The rising star.

Morgan adjusted the microphone in his hand, the stage lights casting a golden glow on his face. The Celebrity Artist Music Awards were a turning point—not just for him, but for his band, Silver Echo.

They had worked for this moment. He had worked for this moment.

The crowd roared as they finished their set, his heart still pounding from the performance. Somewhere in the sea of faces, cameras flashed, capturing the band's rise to fame in real-time.

This was it.

This was the moment they had dreamed of.

And yet, as Morgan stepped backstage, wiping the sweat from his brow, a familiar voice pulled him back to something more real.

"I can't believe you actually made it."

He turned, his grin widening. "Navaeh!"

She was standing there, arms crossed but smiling—genuinely, warmly.

Morgan didn't hesitate. He pulled her into a quick hug, the scent of coffee and vanilla reminding him of the long nights they had spent talking about the future. Back when none of this had seemed possible.

"You're a damn celebrity now," she teased, stepping back. "How does it feel?"

Morgan chuckled. "Weird. But good." He studied her, eyes bright with something familiar. "And you? You're really a big-time journalist now, huh?"

Navaeh shrugged. "Still just doing my job."

"Your job?" He smirked. "And let me guess—I'm your next interview?"

She rolled her eyes. "Actually, yes."

Morgan laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, well. Looks like we both made it."

"Yeah," she said, and for once, the industry noise faded into the background. Because in this moment, she wasn't a journalist and he wasn't a rising star.

They were just Morgan and Navaeh again.

"Come on," he said, nudging her playfully. "Let's give you an exclusive."

---

Meanwhile…

Mordred sat in the VIP section, watching the stage with an unreadable expression.

He didn't know Morgan. Had never met him.

But watching the way Navaeh's eyes lit up when she spoke to him stirred something uncomfortable in his chest.

It wasn't jealousy.

It was just… curiosity.

Who was Morgan to her?

And why did he care?

He exhaled sharply, finishing his drink. He had his own interview soon.

And something told him it was going to be a lot more interesting than expected.

---

Morgan leaned against the interview table, his easygoing charm on full display. The lights in the press room cast a soft glow over his features, accentuating the excitement still buzzing from his performance.

Across from him, Navaeh adjusted her notepad, giving him a knowing look.

"Alright, rising star," she teased. "Let's get started."

Morgan grinned. "Hit me with your best shot, Miss Journalist."

The interview flowed smoothly. Navaeh asked about Silver Echo's journey, their breakthrough, and what the future held. Morgan answered with honesty and humor, his enthusiasm infectious.

"So, the Celebrity Artist Music Awards—this is huge for you," she said. "Did you ever think you'd get here?"

Morgan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly? No. Not because I didn't believe in us, but because the industry is brutal. I've seen so many talented people get overlooked. It's hard to know if you'll ever get that shot."

His expression softened as he met her gaze. "But you always told me I would. And look at us now."

Navaeh smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. She was genuinely happy for him.

But then, just as she was about to wrap up, her editor's voice called from across the room.

"Navaeh! You're up next for Mordred's interview."

Her breath caught slightly.

Of course.

Morgan tilted his head. "Mordred? You're interviewing him too?"

"Yeah," she said, trying to sound casual. "Just part of the job."

Morgan's smile faltered just a little. "I see."

He wasn't stupid. Mordred was the biggest name in the industry. He knew how these things worked—he had seen the way people talked about him, admired him, obsessed over him.

And now, here was Navaeh, someone he had always trusted, walking straight into that world.

"Be careful with him," Morgan said suddenly.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Guys like Mordred… they don't live normal lives. The industry swallows them whole, and they start thinking they're untouchable. Just… don't let him pull you in."

Navaeh let out a short laugh. "I think I can handle myself."

Morgan held her gaze for a second longer before nodding. "I know. Just saying—remember who you are in all this."

His words lingered as she left to prepare for her next interview.

---

Mordred's Interview

Mordred was already seated when Navaeh walked into the room.

Unlike Morgan, he wasn't relaxed. He wasn't grinning.

He sat with his hands clasped in front of him, eyes sharp, posture perfect. The image of a man who knew he was being watched at all times.

"Miss Carter" he greeted smoothly.

"Mordred," she replied, taking her seat.

The air between them was different this time.

She remembered their last conversation—the one on the balcony, where his guard had slipped just enough for her to see the exhaustion beneath.

But now?

He was back in control.

"Congratulations on your award nomination," she started. "This isn't your first time here, but does it feel any different?"

Mordred gave a practiced smile. "Every award show is different, but the game stays the same."

"And what game is that?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether to answer honestly. "The game where we smile, perform, and make the world believe we're exactly what they want us to be."

Navaeh's fingers tightened slightly around her pen. "Sounds exhausting."

Mordred leaned forward, his voice low. "You have no idea."

For a split second, she caught it again—that flicker of something real beneath the mask.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

She continued with the interview, keeping it professional, but she couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

---

Morgan & Mordred: First Encounter

After the interview, Navaeh stepped out into the hallway, rubbing her temples.

That was… intense.

She turned a corner, nearly bumping into Morgan.

"Hey," she said, surprised. "You're still here?"

Before he could answer, a voice cut through the space between them.

"Oh. You must be Morgan."

Navaeh's breath hitched.

Mordred stood a few feet away, arms crossed, looking at Morgan like he was sizing him up.

Morgan straightened, his easygoing demeanor slipping just slightly. "Yeah. And you must be Mordred."

The air shifted.

Neither man spoke for a second, but the unspoken tension was loud enough.

Navaeh looked between them. "Do you guys… know each other?"

"No," they answered at the same time.

The moment stretched, thick with something neither of them would name.

Then, Mordred smirked. "Well, it's always nice meeting fellow artists." His tone was polite, but there was an edge to it.

Morgan held his gaze. "Yeah. Same to you."

The rivalry hadn't been spoken into existence yet.

But it had been felt.

And Navaeh?

She was standing right in the middle of it.

---