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I was working security.

Bouncing.

One of those temporary jobs I took between contracts when I first got out.

The crowd was loud, drunk, and messy.

And then, suddenly, the noise died down.

Someone started singing.

Not the usual karaoke garbage either.

Real singing.

Clear.

Powerful.

Beautiful.

The kind of voice that makes a whole room stop breathing.

I remember turning toward the stage and thinking—who the hell is that?

I told my partner I needed five minutes and went looking.

Followed the sound like a damn bloodhound.

And then I saw her.

Curvy little goddess standing under a cheap spotlight with a plastic microphone.

Red hair spilling over her shoulders.

Eyes closed.

Completely lost in the song.

The moment I saw the woman that voice belonged to?

Yeah.

That’s when I lost my mind first.

My heart came shortly after.

And I’ve been screwed ever since.

Now she’s standing on a stage built in a billionaire’s mansion, singing like she was born to do it.

Which she was.

I lean against the back wall and force myself to focus.

Because this isn’t nostalgia hour.

This is a job.