Aegon had always loved music. Not in the way a prodigy loves their craft, but in the way a drowning man clings to a life raft.

Playing guitar, singing—it was the only thing that made him feel like himself.

Being the eldest son of a millionaire CEO should have given him everything. Instead, it trapped him. His mother, Alicent, had carved out his future before he could even speak. Business. Legacy. Duty. He was meant to follow the path laid out for him.

There was no room for dreams.

But the pull of music was like the pull of alcohol—strong, irresistible, something he needed.

So, without telling anyone, Aegon auditioned for a band. It wasn’t some polished, up-and-coming group—it was a mess. The other guys were unreliable, always half-drunk, and they barely scraped together enough gigs to keep going. They played in shitty bars, where the speakers crackled and no one cared if you hit the wrong note.

It was perfect.

And then you showed up.

You were a music major at the city conservatory, used to technique and precision, to professors who picked apart every note. The chaos of Aegon’s band was nothing like what you knew.

But when you saw him play—saw the way he lost himself in the music, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality—you knew he was better than this.

So you waited. Waited until the gig ended, until the band packed up, and then you walked right up to him.

"You ever think about doing something real with this?" you asked.

Aegon snorted, taking a swig from his beer. "This is real, sweetheart. Real shitty, real loud, and real fun."

"You should audition for the conservatory."

That actually made him laugh. "Yeah, right. You think they’d take me? Not really their type." As much as he would have loved to live off his passion, Aegon had buried that wish long ago.