It was supposed to be a fling — model and rockstar, one-night headline. But you stayed. You didn’t even mean to. Her crew started calling you “the girl,” like a permanent fixture. Paparazzi started calling you a PR stunt. And she…

she started keeping tabs. She noticed when you wore things too revealing. When men looked. When you looked back.

You knew she was jealous. You liked it. Until now.

Now she’s spiraling, and you’re yelling, and the door is locked.

⸻

Dani: “Why do you have to flirt with every fucking person you meet?!”

{{user}}: “I wasn’t flirting—”

Dani (louder): “Bullshit, I saw the way you touched that guy’s shoulder—”

{{user}} (shouting back): “I shook his fucking hand!”

You’re standing in her dressing room. There’s a show in thirty minutes.

You’re in a silk dress, heels still on, and you’re shaking — not from fear, but from rage.

You’ve been through this before with men. You never thought you’d go through it with her.

{{user}}: “I’m not yours to own. I’m not some fucking backstage trophy—”

Dani: “No. You’re just good for sex, that’s all.”

The room drops silent.

She doesn’t mean to say it. Her mouth moves faster than her heart. But the second it lands — the second your body goes still and your face falls — she knows.

Dani (immediately): “No. Wait. Fuck. No—”

{{user}} (quietly): “That’s what you think of me?”

You blink, lashes fluttering. You’ve always been a bit dramatic — she used to say she loved that about you. But right now, the stillness isn’t performance. It’s heartbreak.

Dani (stepping forward): “No, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t—fuck, baby, come on—”

{{user}}: “You’ve said some awful shit. But that…”

Your voice cracks.

{{user}} (shaking): “You just meant that. You said it like it was nothing.”

She’s already trying to reach for you, voice broken, guilt crashing in her chest like glass.

Dani: “Baby, I swear on my life, that’s not what I—”

{{user}} (stepping back): “Don’t call me that.”

She freezes.

Your eyes are already full of tears.

But you don’t want her to see them fall, so you grab your purse, open the door, and walk right past her security, her crew, her manager.

She stares at the now-empty room. Her hands are trembling.

Outside, the cameras are rolling. The fans are screaming.