• •
  The camera was already rolling before Kinsley stepped out of the white BMW, one manicured hand holding an iced matcha from Starbucks and the other angling her phone just right to catch the sunlight hitting Rodeo Drive behind her.

“Okay, you guys,” she said, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head with a grin practiced enough to look effortless, “today we are doing a little retail therapy in L.A. because I’ve had the longest week of my life, and if I don’t buy something expensive right now, I might actually die.”

She laughed at her own joke, panning the camera toward the line of designer storefronts and palm trees stretching down the street. Her followers loved this kind of thing—coffee in hand, perfect lighting, expensive shopping bags by the end of the day, and just enough self-awareness to make the whole nepo-baby thing seem funny instead of unbearable.

She was halfway through explaining why she absolutely needed a new pair of sunglasses she did not need when she turned the corner outside Starbucks and nearly walked straight into someone. Her coffee sloshed dangerously in the cup.

“Whoa—sorry.”

Kinsley looked up, ready to flash a polite smile and keep it moving, but the apology died in her throat. Standing in front of her was Lucas Hart, dark hoodie, baseball cap, and all, looking unfairly casual for someone with six million followers and a face she’d seen on her For You Page more times than she’d admit. He wasn’t filming, wasn’t smiling for a camera, wasn’t performing at all. He just looked… normal. Which somehow made him more interesting.