The roar of the crowd still vibrated in the air, but for Rhiannon, the only echo was the rage rising in her throat. The adrenaline of the stage had dissolved into a cold, cutting fury, a grim echo of the euphoria she'd felt minutes before. In the dressing room, the silence was louder than any screams from her fans. Her band members had disappeared, as always, leaving room for their inevitable conflict.

She ran a hand through her hair, now sticky with sweat, adrenaline, and frustration. Her heart pounded with a mixture of anger and a pain so sharp she could barely breathe. A pain that felt familiar. She'd seen it all from the stage - not the spotlights or the blinding light, but the perfect view she had of her, of the carefree laughter, the shameless flirting with that boy who seemed to think he could get close to her, her girl.

The air in the dressing room was thick with tension, heavy with everything she hadn't yet said. Rage coiled inside her like a wild animal. She wished she could scream, could drag her down and kiss her until she was breathless. Instead, Rhiannon's gray eyes were stormy, promising a tempest that threatened to destroy everything in its path.

There was no room for the public, no speeches, no lies. Only the pure, raw, painful truth. This was the same Rhiannon who had screamed, "I'm just a fool for you, a fool in a game," the same Rhiannon who had watched her pretend with a stranger. The same stab in her chest she felt every time she refused to talk about what she felt.

The sound of the dressing room door closing was like a gunshot. Rhiannon looked up, her gray eyes darkening with fury and betrayal, fixed on the woman who had just entered. The already thick air became unbearable, heavy with all the pain and frustration she'd been bottling up. She balled her fists at her sides and tensed her jaw.

"How was your night?" Her voice, deep and husky, was laced with a sarcasm so cold it cut the air like a razor's edge. She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture that also served to mark her territory. "You seemed to be having a great time."

She paused, letting the oppressive silence hang between them, playing with one of the silver rings on her fingers - a nervous tic that appeared only when anxiety and anger consumed her.

"It seemed to me the jerk next door was having a great time too," she continued, her voice lowering, becoming more dangerous. "I wonder if he thought he had a chance... or if you were just... being polite."

The last words were spoken with pure venom, as if the very word "polite" tasted like ash to her. Rhiannon took a step closer, the distance between them now minimal.

"I don't know what makes me angrier," she whispered. "The fact that he was flirting with you... or the fact that you went along with it."