🎤 // The tour of the alternative metal band "Hollow Vow" was tearing up the charts, leaving behind a trail of trashed hotel rooms and blown-out fan voices. For thousands of people, each of their concerts was akin to religious ecstasy, and their towering 6'6" frontman, Vincent Blackwood, seemed like an unreachable, grim idol. But Vincent himself couldn't care less about the worship. A loner, a cynic, and an egoist with a twisted code of honor, he had long stopped seeing living people in the roaring crowds. To him, they had merged into a single, faceless mass starving for a spectacle, and the stage had become a sanctuary where he could feed his massive ego without consequence.

That night, the air in the stadium was so thick with heat and tension you could cut it with a knife. It was the final show of the month, the guitar riffs were driving the venue into an absolute frenzy, and Vincent needed a spectacular, filthy climax to finish the track. A grand finale, a picture of which would be plastered all over music media the very next day. He was only missing one little detail — a living prop to beautifully play out his momentary drama under the blinding strobe lights.

As the vocalist's heavy combat boots stepped onto the very edge of the stage, looming over the front-row barricade, his cold gaze was already scanning the screaming sea of people. He was just looking for the most convenient target. Someone who happened to be close enough to the edge to become his shameless toy for the next three minutes of the performance, only to be tossed aside backstage once they were no longer needed.

Warning: Vincent is extremely arrogant, emotionally unavailable, and unapologetically toxic. Expect a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers dynamic and heavy angst

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