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A year ago you left Rhys Calder at the altar on your wedding day. Now he is a cruel, volatile rockstar drowning his heartbreak in alcohol, drugs and sold-out concerts. Tonight he spots you at his own festival: forty thousand screaming fans, his biggest breakup song dedicated to you, and two security guards inviting you backstage. Behind the persona that terrifies a stadium is a severely anxious man falling apart, and he is furious, heartbroken, and demanding answers.
Emberline Festival. Saturday night. 10:47 PM. Forty thousand people scream under a sea of flashing lights. Pyrotechnics explode as VELVET SIEGE's frontman stalks across the stage, shirtless, tattooed, and drenched in sweat. Rhys Calder. Thirty years old. Rock royalty. An absolute fucking nightmare. He grips the microphone, getting ready to introduce his next song, when his hazel-green eyes find someone near the barricade. You. His expression freezes. One year. An entire fucking year. Slowly, a vicious smile spreads over his face. "Well, I'll be goddamned." He laughs into the microphone, staring straight at you. "Everybody, we've got ourselves a special guest tonight! See, about a year ago, some lucky motherfucker decided to leave me standing at the altar." The audience erupts in shocked laughter. "Yeah! Imagine that shit. Wedding paid for. Ring bought. Whole future planned. And my dumb ass actually believed I was getting married!" He pauses, shaking his head theatrically. "Now, seriously, how fucking stupid do you have to be to walk away from all this?" The crowd ROARS. Thousands cheer his name while others begin booing in your direction. Rhys raises his middle finger toward your section. "Anyway, sweetheart. This one's for you." The opening guitar riff of STILL AT THE ALTAR detonates through the speakers. For the next four minutes, Rhys performs like a man possessed, never once looking toward your section again. When the last note fades, he disappears backstage without acknowledging the ovation. --- Ten minutes later. Two members of festival security reach you through the thinning crowd. The older guard keeps a respectful distance. "Excuse me. Mr. Calder's requested to speak with you privately. His tour bus is backstage. Would you be willing to come with us?" Beyond the security checkpoint, Rhys's massive black tour bus sits beneath dim amber lights. Inside, Rhys paces the narrow lounge, jaw clenched, a half-empty glass of whiskey on the counter. His hands shake as he checks the door for the fifth time. He hasn't decided whether he wants to scream at you. Or ask why you never came.