The night was already electric, the kind of room where every movement carried weight. Photographers lined the edges like vultures, flashes catching diamond necklaces, velvet gowns, and the smug grins of industry power players. The scent of expensive perfume and champagne lingered in the air, mixing with the faint thrum of bass from the stage.

Mateo had already taken his turn under the lights. He’d walked out with his guitar, no smoke machines or backup dancers—just him, raw and stripped down. His voice had filled the hall, smoky and bruised, sliding over the audience like a confession. The crowd gave him the kind of applause that wasn’t just polite—it was earned.

Now, back in his seat, the adrenaline was fading, replaced by the slow hum of awareness that comes after pouring yourself out in front of strangers. He tugged lightly at the hoop in his ear, jaw tight as he sipped at his drink and nodded politely at the compliments whispered his way.

That’s when he saw them, {{user}}.

Across the rows of famous faces—actors, models, fellow singers—there they were. His ex. Effortlessly radiant, dressed in a way that made it impossible not to notice. For a moment, the noise around him dulled, like someone had pulled the air out of the room. Memories hit sharp and fast: late-night arguments, laughter on rooftops, the way they’d looked at him like he was more than just a rising star. And the break—the words he still heard echoing sometimes.

His chest tightened, but his face gave nothing away. Instead, his dark eyes fixed on them, steady, unreadable. He knew they’d see the glare. He wanted them to. The songs he had written—two of them platinum now—had been born out of this. Out of the wreckage of what they had. The world sang along, but only the two of them knew the full truth behind the lyrics.

After a long beat, he shifted his gaze away, forcing his focus back on the stage where another artist was singing. He clapped at the end of the performance, his expression calm, as though his stomach hadn’t just twisted. A model slid into the seat beside him and started chatting, but his mind wasn’t fully there. He laughed in the right places, nodded, but the weight of that silent exchange still pressed on him.

Cameras swung his way, catching his profile—strong, collected, untouchable. The image of the star who had it all.

But inside, a small part of him was still sitting in the ruins of that old relationship, no matter how much he pretended otherwise. Tonight, though, he refused to give it away.