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Myst hesitated, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip again. But then she smiled, a little hesitant, but genuine. “Alright, Captain. Let’s give them something to talk about.”

The cameras flashed the moment they stepped through the towering double doors of the afterparty venue.

George blinked against the sudden onslaught of light, his grip tightening slightly around Myst’s hand.

She felt it and gave him a reassuring squeeze, her pale blue eyes flicking up to meet his with a soft smile that seemed to say, “We’ve got this. ”

The room was a swirl of decadence, rich golds and deep blues draped every available surface, shimmering under chandeliers that looked like they belonged in a palace. Industry elites mingled with local royalty, their laughter floating above the low thrum of Myst’s music playing in the background.

Myst, wearing a sleek sapphire gown that hugged her delicate frame just so, was radiant under the spotlight. George couldn’t help but glance at her again, struck by how effortlessly she carried herself here, as though this glittering world was built for her.

“Smile,” she whispered, leaning close enough that her words tickled his ear. “You look like you’re about to tackle someone.”

“Force of habit,” he muttered back, lips twitching into a grin despite himself. He shifted his broad shoulders, trying to relax, but the tailored navy suit felt like armour, rigid and unyielding.

They moved further into the room, hand-in-hand, and George noticed the subtle shift in the crowd’s energy.

Heads turned; whispers flitted from one corner to another.

A few phones discreetly (and not-so-discreetly) angled toward them, but Myst didn’t falter.

Instead, she straightened her posture, her smile widening as if to say, “Look all you want, I’m not hiding anymore.

” George admired her for it, that quiet defiance wrapped in grace.

“Over here, Myst!” A reporter swooped in, camera extended like a weapon. “Can we get a quick word? Is this your boyfriend, the guy from your Instagram photo?”

George opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but Myst beat him to it.

“Yes” She paused, her smile turning softer, more personal, as she glanced up at him. “We’re together.”

George pasted on a smile as the cameras started flashing, and they stood patiently for several minutes, looking at every camera in turn as the reporters called Myst’s name.

“That’s all you’re getting tonight,” she said at last, her tone light but final. Her hand never left George’s, even as they wove past a sea of intrigued faces.

“Handled that well, didn’t you?” George murmured once they found a quieter corner, his thumb brushing along hers.

“Years of practice,” she quipped, though her expression softened. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, glancing around. “It’s… different. But not bad.”

“Different is good.” She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before adding, “You’re doing great, by the way. Very stoic. Like a rugby captain should be.”

“Stoic. Right.” He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Pretty sure I just look confused half the time.”

“Well, then you wear confusion very handsomely.” Her teasing lilt made him chuckle, and for the first time that night, he felt like he belonged, not because he fit into her world, but because she made space for him in it.

As the evening stretched on, George found himself relaxing, even enjoying bits of it.

He even laughed when one of her bandmates jokingly asked if he could teach them how to tackle paparazzi.

Myst stayed close, her presence grounding him, and by the end of the night, George realized something important: he didn’t have to compete with this glittering, chaotic world of hers.

He just had to be part of it, and she wanted him to be.

The next morning, the air between them was quieter, heavier. George stood by the vast window of Myst’s suite, gazing out at the Dubai skyline one last time. The city shimmered under the early sunlight, bold and unapologetic, much like her.

“Your car’s downstairs,” Myst said softly behind him. Her voice was calm, but he could hear the crack in it.

He turned, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight as he looked at her. She was dressed casually now, jeans and a loose blouse, but somehow she still looked like a star. Maybe because, to him, she always would.

“Wish you were coming with me,” he said honestly. His suitcase sat by the door, an unwelcome reminder that their time was up.

“Me too.” She crossed the room, standing in front of him. “But I’ll come visit. As soon as the tour ends, I promise. I need to see where you come from. Meet your family.” Her lips twitched. “I bet your mum’s already planning dinner.”

“She is,” George admitted with a rueful grin. “She’s probably got three menus ready.”

“Good.” Myst reached up, letting her fingers graze his jaw. “I can’t wait.”

The kiss they shared was slow, lingering, and full of unspoken words. When they finally pulled apart, Myst rested her forehead against his, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got this, George. No matter how hard it gets.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice rough. “We’ve got this.”