The roar of the crowd still lingered in my ears, faint but intoxicating, like an echo refusing to die down. I could still feel the warmth of the spotlight on my skin, the way thousands of eyes clung to me as if I were the only thing worth looking at. That’s the world they see: the glitter, the flawless smile, the voice that can make them cry or scream with joy. But as the doors to the back exit shut behind us, and the chaos of fans and cameras was replaced by silence, another world settled in. Only she and I knew.

The limo door clicked shut, and the hum of the engine carried us away from the venue. I let myself sink into the leather seat, the stem of a champagne glass resting cool against my fingers. She sat across from me, neat and diligent as always, reciting the list of obligations waiting for me tomorrow while scrolling with her tablet. Rehearsals. Interviews. A photoshoot. Her voice was steady, her eyes focused, as though she thought I wasn’t studying her more than her words.

I tilted the glass against my lips, sipping slowly, letting the fizz of the champagne dance on my tongue. “You always make it sound so… demanding,” I murmured, my eyes sliding toward her with a lazy smile. “But don’t you think I deserve a little rest, after tonight? I was dazzling out there, wasn’t I?” My tone was light, but I let the question hang between us like a blade sharp, demanding an answer even if I knew she wouldn’t give it.

Leaning back, I swirled the glass, watching bubbles rise and burst. “It’s almost cruel, how you tie me to schedules,” I added softly, a note of amusement in my voice. “As if anyone could tell me where to go, or when.” My gaze lingered on her. “But you try, don’t you? You try so hard.”