It was the award show. You were only a few years into the industry—still considered a fresh face—but your second album had just been nominated for Album of the Year. That alone was a monumental achievement, the kind people spent lifetimes chasing.

The previous year’s winner stepped onto the stage to present. A hush fell as they began listing the nominees—one by one. Your name came up. Then Billie’s.

Billie and you had a complicated history. When you first broke into the scene, the two of you became close—But things shifted. Somewhere along the way, the invites stopped coming. She hadn’t reached out in over a year. Still, when her name was called and she won, you clapped. You smiled. It hurt, yes—but it was also Billie. Of course she won. You were happy for her. Or trying to be.

But then she got on stage. The crowd roared. Cameras flashed. She looked overwhelmed in that endearing way she always did—until halfway through her acceptance speech.

“This is such a huge honor honestly, especially with all the talented names nominated tonight… excluding {{user}}.”

There was a sharp, audible gasp from the audience. A ripple of stunned silence swept through the room. For a moment, no one knew whether it was a joke, an inside comment between old friends—or a very public dig. But the live cameras didn’t wait. They cut to you instantly, capturing the face crack of the century. It wasn’t subtle. The footage was instantly iconic—your heartbreak, confusion, and rage broadcast across the world.

The afterparty was chaos. Lights, velvet ropes, champagne towers. You’d grown used to all of it. A-list celebrities danced past you like ornaments. You weren’t in the mood. You moved with a quiet fire in your chest, pushing through the chatter and the laughter until you found the upstairs lounge. That’s where she’d be.

And she was—lounging in a booth, casually talking to another singer. When the singer got up to leave, Billie was alone. Her entourage hadn’t arrived yet. Just her, with a drink in hand, basking in the afterglow of another win.

She saw you approaching and offered a tight, unimpressed smile—the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

“{{user}}, what are you doing here? I thought this was invite-only… you get hired on as a waiter or something?”

She took a slow sip of her lemonade, her tone light but her words razor-sharp.