In the glittering underbelly of Hollywood, where dreams are manufactured and scandals erupt like flashbulbs at a premiere, the name D4vd once evoked the melancholic croons of a Gen Z wunderkind. David Anthony Burke, the 20-year-old singer-songwriter known mononymously as D4vd, had ascended from TikTok virality to arena tours, his lo-fi R&B anthems of heartbreak and obsession resonating with millions. Tracks like “Romantic Homicide” and “Here With Me” amassed billions of streams, painting him as the brooding poet of modern love’s darker edges. But now, as the LAPD’s Robbery-Homicide Division peels back layers of a gruesome discovery, that image has shattered into something far more sinister: a web of allegations involving grooming, a dismembered teenager’s remains, and a frantic lease termination that reeks of flight.

Just days after police raided the $4.1 million Hollywood Hills mansion D4vd shared with his manager, Josh Marshall, the duo abruptly severed their $20,000-per-month rental agreement. The property’s owner, Mladen Trifunovic, confirmed the move to this reporter, his voice laced with unease over the phone from his Beverly Hills office. “It’s very disturbing,” Trifunovic said, pausing as if weighing the surreal collision of celebrity glamour and criminal probe. “They signed the lease in February 2024, everything was fine—high-profile tenant, paid on time. Then the raid happens, and boom, Marshall calls me. Wants out immediately. They’re packing up now, boxes everywhere. I don’t know what to think.”

The raid on September 17 targeted the sleek, mid-century modern estate—once owned by actress Halle Berry—for traces of “blood evidence” linked to the death of Celeste Rivas Hernandez, a 15-year-old (reported missing at 13) whose severely decomposed, dismembered remains were unearthed on September 8 from the frunk of a black Tesla Model S registered to D4vd. The vehicle had languished impounded at Hollywood Tow since late August, abandoned after a parking violation in the Hills. A foul odor alerted workers, who pried open the compartment to a horror show: the girl’s body, clad in a black tube top, had been inside for months, per the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner’s Office. Cause of death? Deferred. Manner? Homicide investigation, though no charges have been filed against D4vd or anyone else—yet.

Celeste’s story, pieced together from family statements, resurfaced social media posts, and leaked police reports obtained by NBC News, is a tragic prelude to the singer’s unraveling empire. Born in Lake Elsinore, Riverside County, to a fractured family—mother sporadically absent, older sister thrust into a guardian role—Celeste was a bright, rebellious teen with a penchant for music and fleeting online connections. She vanished three times in 2024 alone: January, March, and the final time in April, when she was just 13. Each episode involved running away to Los Angeles, drawn by the siren call of fame and the digital allure of influencers like D4vd. Friends and relatives whisper of exploitation; one anonymous source close to the family alleged to People magazine that Celeste’s sister may have “pimped her out” to industry contacts for exposure, though authorities have not corroborated this.

Their paths crossed online in early 2023, when Celeste was 12. D4vd, then 18 and already buzzing from YouTube covers, connected with her via Discord and Instagram DMs, per screenshots circulating on X (formerly Twitter) since the body’s identification. “She was obsessed with his music,” said a childhood friend, speaking on condition of anonymity out of fear of retaliation. “He’d send her unreleased tracks, call her his ‘muse.’ It started innocent—fan chats—but escalated fast. By October 2023, they were hanging out IRL in LA. Photos show them at events, her with that tattoo on her finger matching his: ‘Celeste’ in red script.”

Those photos—grainy selfies at dimly lit clubs, Celeste beaming beside the lanky singer—have fueled online fury. On X, hashtags like #JusticeForCeleste and #CancelD4vd trend relentlessly, with users dissecting every lyric for prophetic clues. A resurfaced livestream from late 2023 captures D4vd and Celeste bantering with fans, her voice bubbly as she gushes over “Romantic Homicide.” But darker posts emerge too: deleted Instagram stories from Celeste in February 2024, tear-streaked and cryptic—”He promised the world but delivered nightmares. Help.”—followed by a now-infamous SoundCloud leak, “Celeste_Demo unfin,” where D4vd croons, “Oh, Celeste / The girl with my name tattooed on her chest / Smell her on my clothes like cigarettes / I hear her voice each time I take a breath / I’m obsessed.”

Celeste’s mother, Maria Hernandez, has broken her silence sparingly. In a statement to ABC7 Los Angeles, she described her daughter as “a fighter, full of light,” before dissolving into sobs. “She told me about David—said he was her boyfriend, that he cared. But she kept running away. The last time, in April, she packed a bag and said, ‘Mom, I’m going to make it big.’ We filed reports every time, but police said she was a runaway, low priority.” Hernandez confirmed the relationship to TMZ, adding, “There are videos… she said he and another man hurt her. Raped her. I begged her to stay away, but she was starstruck.” Riverside County Sheriff’s records, reviewed by this outlet, show Celeste’s disappearances often coincided with D4vd’s LA stays; one report notes a “male associate” dropping her off post-return, matching the singer’s description.

The Tesla’s discovery on September 8 was pure chance—or cosmic irony. The car, a 2023 Model S worth $90,000, was towed from Doheny Place on August 28 after blocking a hydrant during D4vd’s “Withered” tour stop in Minneapolis. Workers at the tow yard ignored it until the stench became unbearable. Inside: Celeste’s remains, bound in black trash bags, her body mutilated—limbs severed, torso compressed to fit the frunk’s confines. Forensics peg her time of death to late April or early May 2024, aligning with her final vanishing. Toxicology is pending, but sources whisper of possible drug involvement; Celeste had a history of experimentation, per family.

D4vd’s silence has been deafening. His team issued a terse statement to Variety on September 19: “David is fully cooperating with authorities and requests privacy during this difficult time.” No public comment since. Yet actions speak: The U.S. leg of his tour—20 dates, including a sold-out Greek Theatre show on September 20—canceled abruptly post-Minneapolis, refunds issued without explanation. European legs, kicking off in Oslo on October 8, vanished from Ticketmaster overnight. His expanded album, Withered: Marcescence, scrubbed from Spotify and Apple Music on release day, September 19. And then, the YouTube purge: Six videos deleted on September 17, the day Celeste was ID’d, including vlogs from LA in spring 2024 and a Q&A where he name-drops “a special girl from Riverside.”

The Hollywood Hills raid amplified the frenzy. At 2 a.m. on September 17, LAPD’s elite homicide squad—flashlights slicing the night, K-9 units sniffing for cadaver traces—breached the gated estate. Neighbors, roused from sleep, captured helmet-cam footage on Ring doorbells: officers in hazmat suits combing the infinity pool deck, master suite, and garage. “They took everything—laptops, phones, a bloody sheet from the laundry,” one resident, who declined identification, told ABC News. LAPD confirmed seizing “several items of evidence,” including electronics for digital forensics. No arrests, but the warrant affidavit, partially redacted and leaked to NewsNation, cites “probable cause for biological traces linking to Victim CRH.”

Trifunovic, the 58-year-old real estate investor who bought the property for $3.8 million in 2019, was blindsided. “Josh [Marshall] texted me the morning after: ‘We need to end this. Too much heat.’ I offered to hold the lease, but no—they’re gone by week’s end. Movers came yesterday; saw men in black tactical gear patrolling the perimeter now. Masked, armed. Private security? It’s like a crime scene lockdown.” Photos obtained by Daily Mail show the same: burly figures in balaclavas circling the 4,200-square-foot pad, AR-15s slung low, as U-Haul trucks ferry out guitars, vinyl collections, and designer luggage. X users speculate Epstein-level cover-up; one viral thread, with 50,000 likes, dubs it “D4vd’s Panic Perimeter.”

D4vd’s trajectory was meteoric, a TikTok fairy tale turned cautionary tale. Born August 28, 2005, in Houston to a middle-class family—father a mechanic, mother a nurse—he ditched traditional school at 14 for online homeschooling, diving into gaming and guitar. By 2020, his YouTube channel, d4vd, exploded with bedroom covers of The Weeknd and Frank Ocean. The pivot came in 2022: “Romantic Homicide,” a self-produced dirge about toxic love, hit 1 billion Spotify streams, peaking at No. 33 on the Hot 100. Signed to Darkroom/Interscope, he dropped Petals to Thorns in 2023, touring stadiums by 2024. Critics hailed his “haunting introspection”; fans devoured the vulnerability. But hindsight spotlights the shadows: Lyrics like “I don’t love you, but I’ll kill for you” in “Romantic Homicide,” or the video’s blood-drenched bed scene with a limp female figure. His February 2025 single “One More Dance” depicts him dragging a body to a trunk—eerily prescient.

Post-discovery, the backlash is biblical. Crocs and Hollister yanked him from fall campaigns, citing “the ongoing situation.” SZA, who mentored him, distanced via Instagram: “Not my friend… song’s coming down.” Figure skater Alysa Liu scrapped a D4vd-scored routine for the Olympics. Streams for “Romantic Homicide” spiked 300%—morbid curiosity?—topping charts anew, per Billboard. Yet collaborators ghost: Producers unlink credits; TikTok censors his name in trends.

Celeste’s family grapples with grief’s raw edge. Brother Matthew Rivas, 18, told NBC, “We’re shattered. She was our light—always humming D4vd songs, dreaming of stages. Now this? I just want answers.” A GoFundMe for funeral costs has raised $250,000, tributes pouring in from fans worldwide. “Celeste deserved better than a monster’s muse,” one donor wrote. Riverside PD, now assisting LAPD, revealed Celeste’s multiple runaways involved “older male contacts” in entertainment; a February 2024 welfare check at her home uncovered texts from D4vd: “Come to LA, babe. I’ll make you a star.”

Legal eagles circle. Entertainment attorney Tamara Njie, representing high-profile cases, opines: “Cooperation doesn’t preclude charges. Digital trails—DMs, location data from the Tesla’s GPS—could bury him. Grooming a minor? That’s federal if interstate. Dismemberment screams intent to conceal.” LAPD’s Lt. Maria Rodriguez, briefing reporters September 25, urged patience: “Leads are active. Forensics take time. We’re compassionate to the family but methodical.” Whispers of a grand jury in November persist.

As masked sentinels guard the empty mansion, D4vd’s whereabouts remain murky—spotted last at a private Van Nuys airstrip September 22, per TMZ sources, though his passport’s intact. Trifunovic relists the property tomorrow, slashing rent to $15,000 in hopes of exorcising the stain. “It’s tainted now,” he laments. For Celeste’s loved ones, justice is the only balm. In Lake Elsinore, a vigil swells: candles flicker under a mural of her smile, posters reading “Sing for Celeste.” Her favorite D4vd lyric, scrawled in chalk: “Don’t want to be alone, but don’t wanna be yours.”