Neptune

Chapter 1 | The Superstar

C A S S I E

I drag my suitcase, heading to the arrival gate, noticing that some people in the airport are taking out their phones to snap pictures of me.

I can hear that some of them whisper about my new handbag made by my famous designer friend, who only made three of them available in the entire world—one was for me, and the other two belong to Miranda Kerr and Kate Middleton.

Sighing, I put on my shades to hide my eyebags.

I should have slept during the 14-hour flight from Barcelona to LA, but I just couldn't do it.

Not when I kept thinking about what I'd done the day before—how I slept with that famous Spanish football player in his hotel room.

Yes, he's hot, but it was a mistake, especially when the paparazzi spotted him walking me out to my car. Damn. That will cause another unnecessary uproar. I never thought that the trip to Barcelona, which was supposed to be a peaceful one, would cause another disaster.

That's Morgan's idea anyway—she insisted that I should attend one of the biggest fashion shows there to attract more attention since I'm currently not on tour and just finished wrapping up my next album.

Now that I think about it, I was supposed to be on holiday, but again, Morgan forced me to work.

By the way, Morgan is my manager, who is also my stepmother.

Based on the trending topic on Twitter yesterday, it turns out that my attendance in the fashion show gives more benefits to the designer than it does to myself.

I can't help it. I guess that it's the advantage people will get from me since I'm currently a superstar — a singer and songwriter whose songs are placed on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

I never thought that I would reach this point at the age of 25, but I did sacrifice a lot for this.

My freedom. My friends.

And most importantly, my family.

My only family now is Morgan, because my mom died when she gave birth to me and my dad had a heart attack when I was 10.

Sadly, Morgan seems to not think of me as her daughter anymore.

"Is Morgan coming?" I ask Mike, my bodyguard, who's striding beside me. His big posture indeed scares people away, and it's really handy when there are reporters, paparazzi or crazy stalkers around.

"No," he answers shortly, blocking me from a woman who's recording a video of me.

I sigh. Maybe that's a good thing. I don't think that I'd survive if she scolded me during our entire ride back home from the airport. Since I didn't get enough sleep on the plane, all I want to do now is just relax. I just want to have a nice massage at home—calling my spa therapist will be the first thing I'll do once I get into the car.

"But she's waiting at your house," Mike adds. "In fact, the whole team is waiting for you there. There's an emergency meeting."

Now that startles me.

"What?" I blurt out but don't stop my steps; we keep walking to avoid people surrounding us.

An emergency meeting? For God's sake, can't they give me some time to rest?

Mike nods, sympathy crossing his expression. "Morgan texted me just now. I'm sorry, Cassie."

I shake my head in disbelief. Maybe the pictures of me and Alejandro outside his hotel have been on the news.

I don't know. I haven't turned on my phone again after landing here—I'm not in the mood to find countless messages from Morgan as they are always the same. Scolding me, pushing me to do better, telling me how I'm not good enough in her eyes, just like always.

Damn. Maybe I underestimated Alejandro's popularity. He's almost as famous as Cristiano Ronaldo, so the rumor must have traveled fast in Spain.

Well, it's not a rumor anyway. As I said, I did sleep with him.

When the glass door of the arrival gate opens, the screams of my fans greet me. Well, then. It's time.

I flash a beautiful smile at my fans gathering in front of me, waving at them like a Disney princess riding in her carriage. On purpose, I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, exposing a piece of my favorite Swarovski earring. I hope that the photographers will take good pictures of it, which is a part of my partnership deal with the brand.

Let's hope that the recent rumor about me won't affect the sales of the jewelry.

"Cassie! Over here!" the photographers call me, but I shift my attention to my fans, who are shouting my name too.

"Cassie, oh my God, you're even prettier than in photos!" one of them shouts.

"She's so beautiful," another one says to her friend.

"Geez. I would kill to have those damn legs," I can hear someone mutter.

"Cassie! Would you take a picture with me?" someone begs desperately.

I wonder why they always exaggerate my beauty as if I'm one of those Victoria's Secret angels. Maybe they would faint if they ever met one.

Every time I look in the mirror, I see nothing new. I'm just like those other girls who have long and wavy chestnut brown hair, tanned skin, chocolate eyes and small plump lips.

But they always say that my skin is flawless, my hair is effortlessly perfect, my eyes are enchanting and my lips are always kissable.

"Are you going to take pictures with them?" Mike asks in a low voice.

"No," I whisper to him. "Not now with these eyebags."

I'm sure that it won't be fair for my fans to have a picture with me still wearing these shades. It won't look genuine either.

Why would I cover my face when they want to show their friends and family that they just met Cassie Castillo?

Nevertheless, I'm grateful to receive such a warm welcome every time I'm back in LA. However, I notice that the crowd of my fans today isn't as big as it used to be last year.

Anybody can tell that the number of reporters and photographers gathering here is more than that of my fans.

Great. I finally realize now that all the controversies I've created have done more damage than gain.

As soon as I resume walking with Mike, all the reporters storm in my direction and questions upon questions are thrown at me.

"Cassie, is it true that you hooked up with Alejandro Sanchez?"

Right. I did hook up with that football player.

"What about Brian? Have you heard about his divorce?"

I'm trying my best to hold back my scoff. Why that douchebag actor had a problem with his wife is none of my business. Stop asking me about him. He practically assaulted me in public. I'm not a homewrecker.

"Did you hear Jude's latest single? The song is about you."

Now that almost makes me stop on my track. Almost.

Jude. Hearing that name again still pains my heart. He is, after all, my ex-boyfriend. Things have been going downhill after I broke up with him, and that includes receiving some death threats from his fans.

All of those questions do bother me despite how bad I want to ignore them. All the controversies make me think that I'm indeed not the smartest celebrity in the world.

And that also makes me think about the emergency meeting waiting for me at home with dread.