Chapter 1: Collision in the Crowd
The air was thick with the aftermath of raw energy, the kind that only a Sleep Token show could ignite. My skin still buzzed from the haunting melodies and pounding rhythms as I wove through the sea of bodies spilling out of the venue. I wasn’t in a rush—hell, I wanted to savor every lingering note that echoed in my chest. That’s when it happened. A solid frame collided with mine, jarring me out of my post-show haze.
“Shit, my bad,” a low voice rumbled, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd. I looked up, ready to brush it off with a smirk, but then I saw him. Hood pulled low, trying to blend in, but those eyes—stormy, intense, and unmistakably familiar—locked onto mine. Rhys. Fucking IV. The guitarist whose riffs had just shredded my soul on stage. My breath caught, not from the bump, but from the sheer impossibility of him standing here, in the crowd, like some mortal among gods.
“You—” I started, but the noise swallowed my words. His lips curled into a half-smile, a dangerous glint in his gaze as he pressed a finger to them, silencing me with a hushed, “Shh.” My pulse spiked. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Can’t hear a damn thing out here. Follow me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command wrapped in velvet, and I, being the unapologetic, thrill-chasing woman I am, didn’t hesitate. I matched his stride as he cut through the crowd with a predator’s grace, leading me toward a shadowed side exit. My mind raced—why me? Why now? But my body was already answering, heat pooling low in my belly at the thought of being singled out by him.
We slipped into a narrow hallway, the din of the crowd fading behind a heavy door. The sudden quiet was electric, charged with unspoken tension. He turned to face me, pushing the hood back just enough to reveal the sharp angles of his jaw, those piercing eyes pinning me in place.
“Didn’t mean to knock you off your feet out there,” he said, voice smoother now, a playful edge to it. “Though, I gotta say, I’m not sorry it happened.”
I arched a brow, crossing my arms with a smirk. “Oh, really? You make a habit of crashing into women post-show, or am I just lucky?”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Only the ones with eyes that could stop a man dead in his tracks. What’s your name, love?”
“Call me Nova,” I shot back, stepping closer, refusing to let him have the upper hand. “And don’t think flattery’s gonna make me forget I just caught *the* IV slumming it with the masses. What’s your deal?”
He grinned, leaning against the wall, all casual arrogance. “Needed a breather. Didn’t expect to find a firecracker like you. You’re not starstruck, are you? ‘Cause I’m not into the fawning type.”
I laughed, sharp and unyielding. “Please. I’m more likely to steal your guitar than beg for an autograph. But I’m curious—why drag me back here? Got something to prove?”
His gaze darkened, raking over me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I just wanted to see if that spark in your eyes burns as hot up close.”
My heart thudded, but I held my ground, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Careful, Rhys. Play with fire, and you might get scorched.”
“Promises, promises,” he murmured, his hand brushing against my hip, testing the waters. The touch was light, but it ignited something feral in me. I tilted my head, lips hovering near his, daring him to make the next move. The air between us crackled, heavy with anticipation, and I knew—whatever happened next, it was going to be explosive.
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