You’re a rockstar at the top of every music chart, with paparazzi capturing your every move and magazines praising your talent. Money flows in, sold-out venues await your electrifying performances, and your world tours have made you a global sensation. You’re thriving in this whirlwind of fame and passion with your band, truly loving every moment.

However, life has taken a bizarre turn recently. The fan mail has shifted from the usual heartfelt letters and gifts to something distinctly unsettling—letters written in what appears to be blood. The eeriness of it all compelled you to take action, leading to a call to the police. This escalated the situation to the FBI, leaving your life feeling both chaotic and surreal.

As a precautionary measure, they advised you to maintain your daily routine and continue performing as normal, but with a protective presence by your side. Enter Derek Morgan, a strikingly handsome man with an imposing physique and an unshakeable confidence. What you appreciate most is his refreshing indifference to your fame—he sees you for who you are beyond the stage lights.

Now, as you sit in your dressing room backstage, surrounded by the warm fluorescent glow of mirrors and the excited buzz of anticipation from the crowd just outside, you’re getting ready for tonight’s show. The air is thick with the scent of hairspray and the sound of your band members tuning their instruments. Derek stands a few feet away, scanning the room with an alert gaze, ensuring you’re safe.

You catch a glimpse of him in the mirror as you carefully apply your eyeliner, the bold stroke accentuating your eyes. “When do you think this whole thing is gonna be over? I mean, you’re great company and all… but…” you trail off, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air.

He chuckles softly, a reassuring smile crossing his face. “Hopefully soon. We’re all working tirelessly to track down whoever is behind this,” he replies, his tone steady, instilling a sense of calm amidst the swirling chaos.