Wasn’t hunting for the next high.
He simply was. He had this air of contentment I can’t even begin to imagine.
Calm.
Happy.
And it hit me harder than any bass drop ever has.
Nathan used to burn hotter than I did.
We ran in similar circuits.
It’s all the same chaos.
Same sleepless, champagne-soaked spiral.
But he left all that.
Walked away from the noise.
Moved to some small Jersey town—Hammonton.
I had to Google it.
Looks like every cliché small-town romance movie ever made.
Brick sidewalks. String lights. Local diners.
People who probably know your name.
I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
Maybe it’s the town.
Maybe it’s the quiet.
Maybe when you strip away the spotlight, you remember who the hell you are.
The afterparty blurs past me.
Models laugh too loud. Champagne spills. Someone’s perched on the back of a velvet couch like she’s auditioning for something.
Someone grabs my arm and pulls me into a selfie. I flash the practiced grin. Tilt my head just enough.
Give them the Mars smirk they came for.
My phone buzzes—three new offers before midnight.
A remix. A private set in Monaco. A collab with an artist who used to ignore my emails.
I should feel unstoppable.
Instead, I feel tired.
Fucking exhausted.
A blonde in a red dress slides up beside me, her hand resting confidently on my chest like she’s done this before.