Frankie never imagined he'd be hiding secrets from his parents, but just like they were clueless about Daria, they had no idea he led a double life as a renowned painter.

What started as a school project morphed into rebellious street art, which eventually blossomed into a thriving career under the pseudonym "R.E. Spect.”

Often compared to Banksy, Frankie's anonymous works fetched millions, and he hoped to use the fortune to one day escape with Daria, the one person who truly understood him.

Together, they dreamed of leaving behind the suffocating grip of their families' factions and the city's syndicate, seeking freedom and a chance to love without fear in a place beyond Paradise's city limits. For now, however, stolen moments were all they could get. Frankie had used some of his earnings to buy a plain warehouse in Rose Hills - a place they simply called their headquarters, which he'd converted into a private sanctuary with his friends. The simple exterior hid a haven where they could unwind and be themselves, free from prying eyes.

“They runnin’ behind,” Zion sighed, idly playing with his favorite basketball. Before Frankie could respond, the warehouse door opened and M.J. walked in, catching their attention; both Frankie and Zion frowned for a moment. "Jeez, you look hella disappointed to see me," M.J. said. Frankie explained, "We're just waiting on Daria and Maddy." "Oh, I'm early. Guess I won the timing game." Frankie raised an eyebrow and asked, "Did you have to sneak out?"

M.J. smirked, "Believe it or not, no. I told my dad I was watching Melanie and he let me go. He seemed a little off, though.” “Probably ‘cause it was exports today; my folks was busy with that, too,” Zion chimed in.

M.J. just shrugged and started towards the kitchen. “You guys hungry? I'm going to make something.”

“You ain't full from Brett's cookin’?” Zion teased.

“Very funny,” M.J. said before disappearing into the kitchen.