It was sheer pandemonium at backstage; it was a raging storm of frenetic action and shouting commands. Assistants dashing here and there with loads of garment bags and accessories, and hot tea dashing perilously close to spilled liquid. Makeup artists over their palettes with wands flying, flossing over the faces of performers. Sound engineers speaking loudly into headsets almost unheard above the bedlam noise.
Amidst it all, Adrien Wolfe sat in front of the illuminated vanity mirror, silent and utterly still, his presence like a black hole sucking all the energy in the room. He was devastatingly handsome—jawline sharp enough to cut glass, stormy silver eyes that seemed to see through people, and a quiet intensity that made everyone tread carefully around him. His dark, slightly tousled hair fell perfectly without effort, and every movement he made, even the smallest, carried an air of dominance.
"Where's the backup earpiece!!!" shouted one of the sound engineers, his face pale with panic.
"I-I have it! Hold on!!" stuttered a young assistant, rushing forward and almost tripping over a stray cable.
"You better not drop it," growled the head sound tech, his gaze darting nervously toward Adrien. The singer's sharp eyes flicked up from the mirror, landing on the pair.
"Handle it quietly," Adrien said in a low, cold voice. It wasn't loud, but the weight of it silenced the entire room for a split second. The assistant nodded so vigorously it looked like his head might fall off.
Mariah, Adrien's lead stylist, was a whirlwind of motion at his side. "This jacket isn't sitting right. Give me a second," she muttered, tugging at the shoulder seams of the custom leather jacket. Her usual confidence was nowhere to be seen. "Adrien, tilt forward a bit so I can adjust the chain."
Adrien raised an eyebrow over her shoulder in the mirror, his face unexpressive. "You should've gotten it right the first time."
"I—I mean yes, of course," stammered Mariah; her hands were fiddling a little as she worked.
"One minute people!" shouted a stagehand from the doorway, waving her clipboard like a sword "One minute until curtain!
Why is his mic still not on?" Adrien's manager barked, pacing back and forth. He was a short, wiry man with a perpetual sheen of sweat on his brow. "Do I have to do everything myself?!"
"I'm on it!" another assistant squeaked, rushing over to Adrien with the wireless mic. They fumbled with it for a second, and Adrien's gaze shot to them, cold and piercing.
"Do it right, or get out of my way," Adrien said sharply. His tone was calm, but the weight of his words was enough to make the assistant's hands steady as they clipped the mic to his collar.
Mariah stepped back, surveying him one last time. "You're ready," she said quickly, her voice shaky.
Adrien stood, the chair scraping against the floor with a sound that made everyone wince. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. His sheer height and presence made the room, bustling as it was, seem smaller, quieter, though the chaos still churned around him.
"Remember," he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade, "I expect perfection out there. If anything goes wrong…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
"Nothing will go wrong!" the manager shouted, his voice an octave too high as he practically ran to the stagehand at the door. "We're ready! Let's move, people!"
Adrien marched toward the stage entrance, the heels of his boots clicking sharply on the floor. As he reached the curtain, the din of the crowd outside reached a deafening pitch. He paused there, exhaled deeply, and steeled his sharp features into a mask of intensity.
Mariah, bold enough to take one step forward, hesitated before saying, "Adrien. Good luck."
He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't need luck," he said smoothly.
As Adrien stepped out onto the stage, the blinding lights lit him up and cast sharp shadows across his chiseled features. The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave: screams, cheers, and chants of his name, "Adrien! Adrien!" filled the massive arena. Thousands of fans held glowing signs and waved their phones, the sea of lights dancing like fireflies in the dark. The energy was electric, an unrelenting tide of adoration and anticipation.
Adrien stood in the midst of it all, unwavering, a force to be reckoned with amidst the tempest of chaos. His silver-gray eyes scanned the audience with a stillness of intensity, as if he could see each individual within the massive audience. The microphone in his hand was an extension of his power, a tool wielded with precision.
Behind him, his band and backup dancers were already in position, waiting for his signal. The colossal LED screen lit up with his name in bold, fiery letters, and the first few chords of the opening song began to rumble through the speakers, sending vibrations straight into the chest of everyone present.
Adrien raised his hand, and the whole arena fell silent, as if thousands of screaming fans couldn't help but obey. He paused for a moment, letting the silence hang, commanding their attention effortlessly.
The pace of the band increased as Adrien's voice hit the speakers. It was smooth and deep with an edge that had a raw emotion behind it. The voice wasn't just one; it was an experience, a weapon piercing every barrier.
The song began to build, and Adrien's movements became fluid and precise. His hand gestures matched the beat, his body moving with a confidence that seemed almost untouchable. The dancers flanked him in perfect synchronization, but it was clear who the crowd's focus was on. Adrien didn't just sing; he performed, his presence consuming every inch of the stage.
Backstage, his team stood frozen before the monitors, their breaths held. Though they had witnessed this a thousand times before, it never failed to amaze—or terrify—them.
Mariah wiped her brow, muttering to herself, "He's flawless. Of course, he's flawless."
"That crowd is eating out of his hand," muttered the manager, though his tone carried more relief than admiration.
As Adrien reached the chorus, the crowd exploded once more, their voices rising in perfect harmony with his. His eyes scanned the room, hard and appraising, as if he was sizing them up even as he sang. He reached out into the crowd, the fans in the front row reaching out in desperation, their screams turning to frenzy as he locked eyes with them, a smirk crossing his face.
The moment the beat dropped, pyrotechnics erupted all around the arena: sparks, pouring down in perfect synchronization to the music. Adrien did not even flinch. He moved through smoke and fire like he had been born to stand within it, his every step calculated to exude dominance.
The bridge arrived, and Adrien's voice dropped to a whisper, so intimate it felt like he was singing directly to each person in the audience. The arena fell silent again, captivated, before the music swelled into the final, heart-stopping crescendo.
By the time the song was over, Adrien stood alone at the center of the stage, under one spotlight that illuminated his chest, which moved up and down slightly with each last echo of the song in the arena. For a moment, it was just silence, like everyone in the audience forgot how to breathe.
And then, the eruption—a deafening wave of screams, applause, and chants that shook the very foundation of the venue.
Adrien glanced over his shoulder toward the backstage area, his smirk returning, as if to say, Told you so.
He turned back to the crowd, raised his microphone, and said, "Good evening, everyone. Let's make tonight unforgettable."
The screams grew louder, and Adrien stepped forward, ready to dominate the night like only he could. Every light, every sound, every heartbeat in the arena felt like it was under his control. Until he saw her.
It was a flicker, at first, in his side vision, but then it punched him in the chest like an uppercut. His voice stammered for an instant, a hesitation that passed so quickly no one else seemed to catch. Adrien felt it.
Blinding lights and shrill screams filled the atmosphere. She stood there amidst the chaos, front row, her eyes locked unflinchingly with his.
He knew those eyes.
The microphone in his hand felt more heavy, his fingers tightening because something raw and unexpected clawed at his carefully constructed composure. All of the stage, crowd, control, slipped—if only for a heartbeat.
She's here.
Why now? Why here?
Adrien's silver eyes darkened as his mind ran, but his body betrayed nothing. He managed to force a smirk, took a step forward, commanded the crowd as if nothing had happened. But, under the spotlight, his pulse thundered in his ears.
For years, he had built himself into an unshakable force, a man who bent the world to his will. But tonight, with one look, she reminded him what it felt like to lose control.
And she knew it.