Los Angeles LAX International Airport
Late February

Gray clouds formed as a weight hung on her shoulders. She shuddered at the signs from the airplane window. The rarity of a thunderstorm only meant there was darkness looming in continuity. The airport held off the air bridge that morning, causing everyone on the plane to wait for almost an hour for the storm to clear. Sure enough, lightning struck, rain fell and a strong wind blew while passengers gripped on their seats. The elements had congregated against her as if she had fared terribly in a karmic deal.

The death of Dylan West rocked the entire world. And even as she sat quietly in her seat, trying her best to block all forms of media, she could not hide from it. News of his sudden passing and stories of his dazzling yet short-lived career circulated on tv, people's phones, and just now, on the wide screen of the airplane while stranded inside.

Fans and non-fans shared their views on social media through forums and in the comment sections. Many speculated Dylan West had been under depression, prompting his premeditated death. A handful of child actors had the same fate, so it could have been the case.

Veronica stared at the big screen, having no power of what to see and hear anymore. Suddenly, the entire world was even more curious about the fate of the girl he'd dedicated his last Instagram post to. Others believed it to be a premonition, some say a mere coincidence.

As the management's spokesperson, Jed Baxter faced the media in an exclusive interview. When the journalist of the top news agency asked about Dylan's controversial social media post, he immediately dismissed issues of depression and suicide on national television.

"We should all remember that Dylan West isn't..." Jed cleared his throat as everyone closely watched on the screen.

"Dylan West wasn't only an actor, but a musician and a composer. The arcane post on Instagram was an excerpt from a song he was writing prior to the crash."

"So, this isn't a direct message to someone, particularly to his girlfriend?" the interviewer leaned forward, fingers on chin.

"No, I don't believe it is," he replied with conviction.

"Some say they severed ties, and this is his farewell message to her," he pressed on the matter.

"This is untrue. They never broke up," he affirmed.

The interviewer looked down to read notes on his tablet. "'Under the stars, baby?'"

"The entire world knows Dylan for being a natural charmer. He had a genuine heart and spoke to his fans with endearment. Like I said, the post is a line from a song he was working on."

"Attached in the post is a lone hashtag, #V. It is the initials of his girlfriend's name, isn't it?"

"It is but pure coincidence. I believe #V on his post stands for the peace sign. Dylan West was a peace-loving person. He loved his fans and respected his haters. He loved being surrounded by his friends and family. But most importantly, he loved life. Dylan West was never the type of person who got depressed. He was larger than life and celebrated it in the most organic way possible. A philanthropist in his own right, never in a million years would he cut his life short."

"So, for the record, Dylan West's final Instagram post is a line taken from an unpublished song he was working on," the interviewer verified.

"That is correct," Jed confirmed.

"Dylan West did not have depression. Dylan West did not commit suicide," the interviewer established.

Jed nodded in approval, a pensive look. "Dylan West died in a freak car accident in Spain while on a motor sport racetrack."

The interviewer carried on, "We all know how Dylan West had always been tight-lipped about his personal life. He never talked about or mentioned his girlfriend. Even when the media hounded and spun stories about them, they kept their affair under the radar. Following the attack at Punta Mita, the animosity of some overzealous fans towards their relationship, and now his sudden passing—how is his girlfriend dealing with all this?"

"It's been very hard, not just for her, but for the entire family. Apart from Brandon, Dylan's nearest and dearest are extremely private. Dylan did the best he could to protect them from the consequences of his fame. On their behalf, I would like to request the media to respect their time of mourning, and for everyone's prayers in these trying moments."

"Will his multitude of fans ever get to hear this unreleased song the Instagram post is based on?"

"That would be the decision of the estate if ever they decide to share it with the world one day," Jed stated.

The camera focused back on the interviewer, a grim look on his face.

"A tragic end to an extraordinary young actor. Dylan West, who had just turned twenty-one this month, had died in a car accident in Montmeló, Barcelona, Spain. According to Jed Baxter, Dylan West's best friend and spokesperson, #V written on his final Instagram post, stands for peace. Dylan West had always been an advocate of peace, supporting many organizations and charities, helping poverty-stricken and war-torn areas, promoting humanitarianism and equality. But for his untimely passing, perhaps #V signifies the ‌peace his loved ones will need in this difficult time. And perhaps #V signifies the peace that fame and fortune failed to grant the actor in his waking life. May you rest in peace, Dylan West.

"Thank you, Jed Baxter, for taking part in this interview on brief notice."

Sunset Boulevard

Keeping her shattered self together, Veronica took in a lungful of air, finding at least an ounce of courage to walk through the sleek glass doors of the office building on Sunset Boulevard.

"You sure you'll be fine on your own?" her tall, blonde friend asked as they stood outside the back parking lot of the West Tower.

It was Randall Hart who waited for hours at the airport while Los Angeles starred in an impetuous thunderstorm scene. As soon as they rolled out of the airport, the sky cleared, and the sun came out.

"Yes, I'll be alright. Tara's waiting for me inside. I just don't know what to expect."

"Then if something comes up, call me. I'll come pick you up."

"Thanks, Randall. You've been great," she gave him a weak smile, trying her best not to dissolve into tears.

"Told you, I'm always here." He hugged her, rubbing her back for more encouragement.

Thirty-two-year-old Tara Parker walked hurriedly towards the back parking lot amid the organized chaos surrounding the building. Flowers, cards of condolences, and stuffed toys piled at the entrance and the entire length of the street. She didn't want any of the reporters inside the building badgering Veronica, so she ushered her to the door, which led to a private floor upstairs. Once they were safely inside an empty conference room, Tara hugged her and sobbed uncontrollably while Veronica, although still stunning in her simple gray ensemble, stood there like a rock, unable to shed a tear.

"Where is he, Tara?" Veronica asked, composed, almost placid.

"His body arrived yesterday," she sniffed, and wiped tears off her cheeks, her eyes puffy from crying for three days straight.

Veronica told her she'd been calling and leaving messages on Dylan's phone while she was in Saint Petersburg.

"Tell him I'm here. He can call me now," Veronica told her calmly, still convincing herself of a miracle.

"Oh, Veronica," she gasped and gripped Veronica's hands tight, realizing that his death hadn't sunk in yet. "Things will get better. I don't know when, but it will."

When her phone abruptly rang, she ignored it.

"Answer it. I know it's an important call," Veronica told her.

"No, it can wait," she refused to leave the poor girl in this state.

"I'll be okay, Tara. Take the call and I'll wait here," Veronica repeated, her demeanor disturbingly calm.

Veronica sat all alone at the conference table, looking at the surrounding walls, a blank expression on her face. Before she could have the chance to understand the gravity of the situation, Vic Landaus walked in with his unsubstantial presence. She was already certain he was there to cause a commotion.

"Veronica," he said dryly, slowly pacing around the room.

"Vic," she replied, refusing to give him the last of her energy.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" he asked, sarcasm brewing.

"No, thank you. Is there anything you want to say to me?" she asked, not an ounce of patience left on her.

"The office is busy fixing everything for tomorrow's funeral. We could send someone to escort you, your seat and what-not. Heads up, this will be the last time we're taking care of you," he gave a wry laugh, which led to an awkward split second of silence.

"I've always appreciated the hard work the management did to protect me. But just so we're clear here, I did not demand for any special treatment. I'm doing my best to cooperate with the team because I love Dylan," Veronica said, speaking up for the first time.

When he burst out laughing, Veronica fumed. She was sick of putting up with his attitude for over two years now.

"Why do you hate me to the bone? Is it because I refused to comply with your rules?"

"Hate is an understatement, my dear. You really want to know why? I'll tell you why. Dylan was a smart young man, wise beyond his years, and doing just fine before you came into his life. He was enjoying the best of both worlds; living the glorious life of Dylan West, the biggest celebrity on the planet; and as Dylan, the free-spirited adventurer. He had fame and fortune, everything in the palm of his hands—the ultimate dream.

"But everything changed; cut short, zilch. Did you know he wanted to end his career to live a private life at age twenty? I don't know what spell you cast on him, but he transformed overnight. You ruined it for him and for everyone in his team who worked so hard to make his dream happen."

Veronica shook her head in disbelief. "You don't know what he wants. Being rich and famous is never Dylan's dream!"

"Are you going to tell me you're his dream?" he snorted. "I don't give a damn if you knew what he wanted. Dylan West is dead now. The management told you not to go on that Saint Petersburg flight because of the death threats we received on you—not on Dylan, but on you! But you still went. We wasted our time managing your selfish ass when you should have been with him, so he didn't have to sulk and go to Spain!"

And that's when Vic Landaus hit her vulnerable spot. He was right. Dylan was dead because of her. She was to blame for all this!

"He was supposed to go on a diving trip with the boys," she stammered, realizations pouring in.

"Your stubbornness is contagious," he spat.

Having had enough, she stood up while he rattled her more. "Walk away from it all. Like what you did to the director—what's his name? Ethan!"

Nauseated, Veronica ran to the door, on the brink of throwing up. Suddenly, Brandon West appeared, catching both of them by surprise.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Vic," Brandon asserted as he lightly held Veronica's arm to keep her from walking out of the room.

As soon as Vic stormed out, Brandon turned to her, "Hey, are you alright?"

Veronica nodded, trying to focus on the doorknob.

"Ignore everything he said. The jerk knows his days are numbered. That's why he's losing his mind."

She shook her head and burst out, "Brandon, he's right. All this is happening because of me—"

"Hey, none of this is your fault—" he held her shaken arms to pacify her.

"I shouldn't have gone to Saint Petersburg. I should've just stayed with him. Dylan never told me he was flying to Spain. If only he told me, I would've—"

"Veronica, listen," he cut her, his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Nobody knew he left for Spain. While you were on the flight to Saint Petersburg, Dylan called me. He was already in Barcelona. His racer friend, Pablo, invited him, so he went on a whim. There was no way of stopping him."

"Why did he have to go? Why didn't he just stay in California?" she choked up, feeling sharp pains pierce into her shattered heart.

Brandon gave her a tight embrace, an overwhelming sadness enveloping them. "There are things beyond our control. Dylan went to Spain that day, and there is no way of knowing why."

Hollywood Hills

As they entered the luxurious white hall of fine art, a wave of nostalgia swept past her. Every corner and every room had memories. She knew the place so well, after spending the last two months of her recovery here. It was in this house where she experienced how Dylan gave her the utmost love and care. It also helped that Cody, his dog, kept her company while he was working long hours.

Veronica followed Brandon to the terrace overlooking the city of Los Angeles. It was weird to be on top of the hill without Dylan by her side, but with his dog, Cody, lying on the ground next to her, and Brandon, the closest kin to the love she just lost.

"The memorial will be at the Staples Center tomorrow evening. They will stream it live, worldwide," Brandon began before giving a big exhale. 

"Do you want to come with me? I'll be by your side the entire time," he said carefully as Petra, the housekeeper, came to offer them cold drinks.

"I don't know if I'm ready to face the world, let alone the cameras," she said with forethought after a moment of contemplation.

"I totally understand. You don't have to be there, Veronica. Close friends will attend, but apart from me, no-one else in the family will come."

"Will there be a private funeral?"

"Dad decided not to do anything like that. He'll be on the island with our grandparents, where they'll all have a quiet moment. Mom will mourn on her own, too."

They spoke for a while, and Brandon told her the details of his accident and how Dylan immediately lost control of his wheel and collided with another car. Everything happened so fast that he died instantly. It was heart crushing to listen to every detail while the backdrop was all the memories she and Dylan made through the years.

Brandon went back inside the house, then came back and handed her a thin dossier. She shook her head in confusion. "What is this?"

"Dylan wanted to surprise you on your birthday, but he didn't live long enough to ‌give this," he said, opening the folder and showing her a piece of paper. "When you guys talked about moving in together, he began fixing the papers. It's done. This house is yours now."

"Brandon, I can't accept it," she shook her head.

"I know it reminds you too much of him, but he prepared everything for you to live in it. It has all the state-of-the-art security features, so nobody will ever bother you again. The art collection you both love stays, too. But of course, it'll be your decision to sell it or do whatever you want with it."

His voice faded as Veronica looked towards the horizon. Numbness had overcome her whole being. She couldn't tell how long Brandon had been talking. Suddenly, his voice came back loud and clear.

"Dylan loved you so much. It hurt him everyday knowing you were living under constant threats and harassment. You've sacrificed so much already, damaging your hand and almost losing your life. He didn't know what to do. So I guess in some distorted way, he'd found the solution. Time will only tell, and maybe his death could prevent worse things from happening."

The words seeped in, harrowing and unacceptable.

"I don't want this house, Brandon. I want Dylan. I want him back." She felt her eyes brimming with tears.

Brandon reached out for her hands across the table. Even if he, too, was mourning for his only brother, he was calm and collected, an accurate representation of the brother Dylan had always been proud of. As the day slowly ended, Veronica regained her composure as reality crept in. She saw the distress finally show on his face, so she consoled him, mentioning how Dylan had always looked up to him.

After a simple homemade lunch, Brandon finally bade her goodbye, reassuring her that Yeung and Petra would stay at the mansion while she was there for the weekend. Veronica whispered her thanks. There was a long, meaningful embrace in between them, as both shared an overwhelming loss they knew they could never get back.

Late that afternoon, Veronica climbed up the hill on the property and sat at its peak, admiring the stunning sunset view of the city of angels. She recalled the first time Dylan took her up there, seeing the same tree that was barely a year old. He'd told her it was a fig tree and had grown tall enough that she could sit under its shade.  Her heart crushed once again, recalling the last conversation she'd made with him.

"Oh, Dylan," she whispered, her voice trembling.

If only she could rewind time to take back the words she'd last uttered to him. If only she could tell him how much she loved him, no matter what he said, no matter what he did. 

After the last light of the sun hid behind the clouds, she went back inside the house, finding her way to the garage. Here she found Yeung, busy organizing tools and equipment around. Dylan had two cars she'd never seen him drive: a silver Bentley Continental GT and a black Rolls Royce Phantom. He had two customized silver Land Rovers and a black Mercedes Benz G-Class he frequently drove around town with. The gray Range Rover with a rooftop tent was parked on the side. It was the same one she'd seen him drive on her solo van trip two years ago.

"You should take it out," Yeung said, noticing how she was focused on it amid the luxurious cars inside.

She'd told him she was only staying for the weekend before catching her flight back home on Monday night.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, it'll be nice weather tomorrow."

"Why do I have the feeling you'll be following me?" she said, knowing Dylan would've totally told him to do so.

Yeung shrugged, leaning towards a yes.

"You know, you gotta let me go at some point," she smiled, but then her voice croaked towards the end.

"Sorry, I'm so emotional. I don't want to cry. You know the funny thing? I haven't cried in two years," she chuckled, shaking her head as she looked up at the high ceiling, afraid a tear would fall.

"Maybe it'll be good for you. The last time I cried was when they separated me and my brother. We were in an orphanage; I was nine, and he was six," he said before shutting his toolbox.

Veronica watched as he stood up and went to put the toolbox back on the shelf.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he quickly dismissed her.

Not everyone understood Yeung, but for some reason, she didn't mind his impassiveness. Veronica knew he had a soft spot under the hardened surface he projected. Because he had a deep brotherly connection to Dylan, she felt comfortable around him.

After a quiet dinner with Yeung and Petra, Veronica went back to the garage to check the van. Yeung said he would help her set it up for her two-day trip to Monterey tomorrow morning.

"Check the inverter and make sure the batteries are charging."

"Got it."

"The tools are in the big drawer in the boot, but still double check. Don't forget to check the water levels."

"Right," she nodded, dusting her hands before reality hit her. "You're not coming..."

"You're on your own now."

It was then when she knew this was indeed the last time she was seeing Yeung.

"Thanks, Yeung," she said as he picked up the last of his tools.

"You know. I've been wondering," she said before he got up to leave. "Dylan never really cared about fast and expensive cars."

Her voice echoed in the spacious garage, making Yeung freeze in his tracks. He turned around, poker-faced, his forehead slightly wrinkled.

"I just can't comprehend why Dylan had to fly to Spain on a whim to drive his friend's F1 car when he was so excited about the diving trip with you boys that same day."

It was very normal for Yeung to ignore her and be this quiet, but she noticed how he stopped for a second, as if he had something to say. Yet he remained silent and kept his composure, his eyes on a socket wrench lying on the floor. He bent down and picked it up, then he went to the shelf to return the rest of the tools in his hands.

"Please, Yeung. Tell me where he is," she begged in a whisper.

Yeung stored the last tool in its rightful position and shut the box.

"I know it's hard for any of us to accept it. Dylan is gone, and he is at peace now. Maybe one day we will all find ours, too."

Even if he was concealing something, she was certain Yeung would never tell, even on his deathbed. Veronica read his eyes as she saw loyalty and friendship, a testament of genuine brotherhood that Dylan was fortunate to have in his lifetime.

Point Lobos, California

Veronica left before dawn, leaving trails of sadness as she drove further and further away from Los Angeles. She entered the winding roads leading to Point Lobos and settled on a hidden beach. While the entire world mourned the death of Dylan West, she stood among the jagged boulders and erratic waves, hoping to find the peace they've all been speaking about for the last four days.

Alone and determined, she screamed at the top of her lungs amidst the crashing waves of the ocean, an excruciating pain dodged within her. Each time the water slapped onto the sharp surface of the rocks, she called out his name, repeating this a few times until her throat crippled and her voice withered away in the cold, howling winds that chose to ignore her plea.

He's gone.