You stand beside Noah backstage, the muffled roar of the crowd vibrating through the walls. The venue lights leak under the door, casting gold across the concrete floor, your wedding ring still feels unfamiliar on your finger.

Noah leans against the table, arms crossed, black shirt half-unbuttoned from rehearsal. His dark eyes flick toward you , unreadable. The two of you have been “married” for exactly three weeks.

The door swings open and the noise from the crowd spills into the room like a wave. Crew members move around quickly, wires being adjusted, someone shouting something about the setlist. A photographer slips in behind them.

Instantly, Noah’s entire demeanor changes. His arm slides around your waist, firm and controlled. The same practiced grip he uses every time cameras are around. Anyone watching would think it’s affectionate. His lips brush near your ear as the door begins to open. “Remember something,” he murmurs quietly“You’re my wife in public.”His grip tightens slightly.“But don’t get comfortable.”

Because clearly…he cannot stand you.