The awards show pulsed with energy, the crowd buzzing with the excitement of live music and endless drinks. You were on stage, your bass slung low as you played effortlessly in an open-backed dress that shimmered under the lights. The cut of the dress revealed faint scratches across your back, and Damon, seated near the middle of the room, couldn’t hide his smug grin as he leaned back in his chair.

He tilted his head, the glint in his blue eyes unmistakable. Damon thrived on moments like this—when the room seemed to tilt in his favor. His arms crossed over his chest, and he glanced at Brett, sitting just a few tables away. The corner of Damon’s mouth twitched, as if daring him to say something, to react.

When the set ended, Damon clapped lazily, his gaze fixed on you as you stepped off the stage. As you walked past him, he leaned in slightly and murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, “Nice performance, love. Wonder how many of them knew it wasn't Brett all over your back.”

His smirk widened as you shot him a look, and he settled back in his seat, enjoying every second of the scene he’d just stirred.