Fan Fever

Chapter 3: After the Spotlight

The roar of the crowd still echoed in her ears.

But now—

It was replaced by the low hum of an engine.

Skye leaned back into the plush leather seat of her blacked-out SUV, city lights streaking past the tinted windows like blurred stars. New York never really slept—it just changed tempo.

Her phone lit up in her hand.

Notifications. Hundreds of them.

She scrolled lazily.

Clips from the concert.

Fans screaming her name.

Edits with slow-motion spins, fire emojis flooding the comments.

“She OWNED that stage!”

“SKYE O’HARE IS HER.”

“Best performance of the year 🔥🔥🔥”

A small smile tugged at her lips.

This was her world.

Up front, her manager, Zara Kingsley, was mid-sentence as usual—sharp, stylish, always ten steps ahead.

“…and we’ve got the Paris deal almost locked in, but I need your confirmation before—Skye? Are you even listening?”

“Mhm,” Skye muttered, eyes still glued to her screen.

Zara sighed. “That’s not convincing.”

Skye smirked slightly but didn’t look up.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time—it wasn’t notifications.

Preston

Her expression softened instantly.

She answered.

“Hey, superstar,” his voice came through, warm and teasing. “Or should I say… the woman who just shut down New York?”

She let out a quiet laugh. “You watched?”

“Watched?” Preston scoffed playfully. “I had it on full volume. Pretty sure my neighbors think I was at the concert.”

She shook her head, smiling now.

“You were incredible, Skye. Seriously. The stage? Yours. The crowd? Yours. The whole city? Yeah… also yours.”

“Relax,” she said, though she loved every second of it. “You’re doing too much.”

“Not enough, actually. I’m proud of you.”

For a moment, everything slowed.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Get some rest, alright? Don’t go partying too hard without me.”

“No promises,” she teased.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The call ended.

Before the quiet could settle—

Her phone rang again.

Stiles

She smiled and picked up.

“Let me guess—you watched the show?”

“Watched?” Stiles’ voice burst through. “I nearly lost my mind. Skye, that was insane. Like actually insane.”

“Thank you,” she laughed.

“No, seriously. The outfit? Ate. The performance? Devoured. The confidence? Illegal.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so extra.”

“Kinda cool.”

“Maybe a little.”

Stiles chuckled. “I’m proud of you, kid.”

Kid.

He always called her that.

Something about it felt grounding… real… different from the screaming crowds and flashing lights.

“Thanks, Stiles,” she said quietly.

“Always.”

The call ended.

Silence filled the car again.

Outside, the city lights flickered past.

Inside, Skye stared at her reflection in the darkened window.

Perfect life.

Perfect career.

Perfect people.

Everything exactly how it should be.

…