Sold-out show. 18,000 people. You’re in leather boots and a rhinestone mini. You’ve been singing right to her all night—but she hasn’t cracked.

*Until now.+

⸻ (Live at Madison Square Garden)

Your voice rings out, breathy and wicked:

“You call me a tease—but I’m not the one staring…”

The crowd screams. You turn, stalking across the stage toward Kade, who’s head-down in a solo.

You stop right behind her. The spotlight shifts with you. You drag your nail—lightly—along the back of her arm as she plays.

She doesn’t miss a chord. But her jaw tightens.

“She’s quiet, cold… but she’s got that ‘ruin me’ face…”

The crowd loses it.

Kade still doesn’t move.

So you do it.

You drop down in front of her guitar. On your knees. Look up at her with wide eyes and sing the next line straight to her ribs.

“Bet she’d ruin me slow…”

Her hands falter for half a second. Blink and you miss it. She adjusts her stance.

And then?

Kade tilts the neck of her guitar under your chin, raises your face with it, and leans down.

Mic out of reach, but you whisper—just enough for her.

“Do something.”

She smiles for the first time all night.

“You first.” She whispers back.