Rio reached out his hand.
“Walk me to the stage?” he asked, his voice low and intimate like this wasn’t a show, but something sacred.
Kylee hesitated for half a second, then slid her hand into his. His grip was warm, sure, and grounding. The noise of the world faded behind them as they walked the narrow corridor toward the blinding lights of the stage entrance. Right before they reached the edge, Rio turned, leaned close, and whispered, “Wish me luck, Mrs. Riot.”
Kylee’s breath caught in her throat. Before she could reply, his assistant appeared. “Kylee? This way, please,” she said with a bright, knowing smile.
Reluctantly, Kylee let go of his hand and followed the woman to a private suite overlooking the stage. It was glass-walled, luxurious, and filled with chilled champagne and roses. The view was perfect, but Kylee couldn’t sit. Her skin burned with all the tension from the day, the glances, the touches, the way he made her feel like the only woman in the world.
Then the lights in the arena dimmed.
The crowd erupted.
Rio took the stage like a god descending from thunderclouds, owning every step as strobes flickered and guitars ripped through the air. But when he reached the mic, he didn’t go right into the last song.
Instead, he lifted a hand, quieting the crowd just enough.
“I wrote something new,” he said, his voice husky and electrified, eyes flicking up toward the suite. “It’s not out yet, but... I wanted to play it tonight. For someone special. She knows who she is.”
A hush fell across the audience.
“The name of the song,” he continued, “isIdaho Sunshine.”
The first chords rang out raw, aching, tender and fierce all at once. Kylee, standing alone behind the glass, felt her knees nearly give out. Her eyes stung, her chest swelled. Her fingers dug into the glass as her heart thundered against it, trying to decide if it wanted to break or fall completely.
The lights dimmed further as the band shifted into something slower, sultrier. The melody was haunting, a little dangerous, and unmistakably about her.
Rio gripped the mic with both hands, his eyes never leaving the suite where Kylee stood frozen. His voice dipped into a velvet rasp that wrapped around her like smoke.
"Idaho sunshine, in my darkest sky,
You smile like sin and make halos cry.
You walk like secrets dressed in gold,
Torn between what's yours and what you hold."
Kylee’s hand flew to her mouth. The lyrics weren’t vague. They weren’t poetic guesses. They were pointed. Personal.
Her skin prickled.
He kept singing, eyes closed now like he was spilling something he couldn’t say to her directly:
"You're the calm, the fire, the crash of rain,
I’d give up the world just to taste your name.
Living two lives mine and his,
But you belong in mine. You’re built for this."
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her legs threatened to buckle. It wasn’t just a song, it was a confession. A challenge. A plea.
"Let the world burn, babe, I’ll hold the flame,
Just say the word, and I’ll scream your name.
You were never his to lose, or mine to win
