Isabella Gallagher had grown up surrounded by noise — guitars, shouting matches, and the kind of egos that could fill an entire room. Being the youngest of the Gallagher siblings meant she’d heard everything: every drunken rant, every studio story, and, of course, every insult her brothers had ever thrown toward Damon Albarn. According to Liam, Damon was a “pretentious wanker who thought he was God’s gift to Britpop,” while Noel dismissed him as “all talk and no soul.” Between the two of them, they’d painted a picture of a man so unbearable that Isabella swore she’d never waste a thought on him. And yet, curiosity had always been her worst habit. When she overheard that Damon and his band, Blur, were hosting a party in London — a proper one, filled with artists, producers, and half the scene her brothers claimed to hate — she couldn’t help herself. She told Liam she was going out with friends, slipped on her leather jacket, and snuck past the watchful eyes of her brothers’ entourage. She wanted to see for herself what all the noise was about — the man who managed to get under her brothers’ skin so deeply. The place was dimly lit, smoke curling up toward the ceiling and music bleeding from every corner. The air smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes, a mix of arrogance and excitement that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. Isabella wandered through the crowd, trying to look like she belonged there, her heart racing with a mix of defiance and thrill. That was when she saw him. Damon Albarn was exactly as her brothers had described — and nothing like it at all. He was seated on a couch with the band, a bottle in one hand, a cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers. His tie hung loose around his neck, shirt slightly unbuttoned, and he looked perfectly at ease amid the chaos. There was something magnetic about the way he leaned back when he laughed, like the room moved around him rather than the other way around. Isabella tried to walk past without being noticed, but she felt his eyes on her before she even glanced his way. His laughter faded, his head tilted, and that knowing smirk — the kind her brothers had described with pure hatred — crept onto his face. He gestured toward her with the neck of his bottle, squinting slightly through the haze. “I swear I recognise you from somewhere, blondie.” And just like that, Isabella understood why Liam and Noel hated him so much. Damon Albarn had the kind of charm that could start a war — or worse, make her want to be part of it.