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If hell had a waiting room, Richard Chen was sure it looked a lot like the practice studio of Candy Jem Entertainment. The air-conditioning hummed, the fluorescent lights buzzed, and in the middle of it all was Sofia Kwek; his boss, his headache and his undoing.
She was rehearsing again—not because she needed to, given that tomorrow was already suffocatingly full with three back-to-back interviews, two dance practices, and a variety show taping, but because Sofia had never believed in doing things halfway. To her, preparation was not a requirement imposed by managers or schedules; it was a personal creed, sharpened by impatience and pride. She repeated the routine until every movement felt intentional, until there was nothing left to criticize except the fact that she could still criticize something.
Across the room, Richard rubbed at his temple as he scrolled through Sofia’s Instagram on his phone, already bracing himself for the aftermath. The latest post was a blurry mirror selfie, deliberately careless, captioned felt cute, might delete never. Within minutes it had amassed thousands of likes and an equal flood of comments, praise and vitriol tangled together in an endless, exhausting loop. Half the world adored her for her audacity; the other half despised her for the exact same reason. And every time Sofia spoke without thinking or thought without filtering, it somehow became his responsibility to clean up the mess.
He had been ‘temporarily’ assigned as the girl’s manager when she debuted. The company had already gone through three managers before her first single dropped. One quit after two weeks, another after an infamous fan-sign incident, the last one citing ‘irreversible damage to mental health’ in his resignation letter. The villain herself had not cared. “If they can’t handle me, that’s their weakness,” she had shrugged, flipping her hair.
Richard was supposed to be a stopgap. “Just until we find someone else that is tougher,” they told him.
It had been five years.
Five years of taming headlines, deleting tweets, and rewriting apologies. Five years of running interference between the idol Sofia and the rest of the world, who never seemed ready for her sharp edges. Five years of babysitting a hurricane in designer shoes.
And the worst part was that he did not even hate her for it. He should have. It would have made things simpler if irritation outweighed everything else, if frustration were the only thing she ever stirred in him. Instead, it lingered uncomfortably beneath the surface, tangled with something warmer and far more dangerous, something he refused to name.
“Richard Chen!”
Sofia’s voice cut cleanly through his thoughts. She had stopped mid-routine, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, magenta hair clinging to her cheeks and neck with sweat. The glare she fixed on him was sharp enough to demand attention. “Are you even listening,” she snapped, “or are you too busy flirting with my fans on my account?”
He looked up and gave her the expression he’d perfected over the years—the manager’s glare, all restrained irritation and practiced professionalism, meant to communicate exhaustion without crossing into emotion. Unfortunately, his body betrayed him as it always did, that familiar warmth settling in his chest the moment her eyes locked onto his. He pushed the feeling down and slid his phone into his pocket. “I’m trying to prevent another PR disaster,” he said evenly. “You’re welcome.”
Her lips curved, slow and knowing. “Don’t you think I make your life interesting? What would you do in your boring life without me?”
Without you, it would be quiet and manageable. And unbearably empty. The thought surfaced uninvited, sharp enough to catch him off guard. He swallowed it back before it could reach his face. “Without you,” he replied dryly, “I’d be able to sleep for once in my life.”
“Pfft as if.” She flicked her towel at him without warning, the fabric smacking squarely into his face, damp and unapologetic.
He peeled it off with a scowl. “A so-called princess idol doesn’t throw sweaty towels at their managers.”
“An idol also doesn’t keep the same manager for six years while he complains every single day,” she shot back, flashing a grin that was all teeth and challenge. “But here you are. Still glued to me. Why is that, dear Richard?”
His heart stuttered at the way she said his name, intimate and mocking all at once. He scoffed to cover it, forcing the sound out like armor. “Because no one else is stupid enough to put up with you.”
She laughed, head tipping back, the sound bright and reckless in a way that made his chest tighten despite himself. Everyone else heard arrogance in it, saw entitlement and chaos wrapped in confidence. Richard saw something else entirely; someone relentlessly, stubbornly herself, no matter the cost. And for reasons he refused to examine too closely, he admired that. Far more than he should.
He remembered once, two years into his reluctant post as manager, Sofia’s mother cornering him outside a waiting room. She was the opposite of her daughter; carefree, almost whimsical. She had sighed as if apologizing to the universe itself.
“You know, Richard,” she had said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “I’ve given up trying to change her. She’s like that because of me, because of her father. Too spoiled, too willful. But you—” her eyes softened, knowing in a way that unnerved him—“you’ve always been patient with her. More patient than anyone else. You see her clearly, don’t you?”
The man had bristled. “I’m just doing my job.”
She had smiled, amused. “Of course. And yet you’re still here. Other managers ran for their sanity. But you stay. You’ve been in love with her longer than you realize.”
He had frozen at the words. Love? No. Absolutely not. He stayed because he didn’t trust anyone else not to ruin her career. Because she’d drive new managers away in days, undoing all the work he had put in. Because… because—
Because he couldn’t stand the thought of someone else being by her side, twenty-four-seven.
He had shaken his head, denying it, muttering something about contracts and responsibility. But her mother’s knowing smile lingered in his mind, haunting him. Because it was true; he had realized his feelings long before that conversation, in the quiet in-between moments when Sofia wasn’t being loud or reckless, when she fell asleep in the van with her head tipped toward the window, when she hummed under her breath while tying her shoelaces, when she teased him but smiled just a little softer after.
Moments no one else noticed. But he did.
“Come on, manager.” Sofia’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts as she slung her bag over her shoulder, already moving with purpose. “I’m starving. Take me to that ramen place.”
“… Since when you want ramen? You are always strict on diet.” he reminded her.
“I know,” the other said simply. “I said take me there, not order it.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I can sit with broth. Or watch you eat.” Discipline was something she imposed on herself, not something she resented.
And Richard knew better than to mistake her hunger for weakness. He shook his head, already reaching for the door to follow his boss, like he always did.
Because as much as he longed for the sky, as much as he buried himself in flight manuals and study notes during midnight breaks, his heart had already chosen where it wanted to land.
Right here. With her.
If life had any sense of fairness, Richard should have been in a cockpit by now. A clean uniform, a co-pilot by his side, the endless stretch of sky waiting for him. Not here. Not in the backseat of a van at 1 a.m., keeping one eye on the road and the other on Sofia slumped against the window, still in her stage outfit, glitter sticking to her jawline.
She was asleep, but not peacefully. Her brow was furrowed, lips pressed tight even in dreams. He wanted to smooth the frown away, but of course, he kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel.
Focus, Richard. Flight instruments. Checklists. Procedures. That’s what you should be thinking about. Not how soft she looks when the spotlight isn’t on her.
“Don’t forget, you’re just filling in,” he whispered to himself, though it had been five years. Five years of filling in.
Everyone knew. That was the thing.
Her family, their friends, the company staff—everyone. Even the fans.
Despite never stepping on stage, Richard had become a recognizable figure, thanks to the endless fansites that thrived on capturing the tiniest interactions between him and Sofia. He had learned to ignore the occasional fan-cam, but it was harder when entire compilation videos of “Sofia x Manager moments” trended on YouTube. A hand on her shoulder guiding her through the crowd, his jaw tightening when she tripped on stage, her laugh softening when he handed her water, their bickering caught by a mic left on. Edited with pink heart emojis and romantic soundtracks.
It didn’t help that Sofia herself seemed to enjoy stoking the fire. During interviews or variety shows, her favorite pastime seemed to be throwing him under the bus.
“My manager? He’s so frustrating because he always nagging non-stop,” she would say with a dramatic roll of her eyes. But then, almost always, she’d glance off-camera where he was standing, smirk tugging at her lips, and add, “But I guess he’s useful… sometimes.” Cameras didn’t catch Richard’s expression, but Sofia did.
Backstage, he hissed through gritted teeth as he handing her a towel, “You don’t need to mention me in every interview,”
“Relax, dear Richard,” she whispered with a wicked grin, patting his arm. “They love it. I love it. Everyone’s entertained. You should be thanking me.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten. Patience, patience, patience. “You make me sound like your clown for entertainment.”
“Aren’t you?” she teased.
He sighed. She always won these little exchanges, and she knew it.
Their classmates had not forgotten either. Every now and then, some old schoolmate would resurface on social media, talking about “that one pair who used to bicker all the time in the cafeteria.” Some swore they’d seen them argue behind the court, others swore it was flirting. A few even joked that Sofia had ‘claimed him’ before she ever became famous. Apparently, the internet never got tired of their origin story—two kids who couldn’t stand each other; one who is polite and respectful student while the other who could set a classroom on fire just by opening her mouth, ended up glued at the hip anyway.
Richard hated how much he secretly liked reading those posts. Because every rumor, every half-joke about them, was just another reminder of how close they actually were.
Too close.
Of course, closeness had its price. Like tonight, when he’d had to endure two hours of her giving silent treatment after he told her she wasn’t allowed to cancel a schedule just to hang out with Zara and Qistina.
“You don’t get to control me,” she’d snapped.
“I’m not controlling you. I’m protecting you, Sofia. What would those organizers said if you cancel on them last minute? After all, most of them are common faces in these types of shows. Rumours spread fast.”
However, she had stormed off, leaving him with the usual cocktail of frustration and guilt. Normally, it would be him apologizing first, swallowing his pride just to keep the peace. But this time, when he walked into the practice room later that night, he was stunned to find her actually tidying up her scattered sheet music.
“Done glaring at me?” she asked, not looking up.
He raised a brow. “Since when do you clean up after yourself?”
“Since today,” she muttered. “Don’t get used to it.”
He didn’t. But he noticed the effort. Just like he noticed the next day, when she showed up five minutes early for rehearsal; on time by Sofia standards. Little gestures. Her quiet way of saying sorry without ever saying it. Richard’s throat tightened. He wanted to thank her, but he knew if he did, she’d only laugh or being disgusted.
Instead, he said, “Try for three days next time.”
Her lips curved, soft and fleeting. “We’ll see.”
And then there were the moments no one else saw.
Like when he found her slumped over the studio couch, too stubborn to stop practicing until she collapsed. He draped his jacket over her, muttering, “You’re impossible,” even as he adjusted it so her shoulders wouldn’t be cold. She didn’t wake, but the small, unconscious smile on her lips nearly undid him.
Or the time she appeared at his desk at 3 a.m. with two cups of coffee, eyes heavy with exhaustion but lips quirking upward.
“You’re not the only one who can stay up and suffer,” she said, setting the cup down.
He should’ve scolded her for staying up even later, but all he could do was look at her and realize she’d dragged herself out of bed just for him.
And that hurt the most. Because every time he promised himself not to fall further, she gave him another reason to.
When they reached her apartment that night, Sofia’s mother was waiting at the door in her robe and slippers, looking more like a friend than a parent.
“Oh, Richie,” she said warmly, pulling him into the foyer before he could escape. “You work too hard.”
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”
She gave him that knowing smile that made his stomach twist. “You’re doing more than that, and we both know it.”
Before he could respond, she looked toward her daughter with fond resignation. “That girl is impossible. Stubborn. Spoiled. That’s why she needs you, Richie. You balance her. You protect her from herself. You care.”
His throat tightened. She had always known long before he admitted it to himself.
“I’ll always be grateful to you, Richard,” she said gently. “I know you want the sky, but until then, thank you for giving my daughter somewhere safe to land.”
He bowed slightly, not trusting his voice. Somewhere safe to land.
If only she knew how much he wanted that to be true—for himself just as much as for Sofia.
Hours later, Richard sat at his desk in his tiny apartment. His aviation textbook lay open, pages waiting for notes, formulas begging to be memorized. But his pen hovered uselessly above the paper. His mind was still on her. Always on her.
The way she smirked at him during interviews, the way she called his name like it mattered, the way even her mother looked at him as if he were already hers.
He exhaled, long and low.
You’re supposed to be studying for the skies, he told himself. But the truth was unavoidable.
Every time he looked up, he didn’t see clouds. He saw her.
Richard had grown used to living in the background. That was the life of a manager; shadow, shield, silent guardian. He wasn’t meant to be seen. His job was to let the artist shine, to be invisible until needed.
But over the past few weeks, invisibility had become impossible.
He scrolled through the comments on his laptop, his stomach twisting tighter with every word:
“He’s holding her back.”
“Of course she’s comfortable with him since he’s just a manager, not competition since he is nobody.”
“Look at the pictures. He’s always around her. Creepy.”
“She deserves someone better. Not him.”
“Poor Sofia, stuck with that guy since school. Can’t she escape?”
Richard’s hands hovered over the keyboard, knuckles white. He had seen these things before—half-truths, baseless gossip—but this time, the knives weren’t just aimed at him. They were cutting her too, twisting her into some selfish diva who strung along her poor lovesick manager.
The idea that Sofia was being dragged through the mud because of him made him sick.
He slammed the laptop shut, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Maybe they were right. Maybe he had overstayed his place. Five years as her manager. Five years of swallowing his feelings, of pretending his heart didn’t skip when she smiled at him, of forcing himself to look away whenever she leaned too close.
Five years of loving her quietly. And it had started so much earlier than that.
He remembered their high school days; her fiery magenta hair, her fierce laugh, the way she always dragged him along like he was the only one she trusted. Back then, it had been harmless. Back then, she wasn’t an idol and he wasn’t her manager.
But now? Now the whole world was watching. And he was nothing but a liability.
That night, he walked her to the rooftop of the company building. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because the air there was quieter, freer. Maybe because he knew if he didn’t speak now, the weight in his chest would crush him.
Sofia tugged her merch hoodie tighter against the chill. “Why are we up here? Planning to scold me where no one can hear?”
Richard didn’t answer at first. The city stretched out beneath them, lights twinkling in the distance, the low hum of traffic rising faintly from the streets. It wasn’t completely private as there are too many surrounding buildings, hence too many possibilities of prying eyes. Yet it felt far enough away from the world that he could breathe.
Finally, he spoke. “I want to resign.”
The words landed with weight, careful and deliberate, as though he had rehearsed them until they no longer trembled. Richard kept his gaze fixed somewhere just past her shoulder, anywhere but her face. If he looked at her now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish what he had started.
For a moment, Sofia didn’t respond. The silence stretched, sharp and disbelieving, before she turned to him slowly. “What?” The single word was flat, stripped of emotion, which somehow made it worse.
“I’ve already drafted the letter,” he said quietly. “It’s the best choice.” Even as he spoke, the explanation felt thin, insufficient, but he clung to it anyway.
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, incredulity flashing across her face like a crack in glass. “Best for who?” she shot back. “For the company? For those faceless strangers online who get bored and decide someone needs to bleed for it?”
“For you,” Richard said at last, forcing himself to meet her eyes. His chest tightened immediately, the storm there unmistakable—anger, disbelief, something dangerously close to betrayal. “This ends if I leave. You won’t have to keep paying for my decisions.”
“No.” The word snapped out of her, sharp and absolute. “Don’t you dare put this on me.” She stepped closer, voice hard with restrained fury. “You don’t get to decide for me, Richard. You don’t get to throw away five years just because some bored people behind a screen have opinions.” Her jaw set, pride and control burning through every syllable. “If you want to leave, own it. Don’t disguise it as sacrifice.”
Her words struck deep, sharp enough to unsettle him, but Richard shook his head anyway. “It’s not about them,” he said, keeping his voice measured despite the tension tightening in his chest. “It’s about me.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I can’t keep doing this, Sofia. Standing behind you. Managing the damage. Pretending there’s nothing personal about it.” He let out a slow breath. “Every time you trust me, I’m reminded of how much influence I have over your life, and that’s not something I should be allowed to keep.” His gaze flicked away. “And when I read those comments, I start to think they’re not entirely wrong. Maybe you do deserve better.”
Sofia stepped forward, fire blazing in her eyes. “Better than what? Better than the person who knows me best? Better than the idiot who stays up until three in the morning just to make sure I eat, who throws his jacket over me when I’m half-dead in rehearsal, who always apologizes first even when it’s my fault?” Her voice broke. “You think that’s nothing? You think I don’t see you?”
His chest tightened, but he kept his hands at his sides, fingers curling slowly as if anchoring himself. “You don’t understand,” he said quietly, the words clipped, defensive.
“Then make me understand.” She was so close now, her breath brushing his skin. “Stop hiding behind excuses. Say it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Silence had always been his shield. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and deliberate, stripped of any softness. “I’m in love with you.”
The rooftop seemed to still. He didn’t let himself look away this time. “I’ve known it for years,” His jaw tightened, “And that’s precisely the problem. I can’t manage wanting more than I’m allowed to have. “And it’s the reason I have to leave before I make a decision neither of us can take back.”
Her eyes widened, catching the faint spill of city light, glassy with something dangerously close to tears. For a long moment, neither of them moved, the space between them charged and fragile. Richard could hear his own heartbeat, loud and unrelenting, each pulse braced for rejection, for her laughter, her anger, the inevitable confirmation of everything he had always feared about wanting too much and asking for too little.
Instead, her hand lifted, trembling only briefly before resolve took over. She caught his collar and pulled him down until their foreheads met, the closeness startling in its certainty. “You’re a coward,” she whispered, her voice unsteady but sharp enough to cut all the same. “Do you really think you’ve been the only one suffering? I’ve been waiting for you to say it,” she continued, the words spilling out at last. “All this time. But instead, you kept hiding, kept running, kept leaving me to guess while you buried yourself in guilt.” Her breath hitched, frustration and hurt tangled together. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to love someone who refuses to admit it?”
His entire body locked in place as he processed those words in surprise. He tried to speak but before he could manage a single word, Sofia closed the distance between them.
The kiss was not gentle or hesitant. It was raw, unfiltered, charged with years of restraint finally breaking loose. There was no room for doubt in it, no careful testing of boundaries—only urgency and accumulated longing colliding head-on. Her lips trembled against his, and his hands, freed at last from discipline and fear, came up to grip her shoulders, pulling her closer as though letting go might undo everything that had just happened.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and unsteady, she rested her forehead against his again, refusing to give him space to retreat. Her voice dropped to a whisper, fierce and immovable. “You’re not resigning. Not now. Not ever. You’re mine, Richard Chen. Whether the world likes it or not.”
He closed his eyes, heart aching with a mixture of relief and terror so sharp it almost hurt. For the first time, he didn’t push the feeling away. He didn’t calculate consequences or rehearse exits. He let himself believe her and, even more dangerously, let himself want.
The night should have belonged to her. Sofia’s solo comeback had finally arrived, her face towering across illuminated billboards, her voice threading itself through every trending sound on TikTok, unavoidable and triumphant. It was the kind of moment artists waited years for; the proof that all the discipline, the restraint, the sacrifice had paid off. And yet, instead of celebration, her name surged across timelines for reasons that had nothing to do with the music.
The rooftop confession which should be private; never meant to exist beyond the space they had shared, had been caught by a lurking paparazzi. The photos were released just hours after her stage performance, the timing precise enough to feel deliberate. By morning, Twitter was drowning in hashtags, speculation multiplying faster than facts. By afternoon, the manager’s phone had turned into a weapon, vibrating relentlessly with calls, demands, and accusations, each notification another reminder that even Sofia’s victories were never allowed to stand uncontested.
“Parasite.”
“Who even is he?”
“Manager climbing up the ladder through his boss.”
“Break up with him, Sofia. He’s not worth you.”
Some went further, attaching his old school photos, mocking his plain clothes, comparing his face side by side with the flawless shots of Sofia in her glittering dress. Others paired their names with rival ships, fan-favorite pairings between Sofia and her male co-stars. One thread had gone viral; ‘See? This is what she deserves, not that nobody manager.’
Richard had stopped scrolling only when his hands started trembling too much to hold the phone. He sat slumped in his car across the street from Sofia’s apartment, unable to drive any closer. The road outside her building was a battlefield with paparazzi packed shoulder to shoulder, microphones jutted out like bayonets, fans screaming accusations and questions he couldn’t hear but could imagine all too well.
Once, the old Richard might have taken this as his cue to retreat. He’d spent half his life believing Sofia was too far above him anyway—untouchable, unreachable. It would be easier to slip away, let the world win, let her shine alone without his shadow staining her light.
But then he remembered the months after their rooftop confession.
The silly arguments over her skipping meals. Her stubborn pout when he confiscated her phone at 2 a.m. The quiet smiles she reserved only for him, the kind no stage camera ever caught. How she teased him for being too serious, only to fall asleep against his shoulder on the ride home.
He remembered what it felt like to be chosen by her. Despite everything.
The memory lit a fire in him that the hate couldn’t smother. He couldn’t go back to being the old himself who walked away. Not after seeing how happy she could be when she was simply Sofia, not the idol but when she was his.
His phone buzzed.
Sofia: Don’t come here. It’s madness outside. Just wait.
But waiting wasn’t in his nature anymore. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.
He would rather burn than let her fight this storm alone like she used to be in school.
With a sharp breath, Richard shoved open the car door. The moment he stepped onto the pavement, the sound hit him like thunder—shouts, camera shutters, the rush of bodies closing in. The crowd swarmed as though sensing blood, their questions fired like bullets.
“Are you two dating?”
“Is it true you confessed?”
“Richard! Do you think you’re qualified for her?”
He kept his eyes forward, every step heavier than the last, until the apartment gates loomed ahead. His chest hurt, his mind screamed to turn back but then he saw her.
Through the second-floor balcony window, the protagonist herself stood, hair messy, eyes wide with disbelief. Their gazes locked across the chaos, and for the first time since the storm broke, he felt steady.
Because even if the world cursed him, even if they called him a parasite, he still had her eyes on him.
And Richard knew that he couldn’t let go.
The live broadcast began without him noticing. A fan, a journalist, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the sea of lenses turned toward him, waiting for him to falter.
“I know what you’re all here for,” he said, his voice cutting through the clamor. “You’ve seen the pictures. And you’re wondering ‘Why would Sofia be seen with someone like me?’”
More flashes. More jeers. But Richard kept going, even as his throat trembled.
“You’re right. I’m not worthy. She’s… Sofia Kwek. Your very adored princess. And I’m just Richard, the manager who nags her to eat on time, who carries her coffee when she’s too stubborn to admit she’s exhausted.”
His voice cracked, but he forced it steady.
“But let me tell you something you don’t see. This Sofia wasn’t always the Sofia you worship today. Back in school, she was hated, ridiculed, called arrogant just for existing beside me, a senior everyone respected. She carried that alone, even when it hurt her. And I stayed. Not because I pitied her, but because I saw her. The real Sofia. Stubborn, fiery, spoiled at times, yes—but also the girl who hides her tears behind sarcasm, who pretends she doesn’t care when she cares more than anyone, who stays up practicing until her fingers bleed because she refuses to be underestimated.”
His voice caught, then steadied again.
“She’s the girl who will roll her eyes at you but secretly memorize the things you like, the girl who acts untouchable but panics when the people she loves aren’t okay. She’ll never admit it, but she needs someone patient enough to wait past her walls. And I want to be that person. I already am.”
The crowd had quieted. Even the cameras seemed to hesitate.
“If you think I’ll let go now, after all the years, all the fights, all the effort it took just to stand beside her… you’re wrong. No one else will love Sofia like I do. Not just the idol self. The whole person.”
The crowd stirred. Silence pressed against the edges of his words.
And then—
“RICHARD!”
Her voice cut like thunder.
The paparazzi surged back as the idol shoved through, her hair messy from rushing, fury burning in her eyes. She reached him in seconds, grabbing his ear and tugging him down so hard he almost yelped. “Are you insane?! Standing here, saying all this in front of everyone?!” she hissed, her face close enough that only he could hear the tremor beneath her anger.
The other met her gaze, exhaustion and longing carved deep in his expression. Instead of pulling away, he gently caught her wrist and lowered her hand. And before she could snap again, he laced their fingers together.
Gasps erupted and the cameras flashed. But Richard’s eyes were only on her. “I love her,” he said aloud, voice unwavering. “Even with all her flaws. Even when she infuriates me. I love her. And I’ll keep loving her—tomorrow, next year, for the rest of my life.”
Sofia froze, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Fury warred with something softer in her eyes, something she tried to hide but couldn’t. For a long, suspended moment, silence blanketed the chaos. Until someone in the crowd shouted—
“So… is this a proposal?”
Sofia froze. Her cheeks turned crimson. Richard, too, faltered before chuckling, shaking his head.
“No,” he said, squeezing Sofia’s hand. His thumb brushed against her knuckles. He turned back toward the cameras, his voice calm but unwavering. “She’d never accept something this simple. When the time comes, I’ll propose properly. Grandly. So that no one—” his eyes swept the crowd, bold and unflinching, “—no one will ever be able to deny my love for her.” The words hung in the air like a flare shot into the brilliant night sky.
The audience erupted in gasps, cheers and screams. Sofia’s lips parted, but no retort came. For once, the sharp-tongued idol was speechless. All she could do was stare at him, cheeks burning, as if seeing him for the first time.
Richard finally turned, meeting her eyes not as her manager, not as the boy who always trailed behind, but as the man who had just declared himself before the world. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding. And somehow, in the middle of the chaos, he smiled.
Because for years, he had buried himself in flight manuals and textbooks, convincing himself the sky was his only dream. The freedom above the clouds. The endless horizon. A cockpit where no one could touch him.
But standing here, under the unforgiving lights, Sofia’s hand warm in his, Richard finally understood:
The sky wasn’t just above him. It was beside him.
It was her.
Sofia Kwek, stubborn and infuriating, sharp and dazzling, the storm and the calm all at once. She had always been the horizon he chased without realizing.
The crowd roared louder, but Richard didn’t hear them anymore. His gaze lingered on her, and for a brief, aching moment, the world blurred until it was only the two of them, tethered together against the storm.
Somewhere deep inside, he promised himself that one day, he would make good on his words. One day, he would give her a proposal so undeniable, so vast, it would rival the skies themselves.
But tonight, this was enough.
Because for the first time, Richard Chen was not in the background. He wasn’t invisible.
He was hers.
And even if the world called it a scandal— Richard knew this was only turbulence, not the end. Their real flight path had just begun, and for once, they were heading into the skies together.