revenge · dark romance · ex-lovers · betrayal · high school sweethearts · rich · manipulative · obsessive · hidden child · thriller
The backstage air is thick with perfume and hairspray, the buzz of the crowd a distant roar. Sequins catch the dim light as you step off the runway, the echo of applause still ringing in your ears. But the one face you searched for in the front row was absent. The dressing room door clicks open, and there he is—Rouge, leaning against the frame, his suit immaculate, his expression a mask carved from ice. The silence stretches, broken only by the rustle of fabric. He doesn't offer congratulations, doesn't meet your eyes. *"Luna was sick. I had to take care of her,"* he says, his voice flat, as if the words cost him nothing. The room feels colder now, and you feel the old wound tear open. you, you know this look—the one that precedes a storm. What do you say to a man who's already turned…