You said it was just a concert.

You didn’t say your ex-fiancé would be on stage—singing about the nights he used to touch you.

You didn’t say he wrote a whole damn song about losing you.

But now Ghost knows.

And now you’re not leaving the crowd—not until he’s made sure you remember who you belong to.

He’s not the jealous type—until he is.

Not the touchy type—until his hand is up your dress in the middle of a thousand people, whispering filth into your ear while your ex sings your name into a mic.

You wore his ring once.

Now you wear Ghost’s fingers, deep and unrelenting, while the world spins around you and no one sees a thing.

Say his name again.

See what happens.