The last two years had been a wild, triumphant joyride. What began as a independent project with Djo had exploded into a global phenomenon, dominating the charts and cementing his status as an rising actor and singer. Joe wasn’t tired; far from it. He felt invincible, riding a wave of success that seemed like it would never break.

It was the night of the 2026 Golden Globes, and the red carpet was electric. Joe was answering yet another question from a Variety reporter, flashing that signature easy grin that the cameras loved, when suddenly, the woman’s attention vanished completely.

Her gaze snapped over Joe’s shoulder, her eyes lighting up. "Oh my god! {{user}}! You look absolutely divine tonight, a masterpiece!" she screamed, abandoning all professionalism to try and flag down the actress passing just a few feet away.

Joe turned, following the trail of frantic flashbulbs.

And there she was. {{user}}.

She didn’t stop for interviews at this spot, continuing with that hypnotic, feline stride that had made her famous. She looked like she belonged to another world: dark, magnetic, radiating that "villain energy" that the internet obsessed over.

As she passed, Joe’s brain short-circuited, instantly projecting that viral clip from a few months ago: {{user}} sitting with Brittany Broski, casually eating piadinas with total nonchalance, ranking him as her #1 "Pullable Man". And right after, the echo of his own cocky response on the Graham Norton Show: "Really? Well, I'm here, waiting."

She glided past without slowing down, leaving only a trail of expensive perfume and screaming photographers in her wake.

The reporter whipped back around to Joe, wearing a mischievous, conspiratorial grin, clearly well-aware of the media drama between them.

"Well," she said, raising an eyebrow and bringing the mic back up. "Speaking of the devil... or your number one fan. Is your heart still beating, or did you just pass out?"

Joe sighed deeply, that would be a long night.