The hum of the hotel air conditioning was a stark contrast to the electric energy that had pulsed through their tour. Lux, scattered across the suite's plush couches and armchairs, were in a state of exhausted contentment. Seoul loomed, the final crescendo of their global symphony, and then, finally, they could return home.
Rhys, however, found no solace in the quiet. His mind was miles away, two years to be exact. That was the last time he'd truly been with Heather, celebrating her eighteenth birthday, a night etched in his memory. Since then, their lives had diverged, their communication sporadic, dictated by the relentless demands of their careers. A photo of a particularly mouthwatering meal, sent on a whim, had reignited their connection, a lifeline across continents and time zones.
But tonight, the familiar comfort of their digital exchanges was replaced by a gnawing unease. He'd made a conscious decision, that night two years ago, to step back, to allow Heather the happiness she deserved with Chris. Now, though, the internet was a relentless barrage of images and whispers, a constant stream of articles about Chris and his "Crimson Dynasty" co-star, Yuna.
He couldn't shake the feeling of dread. Heather was navigating her first real relationship, and with an actor, no less. He knew the inherent challenges, the constant scrutiny, the ever-present temptation. The entertainment industry was a breeding ground for fleeting romances, a world where on-screen chemistry often blurred the lines of reality.
He scrolled through the articles, his anxiety mounting with each passing headline. He knew Heather and Chris had kept their relationship private. Discreet dates in secluded cafes, whispered conversations in hidden corners of the city. Heather had shared glimpses of these moments, photos of quaint cafes and sun-drenched beaches, but always with a careful restraint, never revealing too much.
Then, he saw it. The photos of Chris and Yuna exiting a hotel, their expressions intimate, their body language suggestive. A wave of anger, hot and visceral, surged through him.
"This fucking piece of shit," he hissed, his voice a low growl. His grip tightened on his phone, the screen threatening to crack under the pressure.
He wanted to throw the device, to shatter the image, but he restrained himself, the anger simmering beneath the surface. Chris and Heather had been together for two years, yet there was barely a whisper of their relationship. Chris had always been careful, too careful, it seemed.
Rhys rarely swore. The last time the members of Lux had heard him use such language was when he'd defended Heather from a would-be assailant, a memory that still burned with righteous fury. His sudden outburst startled Jess, who walked over to him, his brow furrowed with concern.
"You okay?" Jess asked, placing a hand on Rhys's shoulder.
Rhys rubbed his face, his expression tight. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice strained.
Jess glanced at Rhys's phone, the photo of Chris and Yuna staring back at him. Understanding dawned on his face. He patted Rhys's shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity, and retreated to the others.
He relayed what he'd seen to the group, and they all fell silent, understanding the unspoken tension. They knew Rhys cared deeply for Heather, and they knew this was a situation best left to him. They gave him space, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil brewing within him.
Rhys stared at the photo, the image of Chris and Yuna burned into his retinas. He knew he couldn't just sit there, stewing in his anger and worry. He needed to reach out to Heather, to make sure she was okay. But how? What could he possibly say that wouldn't make things worse?
He thought back to their conversations, the easy banter, the shared laughter, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between them. He needed to find that connection again, to remind her that she wasn't alone.
He opened his messaging app and began to type, then deleted, then typed again. He wanted to be careful, to choose his words wisely. He didn't want to sound accusatory or intrusive. He just wanted her to know he was there.
Finally, he sent a simple message: Thinking of you. How are you doing?
He waited, his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes fixed on the screen. Each passing second felt like an eternity. He imagined Heather's reaction, her eyes widening in surprise, her fingers trembling as she typed a response.
A few minutes later, his phone vibrated. A message from Heather: Not great. Saw the pictures.
His heart sank. He knew she'd seen them. He just didn't know how deeply they'd affected her.
He typed back: I'm sorry, Heather. Is there anything I can do?
Her response was immediate: Just… talk to me. Distract me.
He knew what she meant. She didn't want to dwell on the situation, to dissect every detail of Chris's betrayal. She just wanted a distraction, a moment of normalcy in the midst of her emotional turmoil.
He started typing, telling her about the tour, the funny mishaps, the overwhelming energy of the crowds. He shared anecdotes about the other members of Lux, their quirky habits, their inside jokes. He tried to make her laugh, to remind her of the lightheartedness they had always shared.
As he typed, he could almost hear her laughter, could almost see her smile. He knew he couldn't take away her pain, but he could offer her a temporary escape, a moment of respite from the storm raging inside her.
He kept the conversation going, sharing stories, asking about her day, anything to keep her mind occupied. He knew she was hurting, but he also knew she was strong. She would get through this.
Meanwhile, in another part of the hotel suite, Henry, Jess, Emmett, and Dave were engaged in a hushed conversation. They knew Rhys was worried about Heather, and they knew he was trying to be there for her.
"He really cares about her, doesn't he?" Emmett asked, his voice soft.
"Always has," Jess replied, nodding. "They've been close for years."
"I just hope she's okay," Dave said, his brow furrowed with concern. "This whole situation with Chris… it's messed up."
"She'll be alright," Henry said, his voice firm. "She's got Rhys. And we're all here for her too, in our own way."
They fell silent, their thoughts drifting to Heather, their hearts filled with a mixture of sympathy and admiration. They knew she was going through a difficult time, but they also knew she was a survivor. She would find her way through the darkness, and she would emerge stronger than ever.
Rhys continued to message Heather, his words a lifeline in her sea of despair. He knew he couldn't solve her problems, but he could offer her a sense of connection, a reminder that she wasn't alone. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.
***
Days had bled into nights, each marked by Rhys's unanswered messages. He'd sent snippets of his day, lighthearted stories from the tour, anything to pierce the silence that had settled between him and Heather. But the digital void remained, a stark reminder of her pain.
The second night of their Seoul concert had just concluded, the roar of the crowd still echoing in his ears as the van sped towards their hotel. Tomorrow, the final show, then the flight home. He ached for the familiar comfort of his own space, but more than that, he yearned to see Heather, to gauge her well-being beyond the filtered words of a text message. He knew she was putting on a brave face, shielding him from the full extent of her suffering.
As the hotel's lights came into view, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Marjorie, Heather's aunt. A knot tightened in his stomach.
Rhys, how are you? I hope the tour is going well. I'm writing because I'm worried about Heather. She and Chris have broken up. She's been withdrawn, staying in her room for days. I've spoken to her, but I think she needs more support. I know you're busy, but when you return, could you be there for her? As her best friend, I believe you can help her through this. See you soon.
The message was a punch to the gut. He wanted to call Heather immediately, to hear her voice, but he forced himself to wait until they reached their suite. He needed privacy, a moment to gather himself.
Once inside, he retreated to his room, his fingers trembling as he dialed Heather's number. She answered on the first ring, her voice a fragile whisper.
"Heather," he said softly, his voice laced with concern. "I heard about… Chris."
"I'm so sorry, Heather," he continued, his voice thick with empathy. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be."
He could hear her breath hitch, a silent sob escaping her lips. "It's… it's worse than I thought," she choked out. "I'm having nightmares."
A wave of dread washed over him. "Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?"
As Heather described the first nightmare, the twisted images of Chris and Yuna, Rhys's grip on the phone tightened. He could picture her distress, the way the betrayal had wormed its way into her subconscious, turning her dreams into a cruel torment. "That fucking..." He started, but cut himself off. He wouldn't add to her distress with his anger.
Then, she began to describe the second nightmare, a fragmented memory, a sense of violation that sent a chill down his spine. His breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. Could this be triggering the memory of the intruder? He thought.
Before she could sense his panic, he spoke, his voice a soothing balm. "It's okay, Heather. You don't have to tell me everything. Just know you're not alone. I'm here for you, whatever you need."
"Thank you, Rhys," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "That means so much."
"I'm coming home soon," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "I'll be there as soon as I land. We'll talk, we'll figure this out. You're not alone, Heather. I promise."
He ended the call, his mind racing. He needed to be there for her, to protect her from the shadows that haunted her dreams. He knew this was more than just a breakup; it was a battle against the demons of her past. He would be her shield, her strength, her unwavering support.