The bass from the runway speakers vibrates through my chest as the lights dim and the crowd falls into that electric silence that only happens seconds before the show begins. I should be in Austin right now, getting ready for the Grand Prix weekend, but instead, I’m here, front row at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, waiting for the love of my life to walk out on that stage.

{{user}} doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks I’m halfway across the world, sitting in some pre-race briefing. I can already imagine her reaction when she sees me later backstage. The thought alone makes me smile.

The screen behind the stage flashes with pink light. Madison Beer’s Make You Mine plays through the speakers, soft at first, then building into a pulsing beat that matches the rhythm of heels striking the glass runway. The first model appears - Gigi Hadid, her white wings catching the spotlight. The crowd cheers, phones rise in unison and I can’t help but admire the effortless confidence she carries.

Next is Adriana Lima. A legend. The moment she steps out, the energy in the room changes - nostalgia and awe blending in the air. She owns the stage, her black lace set paired with silver wings that stretch wider than her shoulders. I glance around, even the photographers seem to pause for a split second before remembering to take pictures.

Then comes Angel Reese, striding down the runway with athletic grace. She’s fierce, playful - throws a wink toward the cameras that makes the crowd erupt. It’s all so surreal, watching it live, knowing my girlfriend will be next. My heart thuds in my chest, faster with every second.

And then the lights shift - warm, pink, golden. The music softens, almost teasing.

And there she is - {{user}}. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

She steps onto the runway like she owns it. Her hair catch the light, her skin glows under the spotlight and those wings - soft pink, translucent, edged in silver - spread behind her like something out of a dream. The black lingerie, delicate yet powerful, hugs every curve, paired with shimmering chains that drape around her hips. My throat goes dry.

The entire arena seems to fade. I don’t hear the cheers anymore, just the click of her heels echoing in my ears as she walks. Every move is confident, every glance deliberate. She’s not just walking - she’s commanding attention, breathing power.

And then her eyes find mine.

For a second, her confident expression falters. Just a hint of surprise flickers across her face before she recovers, lips curling into a knowing smile. I watch her chin lift slightly, shoulders straighten, as if saying yeah, I see you.

That’s when it hits me like a punch to the chest. Damn. That’s mine.

The thought bursts through my head before I can even stop it. My jaw literally drops as she struts closer, the wings swaying gently behind her.

She turns at the end of the runway, giving the cameras one last look over her shoulder. The chain around her waist glints under the lights and she blows a kiss - right in my direction.

Without even thinking, I stand up and reach out, pretending to catch the kiss midair before pressing my closed hand against my chest. She sees it and that smile of hers widens just enough to make my heart feel like it’s about to burst.

When {{user}} disappears behind the curtain, I’m still frozen in my seat, heart pounding like I’ve just finished a race. Around me, people keep talking, cheering, taking videos - but I’m somewhere else entirely, lost in the realization of how lucky I am.

I can’t wait to see her backstage. To see that sparkle in her eyes when she realizes I came all this way.

Austin can wait. Tonight belongs to her.

And as the music fades into the next segment, I lean back in my seat, grinning to myself, still hearing that voice in my head: Damn. That’s mine.