The stadium lights dimmed, plunging the vast sea of fans into expectant darkness. The murmurs and cheers swelled into a roaring ocean of voices, all waiting for him — Len, the boy who was more than just a model or singer; he was a living dream projected on gigantic billboards, the flawless image every girl chased, every boy envied.
Backstage, Len's heart raced—not from fear but from the thrill. He had mastered the art of smiling through the chaos, of dancing on a string pulled tight by unseen hands. The crowd didn't know about those chains, the ones that bound him far tighter than the contracts he signed.
A voice crackled in his earpiece—manager, sharp and urgent—"Len, you're live in five. Remember, stay charming. No slip-ups tonight."
Len smirked, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "Relax. I've got this." He slipped on the headset and took a deep breath, the familiar rush seeping through his veins like electricity.
Then the curtain rose.
---
On stage, Len moved like a phantom of light—his lean frame bathed in the spotlight, his messy dark hair catching the gleam as he launched into the first notes of his hit song. The crowd went wild, waving light sticks in a sea of colors, screaming his name.
But in the shadows, where no one dared look, Leo's eyes pierced through the screens set up by his men. His face was unreadable, but his grip on the phone tightened.
"Every step you take is under my watch," he whispered, voice cold as ice. "You think you're free up there? You're just dancing inside the cage I built."
His words were a warning wrapped in a promise.
---
Backstage, Len's assistant rushed up, breathless. "Leo just called. He wants to see you after the show."
Len's smile faltered for a heartbeat, but the stage lights called him back. He shook off the tension, but inside, a storm was gathering.
"After the show," Len repeated softly to himself. "Unseen chains."