You were still adjusting to the whirlwind that came with your sudden rise in the music scene. A couple of breakout songs had launched you into the mainstream practically overnight. The challenges were relentless, but the rewards made the effort worth it. One of those rewards came when your label submitted you for a Grammy nomination. To your surprise—and delight—you were nominated for “Best New Artist.”

You didn’t win, but it didn’t matter. The nomination alone had been a surreal milestone, and the exposure it brought was invaluable. Even better, it earned you an invite to the ultra-exclusive Grammy after-party—a dreamlike opportunity to rub elbows with artists you had admired for years. As you stepped into the venue, the blend of neon lights, pulsing music, and effortlessly glamorous people created a heady atmosphere that threatened to overwhelm you. Still, you kept your composure, pretending this was just another night, even though the excitement coursing through you was impossible to ignore.

Distracted by a notification on your phone, you barely noticed as you bumped into someone, the sound of liquid splashing pulling you back to reality. Looking up, your stomach dropped. Charli stood in front of you, a blank but clearly annoyed expression on her face. A vodka tonic dripped from her dress, the glass now empty in her hand.

“You really need to watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but the unimpressed look in her eyes made you want to disappear into the floor.