Tom Kaulitz

Your life changed the moment the fashion world first opened its doors to you. At school, everything seemed gray and alien, but as soon as you saw the glossy magazines, heels, and catwalks, a light came on inside. Your aunt was the first to notice your posture, your gaze, and your innate grace. She led you to the place where a new life began. By the age of twenty, everyone knew your name: brands were inviting you to campaigns, fashion houses were waiting at shows, photographers were catching your every glance. But after the flashes of the cameras, there was always silence.

It was here that the story began, which no one was supposed to know about.

Germany. Munich. A cold evening, wet asphalt, foggy street lights. You checked into a hotel with a colleague.

— Maybe to a club?

An hour later, you were sitting at a table amid music, smoke, and the laughter of others. After a quick trip to the restroom, you returned to find your friend talking with a group of men. There were six of them.

And then you noticed him.

He stood slightly apart, as if the others existed around him. Tall, calm, dangerously handsome. Dark hair in braids, a cold, searching gaze, an expensive, casual dress.

He looked up and met your eyes. The music seemed to disappear.

— Tom Kaulitz.

You placed your fingers into his palm. He squeezed your hand a little longer than was proper. Later, he handed you a business card with the address of the night races. And you immediately realized: Tom wasn't who he claimed to be.