Rewrite the Rules

Backstage Betrayal: Part 56

The pulsing music throbbed through my chest, a counterpoint to the frantic texts flickering on my phone screen. Samina, bless her heart, was already in the coveted first row, basking in the pre-concert energy. Here in the back with Daisy, I was caught in a whirlwind of excitement and growing unease.

A notification buzzed. Samina: "Hey, they've come by twice asking me if I'm Emma Rowan. Security. I had to show ID. I don't think they believed I wasn't you. What do you think that's all about?"

My stomach lurched. Was security mistaking Samina for her? I typed back, my fingers shaking.

Me: No clue. Another message popped up before I could send it.

Samina: Management wouldn't have you kicked out, would they?

Me: Anything wouldn't surprise me. I typed, a pit of dread forming in my gut.

Leaning over, I showed Daisy the messages. The rhythmic pre-show music faded as we both read, a cold sweat prickling my skin. Just then, the house lights abruptly flared upwards. BTS, a dazzling blur of color, materialized on stage.

This was my eighth concert, a night etched in anticipation. Instead, my mind was a tangled mess.

The show seemed to blur by in a haze of dazzling lights and pounding music. Before I knew it, we were nearing the part of the evening I'd cherished most - the backstage meet with the guys. Nerves danced in my stomach, this time tinged with apprehension.

We joined a small group, backstage passes clutched in sweaty palms. Security scanned them with a practiced eye, then waved us through. Relief washed over me, fleeting as a desert mirage.

Just a few steps further, a tall man with a tightly controlled smile materialized in front of us. Hoon, BTS's US manager, I recognized with a jolt.

"Miss Rowan," he said, his voice strained. "There you are. I've been looking for you."

My smile faltered. "Yeah, I was just making my way back," I stammered. He gestured towards the backstage area, a hint of steel in his gaze.

"Here, can I just see your passes, please?"

We exchanged wary glances, then unhooked the lanyards with the coveted passes. Hoon took them, his smile turning grim.

"I'm very sorry," he began, his voice laced with a forced apology. "But moving forward, you can't have the backstage passes any longer."

Two burly security guards materialized beside him, their presence a physical manifestation of the dread curdling in my stomach.

"And we're going to have to ask you to leave the backstage area."

Daisy's eyes met mine, a silent question hanging in the air. I bit back the retort that first came to mind. This wasn't the time for sarcasm. Taking a deep breath, I forced a measured tone. " Hoon," I began, "are you certain revoking our passes is the best course of action? Wouldn't fostering communication be more productive than escalating this?"

Hoon blinked, the forced smile momentarily flickering. "Escalating?" he echoed, confusion momentarily replacing the tightness in his jaw.

Two more security guards materialized, their imposing presence adding to the stifling atmosphere. "Miss Rowan," Hoon resumed, his voice regaining its edge, "missing soundchecks and concerts is unacceptable. It disrupts the entire operation."

"And you believe I caused that?" My voice, though strained, held a steely edge.

Hoon's jaw clenched tighter, the muscles working like angry knots beneath his skin. "At this point," he spat, his voice laced with a barely concealed threat, "it doesn't matter whose fault it is. Now, Namjoon is aware of the consequences, and this will not happen again. I can assure you of that."

As if on cue, another two security guards materialized, their imposing shadows swallowing the already cramped space. Six sets of eyes now pinned me in place, the air thick with unspoken hostility.

A cold fist of anger clenched around my heart. "Six security guards for two unarmed fans?" I forced a disarming smile, my voice tight with controlled fury. "Look, Mr. Manager, we're happy to leave. But honestly, a conversation would be far more productive than confiscating our passes and kicking us out."

Hoon's nostrils flared. Disbelief flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a sneer. "We just need this to end," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "We don't want the members to be influenced by...fans who don't understand boundaries."

His words were a slap in the face. "Boundaries?" I echoed, my voice shaking with outrage. "What about trust? What about a simple conversation?"

Hoon didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "And you," he began, his gaze flickering to the backstage pass dangling from my neck, "this doesn't mean anything. Him and you," he scoffed, "it's not like he's serious. Someone like you?"

The barb struck a raw nerve. "Yes," I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fury and humiliation, "someone like me."

Hoon threw his head back and laughed, a harsh, joyless sound. "Do you honestly think he would fight for you? You couldn't be more wrong, sweetheart. The only important thing here is BTS."

"I believe that too," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "But if you ever decide an actual conversation is more beneficial than this charade."

"Six security guards for unarmed fans?" I raised an eyebrow, channeling the calm, persuasive tone I used to wrangle stubborn IT guys. "We're happy to leave willingly, Hoon. But honestly, a conversation would be far more productive than confiscating our passes and kicking us out."

Hoon's nostrils flared. He looked ready to explode, but I held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Ultimately," he finally spat, his voice laced with frustration, "your desires are irrelevant in this situation."

"Well, then," I said, a sardonic smile playing on my lips, "enjoy the rest of the evening. The concert was fantastic. I'm sure our paths will cross again soon."

With a pointed glance at the bewildered Samina, Daisy, I turned on my heel and started walking. Six pairs of eyes followed us as the ever-growing security detail ushered us towards a side door, effectively escorting us out of the backstage area.