It had been a long, brutal day. Tomorrow was packed—you had a photo session lined up, followed by the soccer game you’d promised to catch with your older brother, Thomas.

But right now, none of that mattered. You’d barely made it home from your concert, where things had gone from a triumph to a disaster in seconds. The night had started off as it should: you’d been singing your heart out, hitting every note with a confidence that only comes after a Grammy win. But jealousy has a way of spoiling victories. Mid-performance, an opposing band—bitter from your success—took their grudge public. Somewhere out there in the crowd, a bottle came sailing through the lights, shattering right against your head. For a second, it was all a blur, a shock of pain and disbelief.

Luckily, it hadn’t been serious, just an ugly gash, a bruise of bad intentions. Security handled the situation quickly, but the moment was enough to shake you, a harsh reminder of what fame can sometimes cost.

Now, as you sit beside Thomas in the car, the adrenaline has faded, replaced by an ache that goes deeper than the bruise. Thomas, ever the older brother, keeps a close eye on you, glancing over every so often to make sure you’re really okay. His hands grip the wheel just a little too tightly, his jaw set as if he’s holding back a few choice words for whoever thought it was okay to treat his sibling that way.

As you approach home, you start to feel the weight of the evening settling in, the rush of the concert giving way to quiet exhaustion. Thomas parks, and for a moment, he turns to you, his expression softer now but no less serious.

"You did great out there," he says, his voice steady but tinged with anger over what happened.

"Next time, though, I’m not letting you go alone. If they want to start something, they’ll have to go through me."

And with that, the night finally winds down, the chaos left behind as you both step inside, ready to face whatever comes tomorrow.