights blinking like a warning.
The girl who had dropped her drink gave the room one apologetic look before being swept out the door.
The bell jingled. The SUV swallowed her. The crowd dissolved into squeals and shaky Instagram Stories.
Life in Los Angeles went back to normal.
For everyone except Lia.
And the guy who had made her coffee.
“Bro.” Alex’s coworker nudged him in the ribs as they wiped down the counters. “Busboy to barista to almost bumping into a literal K-pop legend. You peaked tonight.”
“Yeah,” Alex muttered, scrubbing harder than necessary at a perfectly clean spot. “Totally.”
Outside, the sun was sliding down behind palm trees and billboards, turning the sky over Fairfax High School a hazy pink. Inside, the café hummed with quiet lo-fi beats and the hiss of steamed milk. Los Angeles in late afternoon—the calm between rush hours.
Alex should have gone home already. His manager had yelled at him for taking too long on his break.
“Alex! Let’s go, man! Break is over!” Joe had shouted earlier, banging on the door of the alley where Alex had been taking a second to breathe.
But home didn’t exactly mean “rest.”
Home meant a cramped one-bedroom apartment east of Koreatown, his mother’s cough echoing down the hallway, overdue bills stacked on the kitchen counter, and a ten-year-old girl who refused to go to sleep until her big brother had read her a chapter of her fantasy book.
Home meant responsibility. And lately, looming over all of that, it meant something much darker.
Gino.
“Look, man,” the tattooed debt collector had said a few nights ago, cornering Alex outside the diner where he washed dishes after his café shifts. “I never took a dime from you, alright? But your pops did. Since that deadbeat skipped town, it’s on you now.”
Alex had stood there on the cracked LA sidewalk, neon from a taco joint flickering off Gino’s gold watch, heart pounding. He could still remember the last time he’d seen his father—dizzy with cheap whiskey and broken promises—mumbling something about Vegas and “one last shot” before disappearing for good.
“What do you want from me?” Alex had said. “We’re already barely making ends meet. I’m working two jobs—”
“Then quit those dead-end jobs,” Gino had replied, voice silky and cold. “Come work for me. Deliver envelopes. Pay off your debt.”
“I can’t.” Alex had meant it. Dragging food to tables and cleaning other people’s plates felt humiliating sometimes, sure. But it was honest. And he had a sick mom and a kid sister who still believed in him.
“Think about my generous offer,” Gino had said, slapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “You’ve got ’til Friday. After that… things get messy.”
Now, wiping down a café counter in the half-light, Alex tried not to think about that deadline. Or the way his mom’s cough seemed to get a little worse every day.
“Hey, man,” Joe called, checking the clock. “You can go. See you tomorrow.”
Alex nodded, untied his apron, and stepped outside into the LA evening.
He had exactly twenty minutes to get home, kiss his mom’s forehead, read to his sister, and pretend everything was okay.
Across town, in a gated house in the Hollywood Hills with a view of the entire city spread out like a glittering carpet, Lia Han stared at the same sunset through bulletproof glass.
“Are you out of your mind?” her manager hissed, pacing the length of the living room. “Sneaking off to a public place like that? Without security? What were you thinking, Lia?”
She sat curled up on the end of an enormous white couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, dark hair tucked into a baseball cap she’d forgotten to take off. The house around her could’ve been ripped from a lifestyle magazine—floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture, a grand piano nobody ever played, art that looked expensive and vaguely sad.
“I was thinking I wanted to feel like a human being for five minutes,” she said quietly. “Not a brand. Not a product. Just… a regular person getting coffee.”
“You’re not a regular person,” her adoptive father said, stepping into the room in a tailored suit, his voice as cold as the ice cubes clinking in his crystal glass. “You’re special. A global superstar. Start acting like it.”
“Embrace it,” her adoptive mother added, perched on the armchair like a queen, nails perfectly manicured. “Do you even realize how important this trip to Los Angeles is for us? Once we close these branding deals, you’ll go from South Korean sensation to worldwide icon. Think of the money we’ll make.”
Lia’s jaw tightened. They always said “we.”
“We’re already rich,” she said.
Her mother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “There’s no such thing as rich enough in this industry,” she said. “Remember what we promised you when we adopted you and Sora? That we would give you a better life. This is it.”
Lia didn’t remind them that she’d never asked to be adopted into the entertainment industry, or that Sora still lived in a small apartment in Seoul with a “vocal coach” who was basically a glorified babysitter.
Her phone buzzed. A video call.
“Sora?” Lia whispered, answering and turning slightly so her adoptive parents couldn’t see the screen.
Her little sister’s face filled it, bright and round and far too young to understand contracts and leverage.
“Unni! Can you hear me?” Sora beamed. “I stole my vocal coach’s phone when she wasn’t looking.”
“Sora, you can’t—if they catch you—”
“It’s their fault,” Sora huffed. “They wouldn’t even let me say goodbye to you before you left. Is LA as cool as you hoped?”
Lia looked around at the sterile luxury, then past the glass, where the city pulsed with life. She hadn’t seen anything of it yet. Her schedule since landing at LAX had consisted of car-hotel-meeting-car-house.
“You know how they are,” she said softly. “I’m stuck in this room this whole trip.”
“What?!” Sora pouted. “You have to explore. Go to Hollywood Boulevard. See the stars on the sidewalk. Like in that American movie.”
“In this house, you don’t go anywhere without us,” her father said sharply, waving for her attention. “Or your security team. And you are to keep your location sharing on at all times, no exceptions.”
Sora’s eyes widened. “She’s coming,” she whispered. “I have to go—”
The screen went dark.
Lia stared at her reflection in the glass—expensive hoodie, tired eyes, a girl who could sell out arenas but couldn’t walk down the street alone.
She stood up. “I’m going to my room,” she said.
“Don’t forget we have a brand strategy meeting at ten a.m.,” her mother called after her. “And no more running off for coffees. This isn’t Seoul. We’re in the United States now. The American press is vicious. One wrong move, and everything we’ve built could vanish.”
Everything we’ve built.
As if Lia was a skyscraper they’d invested in, not a person.
She closed her bedroom door behind her and slid down onto the floor, back against it.
On her nightstand, a framed photo of her and Sora at a playground in Busan looked back at her. Two little girls in thrift store clothes, laughing at something out of frame, before any of this had happened.
Lia picked up her phone.
What if, just for one night, she could be that girl again?
Alex almost walked right past her the second time.
The café was quieter than the night before, the air thick with the smell of coffee and caramel. A couple of college kids hunched over laptops, a dude in a Dodgers cap scrolled on his phone. LA strangers minding their own business.
He was restocking cups when the door chimed and a girl slipped inside, hoodie up, hair tucked into a cheap baseball cap, sunglasses too big for her face even though the sun was gone.
“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter with a tentative smile. “Can I get a large mocha?”
He blinked. Same big eyes. Same lips he’d seen on a thousand billboards. But the hoodie was plain and the mask she wore only covered half her face instead of all of it, and for a second he thought—maybe—he was imagining things.
“Uh… yeah,” he said. “Coming right up.”
He took her order, made the drink mechanically, hands moving faster than his brain. When he slid the cup toward her, she patted her pockets, frowning.
“Oh no,” she murmured, cheeks reddening. “I was so excited to get out, I… forgot my wallet.”
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I—”
“Consider it a ‘welcome to LA’ present,” he said, surprising himself. “On the house.”
She looked at him like nobody had ever told her that something she wanted was free.
“I couldn’t,” she said.
“You can,” he said. “Trust me, the owner will survive.”
She hesitated, then took the cup. “Thank you,” she said. She took a sip, eyes closing briefly. “It’s delicious.”
“First time in the States?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
She nodded. “First time in Los Angeles. I’ve always wanted to see the stars on Hollywood Boulevard,” she blurted, then grimaced. “I know, it’s lame—”
“It’s not lame,” Alex said. “It’s very… touristy.” He grinned. “But in a good way.”
A small laugh escaped her. It lit up her whole face.
“I’m Alex, by the way,” he said. “I work here. And at the diner down the street. And occasionally as my little sister’s Uber driver.”
“I’m…” She paused, eyes flicking to the door as if she expected a camera crew to burst in. “Lia,” she finished, offering the simplest version of the truth.
“Nice to meet you, Lia,” he said. “You visiting colleges?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, seizing on the lie she’d used at check-in with customs. “My parents want me to see universities.”
“Cool,” he said. “UCLA’s nice. USC’s… expensive,” he added, thinking of the brochures Mrs. Reyes kept in a drawer even though they both knew they couldn’t afford the application fee.
A notification pinged loudly from Lia’s phone.
She glanced at the time and sucked in a breath. “I really have to go,” she said. “Thank you again. For the drink.”
“Sure,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
As soon as she stepped outside, a black SUV that had been parked half a block away rolled forward, as if it had been waiting.
Alex watched her climb in, watched the tinted windows swallow her, and thought, She said ‘universities,’ but that sure looks like a celebrity car.
He shrugged it off. LA was weird like that.
That night, he came home to flashing red and blue.
For a second his heart stopped, thinking about Gino, thinking about the rent.
Then he saw the landlord, not the cops, standing in front of their apartment door, arms crossed over his “Dodgers #1 Fan” T-shirt.
“You’re late on the rent again,” the man said, not even bothering to say hello.
Alex shifted his backpack. “I know, I know,” he said, digging into his pocket. He handed over a crumpled wad of bills. “Here. I’ll have the rest by the end of the week. I just… need more time.”
“One week,” the landlord said. “That’s all I can give you. Then I gotta get the lawyers involved. Sick mom or no sick mom. You understand me?”
Alex nodded, jaw tight.
Inside, his mother’s cough echoed from the family room.
“Alex’s home!” Avery squealed as he stepped in, flinging herself at him with the kind of reckless joy only ten-year-olds in America still had. She wore an old Avengers T-shirt and socks with little tacos on them.
“Hey, troublemaker,” he laughed, hugging her back. “Where’s Mom?”
“In there,” Avery said, pointing to the bedroom. “She says you promised to read another chapter before bed.”
“I sure did,” Alex said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be right there. Go brush your teeth.”
He found his mom propped against pillows, a scarf wrapped around her head, oxygen tubing looping around her ears. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.
“You were gone so long,” she said, smiling.
“I know, I know,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hand. “Double shift. Joe had me doing inventory.”
“You’re just working yourself too hard,” she murmured. “I feel like it’s unfair to put all the burden on you at such a young age.”
“Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she whispered, voice catching.
He squeezed her hand. “I love you. That’s all that matters.”
She smiled through tired eyes. “Now go,” she said. “Your public awaits.”
Lia couldn’t stop thinking about the way Alex had looked at her like she was just… a girl. Not a product. Not a walking paycheck. Just Lia.
Two nights later, she showed up at the café again.
“Hey,” Alex said, wiping his hands on his apron. “Was wondering if you’d come back.”
“How could I not?” she said. “You’re the only person I know in this city.”
“What about those girls you were with the other day?” he asked, nodding toward a group of teenagers taking selfies near the window.
Lia’s smile tightened. “I don’t know them,” she said. “Not really.”
He shrugged. “Fair. People in LA can be fake,” he said. “Internet’s bad enough. Add palm trees and it’s chaos.”
She laughed, surprised.
“What time does your shift end?” she asked.
“Thirty minutes,” he said. “Why?”
“I was wondering if you wanted to… go do something tonight,” she said, nerves prickling under her skin. “After work.”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitating. “Yeah, that’d be dope. I’ve got the perfect idea. It’ll check off one of your LA tourist boxes.”
She smiled. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll meet you out back in thirty minutes?”
“Deal,” he said.
He watched her walk away, hoodie swishing, and for the first time in weeks, the knot of fear and debt between his shoulder blades loosened a little.
His “perfect idea” turned out to be the roof of their apartment building.
Not exactly the Hollywood Bowl. But when they stepped out into the night and the city spread beneath them—glittering freeways, the Hollywood sign faint against the dark hillside, downtown skyscrapers flashing digital ads—it took Lia’s breath away.
“You weren’t lying,” she said. “It’s gorgeous up here.”
“I know it’s not exactly what you were hoping to see,” Alex said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “But these are stars over Hollywood, so… technically, you can cross it off your list.”
She laughed. “Better than being mobbed on Hollywood Boulevard,” she said. “Up here, they’re all just for us.”
A cool breeze tugged at her hair. Somewhere below, a siren wailed, then faded. A helicopter drifted in the distance, searchlight sweeping over the city.
“You okay?” Alex asked gently. “You got quiet.”
“I’m fine,” she said, staring at the constellations. “I just… miss my sister. I don’t see her often. Long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he said.
She hesitated. It was the first real moment of peace she’d had in days. The first time someone had asked about her feelings without a camera rolling.
“I like stars,” she said instead. “But no, I don’t want to be an astronomer. Too much math.”
“Respect,” he said, grinning. “I barely survived Algebra II.”
“What do you want to do?” she asked. “In this city filled with dreamers.”
He looked out at the haze, the neon, the opportunities that always seemed just out of reach.
“I’ve always thought about opening my own restaurant,” he said. “Nothing fancy. Just a place where people can come and feel at home. I love to cook. I think I’m pretty good at it. At least, my little sister says so.”
“That’s a wonderful dream,” Lia said fiercely, as if her belief could make it happen. “You should do it.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, well. Dreams cost money,” he said. “If I don’t get the final rent payment by Friday, the landlord starts the eviction process. Sick mom or no sick mom. I can’t take a day off, let alone afford culinary school.”
“If it’s not too personal,” she asked carefully, “what happened to your dad?”
His jaw clenched.
“He’s what got my family into this mess,” Alex said. “He lied to us for years, said he was working construction. Really, he was a gambling junkie. When my mom got diagnosed with cancer, he took everything she had and disappeared. No note. No goodbye. Just gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Lia murmured.
“There’s nothing worse in the world than a liar,” he said quietly.
The words lodged like glass in her throat.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said. “It’s been… amazing.”
“Hey, you know,” he said, brightening, “my sister’s recital is on Thursday. It’s at the elementary school across the street. You’d score major points if you came. She already asked if you’re my girlfriend.”
Lia’s cheeks warmed. “Is that so?”
“She’s ten,” he said, rolling his eyes. “She thinks everyone holding hands is married. You wanna come?”
For a second, Lia pictured it—sitting in a folding chair in an American school gym, listening to badly played violins, laughing with Alex’s family like she belonged.
Then she saw her adoptive parents’ faces. Her security team. The stack of contracts waiting for her signature.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, stomach twisting. “I… have to get home.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, trying to cover his disappointment. “At the coffee shop?”
She nodded. “Yeah. At the coffee shop.”
She never made it to the coffee shop. Not that day.
Instead, she sat in a sleek conference room in downtown LA, surrounded by American executives in suits and her adoptive parents, discussing brand alignments and tour schedules and multi-million-dollar endorsement deals.
“Our campaign will take Lia global,” one of the marketers was saying, tapping through a PowerPoint full of projections and maps. “Clothing, cosmetics, fast-food partnerships. We’re talking millions in new revenue streams here.”
“Wonderful,” her father said. “We are very much looking forward to hearing your plans for Lia’s bright and lucrative future.”
Lia stared at the sparkling skyline behind him and thought about Avery’s recital program sitting on Alex’s kitchen table.
A flash of movement in the hallway caught her eye.
Alex.
He stood just outside the conference room, eyes wide, dressed in the same worn sneakers he wore to the café. He looked like he’d stumbled into another universe.
Lia? he mouthed.
She set her pen down. “Excuse me,” she said, forcing a smile. “Restroom.”
In the hallway, Alex grabbed her elbow.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she hissed. “Security—”
“Who are you?” he demanded, hurt and confusion warring on his face. “Why does everyone know you? Why did the lobby explode when you walked through?”
“I’m…” She swallowed. “I’m a singer. Kind of famous. Back home.”
“Kind of?” he repeated hollowly.
“I’m not here to look at universities,” she said. “I’m here to sign branding deals my adoptive parents are pushing me into.”
“You lied to me,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t want to,” she said. “They adopted me and my sister to profit off our careers. They control my life. They control Sora. If I cross them, they’ll send her back into the foster system. I’d never see her again. I just… wanted something normal. Something real.”
“If you hate your life so much,” he said, “why don’t you walk away? You live in America now. Call the police. Tell someone.”
“The police here don’t care about what happens in Seoul,” she said bleakly.
Before he could answer, a hand clamped onto his shoulder and spun him around.
Gino.
“Yo, Alex,” the debt collector drawled, breath hot with cheap cologne and power. “We have unfinished business.”
“Not now,” Alex hissed. “Please.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do when you owe me as much as you do,” Gino said, yanking him closer. “You got that, punk?”
“Let him go,” Lia snapped, stepping in.
“Oh, she’s feisty,” Gino said, amused. “Cute. Listen, kid. You’re all out of grace. Starting tomorrow, you work for me. Or else.”
He shoved Alex away, hard enough that he hit the wall and slid to the floor, wind knocked out of him.
“Alex!” Lia knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Stay away from her,” Alex gasped at Gino, rage flashing across his face.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Lia whispered. “Over dinner. I promise.”
Gino smirked and sauntered off.
She helped Alex to his feet, bruises blooming under his hoodie.
He watched her reenter the glass conference room, watched her sit down under the fluorescent lights as the executives resumed discussing her life as if she wasn’t there.
He had never felt so poor.
Or so determined that nobody was going to use him as leverage again.
The slap came before the headlines.
“Do you know how much we had to pay to keep those photos off social media?” her mother hissed that night in the Hollywood Hills living room, brandishing her phone. The screenshots were all pixelated blur and circled figures, but the headlines were crystal clear.
K-POP QUEEN SEEN WITH MYSTERY BOY IN LA
LIA HAN’S SECRET BOYFRIEND?
“What were you thinking?” her father thundered. “Your whole career could have been over in one stupid night. Then what good would you be to us?”
Lia lifted her chin. “Maybe I don’t want to be ‘good’ to you,” she said. “Maybe I want to be good for me.”
Her father stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere without your security team,” he said. “No coffee shops. No rooftops. No recitals for little American girls. Understood?”
“That’s not fair,” Lia said. “This is my life.”
“If I were you, I’d be more concerned about your sister’s life,” he said softly. “Either you start acting like the global superstar you are, or we’ll make sure you never see Sora again. There are plenty of countries where the courts move slowly. Or not at all.”
She stared at him, blood roaring in her ears. For the first time, she understood what people meant when they said “monster” and weren’t talking about horror movies.
When Alex got the call about his mom, he was in the back of the diner, scrubbing at a pan that would never be clean.
“Alex,” Gino said when he burst out of the kitchen, apron still on. “Relax. I’m not here for you.”
“Then why—”
“It’s your mother,” Gino said, enjoying the flicker of fear on Alex’s face. “She collapsed. They took her to County.”
Alex didn’t remember dropping the sponge. Or running out the door. Or how he got to the hospital.
He remembered the smell—antiseptic and fear. The fluorescent glare. The American flag in the corner of the waiting room. The way his heart clenched when he saw his mom in yet another hospital bed, tubes snaking into her arms, blood pressure monitor beeping steadily.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he whispered, gripping her hand. “I should have been. I was—”
“You were living your life,” she said faintly, managing a smile. “That’s all I ever wanted. For you and Avery to be happy.”
He blinked back tears.
“Alex?” a nurse called from the doorway. “Billing needs to talk to you about payment options.”
Of course they did.
He stepped into the hallway, bracing himself.
He didn’t expect to see Lia there.
She stood by the nurses’ station, hair pulled back, wearing jeans and a simple sweater. No security, no stylists. Just a girl holding a bouquet of supermarket flowers.
“Oh,” his mother said when he walked back in. “Look who came to visit. Lia brought me these.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Alex said, shock and anger tangled in his chest.
“I was visiting the children’s wing for a meet-and-greet,” she said. “I saw your mom’s name on the chart. I wanted to explain. About last night. About everything.”
“Explain what?” he snapped. “That while I was waiting for you at a school recital, my mom collapsed and was rushed here? That I wasn’t there? That you told me to wait for you and then disappeared?”
“That’s not fair,” she said quietly.
“Fair?” he echoed. “Nothing about any of this is fair. But my family doesn’t get to hire lawyers and PR teams to fix it.”
“Alex, please,” she said. “I never meant—”
“I’ve got an envelope to deliver,” he cut in. “For Gino. Across town. If I don’t, we lose everything. Not that someone like you would understand that. So answer me one thing, Lia. Was any of it real? Or were you just slumming it with the broke kid because you were bored of private jets?”
Her eyes filled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“How can you say that?” she whispered.
He turned away.
In the hallway, a familiar voice oozed out of the shadows.
“What do you want?” Alex said through his teeth.
“What do I want?” Lia’s adoptive father asked pleasantly. “I’m trying to help you, Alex. The same way I’m helping Lia. The same way I’ve helped her sister by taking her in.”
“If ‘help’ means exploiting them, I’ll pass,” Alex said.
“Young man,” the man said, eyes narrowing, “I know everything about you. Your mother’s hospital bills. Your landlord. Your friend Gino. You’re in quite dire financial straits. But I can make all your problems disappear with one check.”
He held up a piece of paper. The number on it made Alex’s head spin.
“All you have to do,” the man said, “is stay away from Lia. Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t show up at any more recitals. Do we have a deal?”
Alex stared at the check. He saw his mom’s thin face, the eviction notice waiting on their door, Avery’s recital costume hanging on the closet door.
He took the check.
And tore it in half.
“You don’t own me,” he said quietly. “And you don’t own her.”
The next time Lia’s parents threatened her, they weren’t alone.
They caught her packing.
“Where do you think you’re going?” her father demanded, blocking the doorway to her bedroom.
Lia zipped her suitcase shut and looked him in the eye. “I’m done with this,” she said. “All of it. Take the money. Take the house. I don’t care. I just want my life back.”
“What about little Sora?” her mother asked silkily. “You walk out, we put her on a plane. She disappears into some training camp in another country. Courts move slowly, sweetheart. Too slowly to stop us.”
“You are monsters,” Lia said, voice shaking. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Who will stop us?” her father sneered. “Your little busboy boyfriend? He doesn’t even want you. If he did, he wouldn’t have taken my bribe.”
“That’s a lie,” Lia said.
“You can’t prove any of this,” her mother added.
Lia smiled then. It was small. And terrifying.
“Actually,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket, “I can.”
From the hallway, a voice called, “LAPD! Open up!”
Her parents froze.
“What on earth is going on here?” her mother snapped as two officers stepped inside, badges glinting under the California sun.
“The cops were pretty curious when I played them this video,” Alex said, appearing behind them, phone in hand. On the screen, a recording showed Lia’s parents threatening to ship Sora somewhere “the courts would never find her,” their faces twisted with greed and frustration.
“You two need to come downtown with us,” one officer said. “The State Department has questions.”
“This is ridiculous!” her father sputtered as handcuffs clicked around his wrists. “You can’t—this is a misunderstanding—get—get off me!”
“Turns out I wasn’t the only one trying to help you,” another familiar voice said.
Lia turned.
June, her longtime stylist and unofficial big sister, stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“When I saw how they were exploiting you,” June said, eyes softening, “I couldn’t just sit back. I went to the authorities months ago. We’ve been collecting evidence ever since. Alex helped. We cut a deal. He testifies against Gino; the State Department and Korean authorities fast-track things on their side. Everyone wins. Except the bad guys.”
Lia looked at Alex, stunned.
“I thought you didn’t want me,” she said.
“I wanted you safe,” he said. “And free. Also, that check your dad tried to bribe me with? He needs to find a better bank.”
She laughed through tears.
“You gave me my life back,” she whispered.
“You gave me mine,” he said. “Fair trade.”
A month later, the Hollywood Hills house felt different.
The security guards were gone. The energy leeches had vanished. The only people lounging on the couches were friends who actually cared about Lia, not her follower count. In the kitchen, Avery tasted a spoonful of soup and made a face.
“Too much salt,” she declared. “But otherwise… ten out of ten.”
“I’ll take it,” Alex said, tweaking the recipe. “First test run for Reyes’ Kitchen. LA’s next big thing.”
“Reyes & Han,” Lia corrected, leaning against the counter. “I told you, I’m investing.”
“You really don’t have to help with the bills,” he said. “Or the restaurant. Your money is yours. For the first time.”
“And for the first time, I get to decide what to do with it,” she said. “I want to help. Besides, I need a place to eat for free when you’re rich and famous.”
“That’s my line,” he said.
In the corner, the TV played a muted news segment. The chyron read: INTERNATIONAL TALENT AGENCY COUPLE FACES CHARGES OF MINOR EXPLOITATION. A smaller line scrolled beneath: LOCAL DEBT COLLECTOR AGREES TO PLEA DEAL, FACES PRISON TIME.
The world kept spinning. Los Angeles kept shining. People kept scrolling past the story, then stopping when Lia’s face popped up again in a different context.
Singer Lia Han Announces Move to LA, Plans to “Live Like a Real Person for a Change.”
“What are you going to do now?” Alex asked, sliding a bowl of soup toward her.
She looked out at the city through the glass, the smog-streaked sunset painting downtown gold.
“I was thinking about moving to LA,” she said. “Investing in the restaurant business. Maybe writing my own songs for once, not whatever they shove at me. Maybe finally seeing those stars on Hollywood Boulevard without security guards breathing down my neck.”
“And maybe date a poor guy who isn’t poor forever,” he said, bumping her shoulder lightly.
“Correction,” she said, smiling. “Date a chef who almost delivered envelopes for a gangster but instead helped take down a crime ring and my evil ex-parents.”
“Title’s a little long,” he said. “But I’ll allow it.”
She laughed, the sound free and bright.
For the first time, it wasn’t for the cameras.
On a quiet street in Los Angeles, a girl who’d been treated like a product and a boy who’d spent his life barely scraping by sat at a kitchen island and planned a future that belonged to them.
Not to contracts. Not to debt. Not to other people’s expectations.
Just them.
And this time, nobody had to fake anything.
