"Oh my God… I can't believe we're actually here."
Grace's voice cracked slightly as she stepped further into the backstage area, her eyes bouncing from one spot to another like a child let loose in a candy store. Her entire body buzzed with excitement — hands fluttering near her chest, mouth slightly agape, her jaw just about ready to hit the floor.
"**That's—oh my God, that's Janelle Croix! She's like the queen of fashion TikTok! And wait—**is that Tyra Flame? She's supposed to be filming a Netflix thing in Tokyo!"
Grace spun in place, practically breathless, before turning back to Precious and grabbing her arm. "This isn't just a concert… This is like the Oscars of pop culture. Everyone who's anyone is here.
"Influencers, designers, rappers, content creators, actors—I just saw one of the cast from Euphoria, I swear! This is more than music. This is… this is a cultural event."
Precious, even with all her internal chaos, couldn't help but smile a little. Grace's joy was infectious. She nodded slightly, though her eyes were scanning the vast space around them—a tangle of lights, cables, hurried production assistants, and stylish guests that looked like they'd just stepped out of editorial spreads.
"Of course it's more."A calm, composed voice cut into their awe.
Both girls turned.
Standing a few feet away was a man in a fitted navy shirt tucked into black jeans, with a headset around his neck and a clipboard clutched in one hand. His frame was lean but confident, and though he didn't wear anything flashy, there was something about him—maybe the way security let him pass without even flinching—that made him look legitimate.
He smiled politely. "Mr. Jones just crossed 500 million in gross from this tour. This is a big deal. Believe me, tonight? You're not just at a concert. You're at history."
Precious's brow lifted slightly. "You're Ethan's assistant?"
The man nodded. "Yep. Name's Doug. Ethan said you'd be outside. I came to bring you in."
And sure enough, he had. No questions from security, no hassle, just a wave of his badge and a quick glance at his phone, and the two of them had been whisked past velvet ropes like VIP royalty.
"Well, thanks, Doug," Grace said, still starry-eyed. "This place is… wow."
"You guys can hang here backstage. Just don't wander too far into production zones—we've got moving platforms and pyro cues in tight spaces. I'd hate for someone to accidentally get launched into the stratosphere."
They laughed.
Riley turned toward Precious then. "As for your brother, Miss Jones—"
"Call me Precious," she said quickly, her tone casual but assertive.
He gave a short nod. "Okay. Precious, your brother's tied up right now. He's doing a shoot for Vogue Homme in one of the green rooms. He might not be able to see you until after the show ends."
"No worries," she said with a small smile. "Totally understand."
Grace added, "We're just glad to be here. Seriously."
Riley flashed a quick thumbs-up. "Alright, enjoy yourselves."And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the sea of crew, managers, and performers like smoke in wind.
The two girls stood there, slightly stunned again.
Then—
"Excuse us! Coming through!"
They jumped slightly and turned, just in time to see two men—strong, built like linebackers—rushing past them with what looked like a massive, glowing bottle of what seemed like an energy drink. It was easily the size of a small fridge, with flashing lights around the base and a neon sign on it that read For Ethan – 500M PRIME.
"Oh wow—" Grace blinked. "That bottle is taller than I am."
Precious stepped aside, still watching in disbelief, then smirked."Well… I guess I can officially cross 'see a giant bottle in real life' off my bucket list."
Grace let out a laugh so loud it startled a passing intern.
"You're ridiculous."
"I try," Precious said with a playful shrug, then held out her arm. "Come on, let's go see what else this circus has."
Grace looped her arm through hers instantly. "Lead the way."
And so they walked out into the bustling maze that was the backstage compound.
And it was a compound — massive, pulsing, and alive with energy.There were glowing booths serving mocktails named after Ethan's most famous songs, sleek VR gaming pods with fans competing in virtual concerts, mini influencer photo setups with magazine-style lighting, and a fashion corner where stylists were letting people try on designer jackets and snap pictures under the label EJTOUR drip wall.
They passed a tattoo artist doing free tiny "XO" tattoos.Someone nearby was getting one inked on their ankle while livestreaming to thousands.A few feet away, a meet-and-greet area was buzzing — not just with fans, but influencers and B-list celebs, each trying to act like they weren't just as impressed as everyone else.
Grace let out a squeal. "That's Lisa Diora! She does those perfume review skits I told you about! Should we say hi? Omg what if she thinks we're cool?!"
Precious laughed. "Girl, we are cool. You just screamed that out loud though."
"Don't judge me. I'm overwhelmed."
"Not judging. Just observing."
They posed for selfies with a pop culture TikTok legend, were offered bejeweled mics as souvenirs, and even signed a massive LED guest wall that read "If you were here tonight, you were part of history."
"Honestly?" Grace whispered, wide-eyed, as they walked past another flurry of media people snapping photos. "This is insane. Like, it's not just a concert. It's like Coachella, the Grammys, and the Met Gala had a baby… and called it The Ethan Jones Tour."
"And that's it!"Click.
The flash from the phone camera faded, and there they stood — Precious Jones and Grace Whitman, posing with Kim Kardashian.Yes, the Kim Kardashian.
Grace was already breathless, bouncing slightly in place with her hands clutched to her chest, trying to process the moment. Precious, on the other hand, was frozen mid-laugh, still recovering from the surreal fact that they had just shared camera space with one of the biggest celebrities on the planet.
Kim gave them both a polite smile, all glossed lips and honeyed confidence. "It was so nice to meet you guys," she said warmly.
Then, with the smooth efficiency of someone used to high-speed schedules, Kim was gently ushered away by a small army of assistants and security, each one moving like they were synchronized with an invisible clock. She was already onto the next moment. The next camera. The next star.
"Bye!" Grace called after her. "I loved your Vogue shoot!"
Precious waved too, still stunned. "Okay, what just happened?!"
The two girls turned to each other with a squeal that could shatter crystal, clutching each other as they stumbled backward into a nearby plush bench, falling into a fit of laughter.
"Tell me we're not dreaming," Grace said, fanning herself dramatically.
"If we are," Precious said, smiling so wide it made her cheeks hurt, "I'm staying asleep."
They leaned into each other, scrolling through the picture they'd just taken. Grace zoomed in. "Look at my face! I'm smiling like an idiot."
"Because you are an idiot."
"I met Kim K, I'm allowed to lose basic motor functions."
They laughed again, that warm, honest kind of laugh that only came when you knew your memories were being imprinted into forever.
"Tonight's been insane," Grace whispered, her voice filled with childlike wonder. "Like, every ten steps we bump into another legend."
"And somehow, we still look cute in every photo," Precious added smugly.
"Oh, obviously."
They both giggled, leaning back, staring up at the canopy of light installations glowing overhead like electric stars.
Then Grace sat up straighter, squinting into the distance. "Wait… what's that?"
Precious followed her gaze. On the far side of the backstage labyrinth, where sleek panels of LED-lit walls and mirrored surfaces marked the path of performers and high-tier guests, there was a different kind of space.
It didn't look like part of the regular setup. It was tucked behind a set of soft black curtains—velvety, thick, and slightly pulled back just enough to reveal a long hallway bathed in soft golden light. It had a completely different aesthetic. Calmer. Sleeker. Minimalistic and expensive-looking.
And there, just a few feet ahead of them, they saw Kim Kardashian herself step through the entrance and disappear behind the curtain.
Standing guard on either side of the hallway were two towering security men, dressed in all black suits, arms folded across broad chests, earpieces glinting under the stage lights. They looked like statues carved out of discipline. Unmoving. Unsmiling.
Precious blinked. "Ehm… I'm not sure."
Grace leaned forward slightly. "It doesn't even look like part of the concert."
"It's too clean. Too hidden."
"Exactly."
For a moment, both girls stared.
Then Precious asked, her voice light but full of mischief,"Do you wanna check it out?"
Grace turned to her like she had just suggested skydiving. "Wait… really?"
Precious was already standing, brushing invisible dust off her jeans, smirking. "Yeah, for sure. Let's go. I mean—we've literally met half of Hollywood tonight. What's the worst that can happen?"
"This is either going to be legendary," Grace whispered, grabbing her hand, "or security's going to yeet us into next week."
They walked toward the mysterious corridor, pulled like magnets by curiosity. In a night where every possible door seemed open, this one being shut—guarded—was fascinating.There was something about it.That kind of place that scratches the back of your mind.That itch that whispers: if it's hidden, it's special. If it's restricted, it's important.And if it's off-limits… then it must be where the real stories begin.
As they neared, they weren't the only ones intrigued.A small cluster of hopeful fans and even a few micro-influencers were gathered near the entrance, all trying different strategies to get past the guards.
One girl was in full glam, pressing her laminated press pass forward with both hands, saying, "I was literally on the last panel with GloRilla, I swear. My name should be on the list."
The security guard didn't even flinch."No list. No entry."
Another guy wearing a sparkling silver jacket tried a softer approach. "C'mon bro, I'm not trying to sneak in—I just need five minutes. I just wanna see the lounge, alright? Just five."
The second guard's sunglasses didn't move. "Not happening."
Even a well-known fitness influencer, who Precious followed on Instagram for her meal-prep reels, was pacing nearby with her assistant, whispering harshly:"Are you kidding me? I just got a Vogue cover! What do you mean they won't let me in?"
Precious and Grace watched all of it unfold like a scene from a heist movie."Welp," Grace whispered, "Definitely not your average VIP room."
"Not even close," Precious replied, her curiosity growing with every second.
And still… the door remained closed.
"Who do you think is in there? Is it Ethan?"A girl whispered sharply behind them, her voice hushed but urgent, like she was scared to raise her hopes too loud.
"I heard Chris Brown is coming," someone else chimed in, practically bouncing on the soles of her heels. "I need to see him. He has to be inside."
"Nah, forget that. They said the CEO of Universal Music Group is here tonight," added a guy wearing an artist pass around his neck, pointing toward the curtained hallway. "It's industry royalty in there—executives, managers, top-tier talent."
Then another voice—shriller, angrier—cut through the murmurs.
"We have all-access passes! Why are you blocking it? We have a right to go inside!"
The tone, the entitlement, the exact tilt of attitude behind that voice—Precious's ears instantly perked up. Her heart thumped, her grip tightening ever so slightly on Grace's arm.
That voice…She knew that voice.She didn't want to believe it, but it rang like a bell she couldn't unhear.
Precious turned, her eyes scanning the crowd more frantically now. The conversations were still bubbling, influencers arguing, security standing their ground—but there, on the far right, standing closest to the velvet rope, she saw them.
Zara.
At the front, face pinched in a blend of forced charm and growing annoyance, was Zara, clearly trying to reason—or more likely, intimidate—one of the guards.
Right beside her, Lila, giggling like it was all a performance, twirling a lock of her caramel-blonde hair as she nodded in fake solidarity.
And off to the side, just a step removed from the chaos but unmistakably present, stood Amara—calm, quiet, arms folded across her chest like she wasn't quite endorsing what was happening, but wasn't about to stop it either.
A trio.The trio.
Her throat tightened.
Precious took half a step back without realizing it, her expression freezing as a single whisper slipped out from under her breath.
"Those are…"
Grace turned to her immediately. "Hmm? Those are who?"
Precious startled, eyes wide. She hadn't meant to speak out loud. She swallowed quickly, attempting to mask the sudden heat rising in her face.
"Oh, um…" she said, flashing a nervous smile, "Just… some girls from my major. That's all. Nothing important."
Grace squinted toward the commotion, trying to match the faces Precious had seen. "Oh really? Then let's go say hi! The concert's probably starting soon anyway, and I don't think we're technically supposed to be hanging around back here. We could all sit together or something."
"Grace, wait—"
But Grace had already taken a step forward.
Precious's breath hitched.
Her stomach churned as she saw Grace heading directly toward them, completely unaware of the storm she was walking into. Panic surged through her like electricity.No, not them. Not now. Not here.
She moved quickly, clutching her bag tighter as she hurried after her friend.
The air around the roped-off entryway was tense, humming with whispered frustrations, tapping shoes, and sharp exhalations of impatience. At the front of the group were three sharply dressed girls, each radiating their own flavor of entitlement—but it was Zara doing most of the talking.
She flipped her hair over one shoulder, her lip gloss catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. Her brows were furrowed, her jaw locked with irritation as she waved her pass in front of the stone-faced security guards.
"This is ridiculous," Zara snapped. "We have all-access passes. This—this is supposed to mean no restrictions."
She turned and jabbed a finger toward the girl standing a few paces behind her.
"Do you know who her dad is?" she hissed, pointing squarely at Amara, who stood with her arms crossed and a bored expression on her face.
Amara barely flinched. She raised her eyes to the guards and said, voice low and indifferent, "It's fine. It's over. Let's just go to our seats."
Zara turned sharply, disbelief flashing across her face. But Amara didn't budge.
"Seriously?" Lila whined, flipping her wrist. "After all this walking and waiting and fake VIP access? Ugh, I'm done."
As the two girls started turning back, Zara muttered under her breath, just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear:"I swear I'm reporting this. You people lie about these passes. I know my rights."
They had just turned when a cheerful, unsuspecting voice called out from behind them.
"Hi! You guys are Precious's friends, right?"
Grace, ever warm and friendly, smiled as she approached, oblivious to the growing minefield she had just walked into. She stopped a few steps from the trio, looking pleasantly curious.
The effect was instant.
Amara, still standing slightly apart, blinked and mouthed the word "Precious?" like it had sucker-punched her.
Before the other two could react, a rushed voice echoed behind Grace."Grace—I said wait!"
It was Precious. She had caught up, eyes wide, anxiety etched across her face like it had been carved in stone. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Lila turned sharply, blinking as if trying to confirm what she was seeing."Precious?" she echoed, stunned.
Zara's entire demeanor shifted in a heartbeat. Her expression sharpened, but her smile spread wide—too wide. Calculated.
She saw her opening.
Before Precious could even respond or pull Grace away, Zara was striding forward and suddenly—without warning—wrapped her arms around her.
"Precious!" she said in a voice drenched in faux delight. "It's so good to see you again!"
Precious froze like ice water had been poured down her back. The hug wasn't warm—it was possessive, a claim being staked in real time.
Lila caught on immediately. She skipped over, linking arms with Zara as she beamed."We've missed you!" she chimed in, nodding furiously. "Can't believe you didn't tell us you'd be here tonight!"
Amara, still off to the side, looked utterly baffled. She didn't say a word—just stared, brows pinched, watching it all unfold like it was a drama she hadn't auditioned for.
Then, Zara turned, voice pitched louder now, facing the guards like a general presenting her troops."See? We're friends with Ethan Jones's sister. Let us in."
The guards stiffened. One looked uncertain, the other exchanged glances with him.
Around them, other fans and influencers who had been standing in line turned their attention toward Precious.
"Ethan's sister?" someone whispered."Wait, that's her? That's the girl from that tour photo shoot with the big pink fur coat?""She does look like her—look at the eyes!""I think it's her! That's totally her!"
Suddenly, all eyes were on Precious. She could feel it—the weight of dozens of glances, the quiet murmurs escalating into a noisy frenzy.
Zara, emboldened by the chaos, pushed forward.
"Let us in already!" she shouted. "Why is this so hard?! We're with Ethan's sister! Let us through!"
Precious's throat tightened. Her vision swam. She hadn't agreed to any of this. She hadn't invited them.But now it was spiraling—fast.
The guards were growing tenser, muttering among themselves. People were taking photos. Some were calling their friends. Even Grace had fallen into a confused silence beside her.
She had lost control.And all of it was unraveling before she could say a word.
Then—like thunder crashing through a storm—A massive voice boomed over the noise.
"What the hell is going on here?!"
The entire crowd flinched and turned. A heavyset man with graying hair, wearing a black tour lanyard and a Bluetooth in one ear, was stomping toward the scene, his face flushed with fury.
It was Mark.
One of the guards stiffened, quickly stepping forward."Mr. Mark—sir, this girl here's claiming to be Ethan's sister—"
"And you believed her?!" Mark bellowed, cutting him off. "Is that the new standard now? Anyone says they're Ethan's cousin, you roll out the carpet and hand them my keys too?!"
The crowd went dead silent.
"I've said it a hundred times—this area is restricted! Do your damn jobs!"
Zara tried to jump in."We're really her brother's friends—see?" she gestured toward Precious."She's Ethan's sister. You can ask her!"
Mark's head whipped toward her, incredulous."If Ethan's actual sister were coming here tonight, don't you think I'd know about it?"He looked back at the guards. "Use your heads, people."
And in that moment, the spotlight on Precious burned hotter than ever.
Precious stood frozen in the center of the spiraling scene, surrounded by a wall of whispers and flickering phone cameras. Her heart was pounding so loud it drowned out her own breath. The circle around her had turned into a storm of speculation.
"Wait, so she's not his sister?"
"But she looks like the girl from that behind-the-scenes video..."
"These fans are unhinged, man—this is next-level stalker energy."
"Damn, why didn't I think of pulling that trick?"
The air was thick with suspicion and scattered murmurs that stung more than they should have. Precious wasn't just in the middle of the crowd—she was under it, like a bug beneath a magnifying glass. Their eyes didn't just look; they examined. And every second felt like another pound of pressure against her ribs.
She tried to speak, to say something—anything—but her mouth was dry, and her throat was clamped shut by a rising wave of anxiety.
And then Mark exploded again.
"Get them all out of here!" he barked, spinning toward the guards. "I said clear the space! Don't ruin the atmosphere for the people who deserve to be here!"
The security guards moved fast, their arms coming up to herd everyone back. Zara was already yelling in protest, Lila flapping beside her like a second engine of indignation.
"You're making a mistake!" Zara shouted. "You're literally embarrassing yourself!"
"This is insane—we know her, we know Ethan!"
Just as the guards closed in and the chaos hit its boiling point—
"Waittttt!"
A breathless shout sliced through the tension.
Everyone turned sharply. From the other side of the velvet rope came a man sprinting in—Dough, Ethan's assistant, his lanyard swinging wildly against his chest, his eyes locked on Mark.
He didn't wait for questions.
He ran up to Mark and leaned close, whispering urgently into his ear.
Mark's expression shifted instantly. His brows lifted. His face went pale, then red. He blinked in shock and glanced toward Precious."No way," he muttered under his breath.
He spun around with newfound urgency.
"Stop! Stop everything!" Mark barked at the security. "Do not move them!"
He rushed toward Precious, practically tripping over himself as he approached.
"Miss Jones," he said, his tone now a total reversal—low, apologetic, flustered. "Please forgive me. I wasn't informed you were coming tonight. We would've had an escort waiting."
More murmurs exploded around them like popcorn kernels.
"Wait, so it's really her?"
"No way. That's actually Ethan's sister?"
"Oh my God—I think I saw her in that viral TikTok where he hugged her onstage."
"She's even prettier in person."
Mark was practically groveling now. "Please, this way. Your brother would want you in the artist lounge. He made sure it was prepared if you arrived—"
Precious was still stunned, but before she could even fully react, Grace stepped forward, glancing nervously between them.
"Wait, Precious..." Grace said, her voice small. "What about me?"
Precious turned back immediately. She touched Grace's arm gently and looked at Mark.
He blinked and then gave a sheepish laugh, "Of course! Your friend is welcome too. Both of you—come with me."
The tension seemed to melt. Grace beamed. Precious gave a half-relieved, half-exhausted smile. Mark began leading them through the ropes.
Just as they were about to disappear inside, another voice broke out from behind them.
"Wait, where are you guys going?" It was Amara, who had been watching everything unfold with a furrowed brow.
Zara turned, already in motion."With them, of course," she said quickly, grabbing Lila's hand. "Let's go, Lila."
She straightened her hair and adjusted her tone, plastering on that fake, sugar-sweet smile again."I told you we were with Ethan's sister. He's expecting us."
They moved toward the rope confidently, Zara even giving a small wave to the crowd still lingering nearby.
But just as they were about to cross the threshold into the exclusive zone—A voice, cool and unmistakable, rang out from ahead.
"Not them."
The group halted. Heads turned.
Standing halfway through the private entrance, her frame backlit by warm stage lights, was Precious.
Her voice was calm. Steady.
But her eyes were like ice.
"I don't know who those two are."