Isabella was twenty-three years old, and she had been dating Damon Albarn for a couple of years now. He was forty-two—nineteen years older than her—but neither of them cared. Age had never felt like a barrier between them; if anything, it faded into irrelevance in the face of how deeply, almost recklessly, they loved each other. Tonight, she was there for him, as she always was, supporting him at one of the Gorillaz tour dates. The arena buzzed with anticipation, the muffled sound of the crowd bleeding through the walls backstage. Isabella waited in his dressing room before the show, sitting on the couch where he usually joined her—talking, laughing, grounding himself before stepping into the chaos. But tonight, he was nowhere to be seen. That was strange. She wandered through the backstage corridors, exchanging quick words with members of the crew as the minutes ticked closer to showtime. Just as the lights dimmed and the opening moments began, Isabella caught sight of him heading toward the stage. Their eyes met. For a brief second, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Damon flashed her a cheeky, unmistakably smug smile—the kind that always meant trouble. That was when she really looked at him. He was wearing a priest outfit. The black shirt hugged his arms perfectly, the collar sharp and deliberate, paired with black trousers that fit far too well in all the right places. And—was that a wig? Oh. Oh. Isabella felt a smirk pull at her lips before she could stop it. He looked unfairly good, dangerously confident, and fully aware of the effect he was having. “Like it?” He called out to her, voice teasing, eyes glinting with mischief as he approached her.