A good-looking commoner doesn't have much to enjoy compared to the so-called billionaires who walk the streets, bragging about their power and popularity.

What if one of them fell in love with the commoner? What if one of those condescending, unreachable billionaires got himself caught up in an impossible love affair?

Art was everything to Noah.

"Aw! This piece of art!" He flung his arms in the air and spun around like a peacock dancing happily in the rain, paint speckling on his fingertips as he splashed it onto his already sullied white shirt.

Sun lingered low, colouring the sky in soft pinkish-twilight tones. Sunlight seeped through branches, stretching lengthy shadows, birds trilling nighttime songs—a valediction from the day.

But Noah barely noticed. His eyes were locked on the five-foot canvas in front of him, a breathtaking evening landscape, the final piece for the art gallery exhibition.

His joy was cut short when he glanced at his watch.

"Shit, I'm late!"

Noah quickly cleaned up, tossing his brushes aside, and rushed out. Minutes later, he was at the club, dumping his belongings on the counter and slipping into his formal attire.

The instant he glanced up, the manager was already heading towards him, smiling from ear to ear. Noah recognized that expression all too well. Behind that was a night of working with VIPs—a job he loathed to the core. He let out a deep breath and propped himself against the counter, preparing.

"You know what you have to do tonight, don't you?" The manager's smile grew wider.

"You know I don't like doing this," Noah growled, his annoyance barely concealed.

Do you think I care? You're getting paid, and I need customers happy. So you either win or fail." The manager's voice was laced with menace, threatening the bad consequences if he failed.

A clump came in the way of Noah's throat, but he made himself nod. "Just tell me the orders so I can get started."

"Two mojitos, one cocktail, six whiskeys, and four Bacardis," the manager declared with a flourish like a monarch reading out a decree.

Noah balled up his fists against the counter. This was his existence—to serve drinks to billionaires he despised, all for the sake of paying his way through college. No sooner did the manager depart than Noah slammed his fist against the counter. The boom stunned the silence around him, garnering unwanted attention.

Realizing his error, he hastened to straighten up and paste a nervous smile.

"Khaw tot, krub. Sorry for the interruption. Enjoy your evening."

The bass dropped once more, shaking his bones, and he returned to work. The drinks were soon carefully styled on a tray, ready to be served.

"Noah!" The manager's voice pierced the crowd, panting from having run over.

"Are the drinks ready?"

"Yes, nearly. And perhaps catch your breath before you faint." Noah smiled tightly, but the annoyance churning within him was hardly suppressed.

Carrying a tray, he walked towards the VIP area. His hands were firm, his steps cautious. But just as he approached his target, he bumped—hard—into someone.

A quick gasp escaped him as green mojito spilt onto a spotless white jacket. A $1-million spotless white jacket.

Silence descended on the part of the train.

Noah swallowed hard as he glanced up. He was caught staring into the face of a tall, strikingly handsome man. The gelled bangs, heart-shaped lips, the stainless-steel chain worn around his neck, and the small mole above his lips—everything about him screamed out impossible perfection. But his deep brown eyes, now fixed on Noah, bore nothing but rage.

"Do you even have eyes?" the man growled, tone falsely tranquil but filled with annoyance. "Didn't you see me approach?"

"Sir, I'm really sorry about what occurred." Noah bowed, loathing every moment of it.

The man snorted. "Do you think your miserable little sorry will be able to wipe away these marks from my coat? You were given one task, bro!"

That was all it took. Noah had reached his limit.

"Sir, I have no idea who you're trying to impress with all of this fame and fortune, but it doesn't mean anything to me."

The man's eyebrows flew up. "Oh, great. Another stalker nobody pretending like he's better than me." He inched closer, his voice dropping. "You sasaengs infiltrate everywhere. We idols are not safe anywhere."

Noah's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?"

"Then you wouldn't have done what you did if you had paid attention," the man went on, disregarding him entirely. "And we wouldn't have this ridiculous argument."

"How dare a waiter be so rude?" the man said, taking out his phone. "I'm calling the manager."

In mere seconds, the manager rushed up to them, almost falling over himself. At the windows, paparazzi took pictures with their flashes that flashed like lightning.

"We profoundly apologize for the actions of our staff," the manager sighed, bowing so low it was a bit humiliating. "We regret this occurred and will pay you in full for the destruction."

Noah's head jerked toward him. "What?! Why are you apologizing? He was the one so fixated on his phone that he didn't even notice me approaching!"

"Enough, Noah!" The manager's voice became hard. "First, you screw up, and now you're fighting with a VIP customer? Stop and follow me."

Noah tried to protest, but the manager caught him by the arm and pulled him towards his office, pushing him inside and then locking the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the manager snarled. "I warned you—win or lose. You knew what losing meant, didn't you?"

Noah folded his arms. "And yet, you're accusing me of something I had nothing to do with?" 

The manager sighed, raking his hands through his hair. "You still don't understand. Do you even realize who that was?"

"No," Noah said in a flat tone. "And I don't care."

"Oh my god," the manager almost screamed. "That's Kai. The lead singer of 'The Neon Hype.' One of T-Pop's biggest stars.

Noah arched an unconvinced brow. "Mai pen rai. Everything will be okay."

But the manager was not in the least convinced. "Everything won't be okay. And if I need to keep this club afloat, I don't have any other option." He breathed deeply, then confronted Noah with icy decisiveness. "Noah, you're fired."

The words cut into Noah like a bullet. His heart froze. He must've heard wrong.

"What?"

"You heard me. Pack your things. You're done here."

Noah clenched his jaw, his throat tightening as he fought back the sting of betrayal. Without another word, he stormed out.

The moment he stepped outside, paparazzi swarmed him. Cameras flashed. Microphones were shoved in his face. He forced his way through, escaping into a quiet alleyway.

Then, finally, he broke.

On the ground, kneeling, he clutched his head and let the tears drop. "Why? Why me?"

But before he could even catch his breath, his phone rang. With reluctance, he took it out. The screen was filled with thousands of notifications. He paused before opening one.

His stomach fell.

A headline, brutal and unapologetic, stared back at him:

BREAKING NEWS: CRAZY FAN HARASSES OUR KING KAI. LET'S NOT STAY SILENT. #FIREHIM