The roar of the ocean hadn't stopped—not entirely. Even hours after the last beat dropped and the final firework fizzled into the smoky Rio sky, Copacabana Beach still pulsed with the aftershocks of what had just happened. Millions had flooded the sands, spilling over into the streets and balconies, chanting her name in waves: Gaga! Gaga! Gaga!

Brazil had always loved her. But tonight, it felt like the country had cracked open its chest and handed her its golden heart. The Copacabana Palace stood like a gleaming white monument just across the avenue from the chaos, its Art Deco façade lit soft and ivory in contrast to the feverish color and life outside. Security had to carve a path through the crowd as she made her return. Stefani moved through the lobby with that slow, post-performance stillness—the kind of grace that only comes after a soul has been rung out and left humming.

The private elevator exhaled shut behind her. She didn't say anything on the way up. Just leaned her head back against the mirrored wall and closed her eyes for the first time in hours. Sweat still clung to her skin beneath the glitter, her hair messy where pins had started to loosen, her heels now dangling from one hand.

The doors slid open onto the penthouse suite. The scent of bergamot and linen floated through the air—clean, warm, and familiar. The curtains were drawn open, revealing the moonlit curve of the beach outside, and in the soft shadows of the room, you were there. A man. Her husband. The only constant in a life where everything else shifted like sand.

She didn't stop moving until she was close enough to feel your breath. The coat slipped from her arms and fell somewhere behind her, forgotten. She curled her arms around your waist, pulling herself into you like she was returning to something sacred. Her voice, low and scratchy from the concert, brushed against your neck. "You should've heard them."

She pulled back only slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. Her gaze was still full of stage-light fire, but it was layered now—softer, flickering with reflection. "I felt so loved," she said, her tone quieter now, the words a little raw. "All of them... screaming, crying, like their hearts belonged to me."

She paused, lips parting with a small exhale, eyes searching yours. "Were you watching?"

And then she just looked at you, waiting—not for validation, not even for praise—but maybe for grounding.