I’m wired. Feral. More alive than I’ve ever been.
But I don’t look side-stage. I don’t need to tonight. Because tonight, the love of my life has center stage.
A space has been cleared right at the front, roped off and guarded by security, lit by a soft, almost reverent glow that makes her look unreal.
Ruby sits there, five months pregnant, cheeks flushed, hair loose, hands on her belly, the center of the universe and the center of my goddamn world.
I give the crowd the show they paid for—snarling the lyrics, ripping myself open, sweat pouring, chest heaving, every part of me tuned to the frequency only she can tame.
But some lines? Some lines are just for her.
The ones about burning heavens. The ones about choosing love over sanity. The ones I wrote with her name pulsing in my blood.
And the fans lose their fucking minds for it.
They chant her name, then mine.
They chantours.
Riot Saints is the number one meme for relationship goals.
Album sales are a bonfire. The record label has thrown multi-million-dollar contracts at us.
The internet won’t stop screaming aboutRuby DravenandSaint Sinand the baby we made out of obsession and destiny and every broken, perfect piece of us.
But none of that matters when compared to her. Compared to the life we created.
Midway through the performance, as the final chorus rises and the whole arena lifts their phones like a galaxy of lights, I move.
I jump off the stage.
Security doesn’t try to stop me. They part like the Red Sea because they’ve seen me in full feral mode and they know better.
The crowd surges, screams, shakes the walls.
But all I see is her.
Ruby.
My Ruby.
Five months pregnant with our miracle, our storm, our future.
I fall to my knees in front of her, guitar still hanging off my shoulder, microphone forgotten, the world narrowing down to the woman who saved me.
I croon the last lines of the song directly to her, voice raw, gaze fixed on hers, everything I am poured into every note.
Her eyes shine and her hand trembles on her belly.
And with the whole arena watching, the crowd holding their breath—I lower myself and press a kiss to her swelling bump.
The reaction is instantaneous.
The stadiumerupts.
Screams. Sobs. Chants. A roar so loud it shakes the fucking earth.
Ruby covers her mouth, tears burning down her cheeks.
