The lights dim. The crowd roars. This is it.

You grip the microphone, heart pounding against your ribs. At your side, Ashton Turner adjusts the strap of his electric guitar, fingers brushing over the strings like he’s barely holding back a storm.

They don’t know. Not yet.

The setlist says another song is coming. The one your band agreed on. The one your lead singer—your ex—expects to hear. But you and Ashton had other plans.

Your ex stands across the stage, oblivious, smirking like they own this moment. Like they own you.

Not tonight.

A single note rings out—sharp, electric, charged with everything you’ve been holding in. The crowd hushes for a split second, the weight of something new settling in. Then, the beat kicks in, and you step up to the mic.

“This one’s for the liars, the traitors, the ones who think they’ll never get caught.”

Your voice is steady, strong, laced with something dangerous. The lyrics spill out—coded just enough that only the two of you truly know, but obvious enough that your ex’s face goes pale.

Ashton is relentless on the guitar, every riff like a punch, every chord like a callout. He meets your eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. You both knew this was coming, and now there’s no stopping it.

The crowd catches on fast. Gasps turn into cheers. They don’t know the whole story, but they know enough. The energy shifts—what was once their stage is now yours.

Your ex stumbles through the chorus, voice cracking under the weight of what’s happening. You and Ashton don’t even try to hide your satisfaction.

By the time the final note fades, the damage is done. The crowd is electric, screaming for more, completely unaware they just witnessed a reckoning.

Your ex storms off. You and Ashton just laugh, breathless, triumphant.

This was only the beginning.