When I met Timothy Adams, he only owned a guitar. I possessed wealth. He had nothing. I was invisible. He turned heads everywhere. I craved recognition on the biggest stages. He preferred creating music in solitude. Yet his gaze found me differently than my famous father or my entitled peers ever had—as though I actually existed. The blindside hit harder than I expected. Timothy's arrival at our house shifted everything. He came to collaborate with my dad and enroll at Oakwood Prep, but he did far more. He won over my enemies, claimed their loyalty, and transformed into their forbidden idol. He destroyed the friendship we shared. He shattered what remained of my heart to wear their crown. They can have him. I refuse to forgive the one I once yearned for. Yet certain nights still arrive. Nights when he makes forgiveness feel possible.