After an emotional and draining night, Landon's hotel room was a silent tomb. The six American Music Awards trophies sat on a table, catching the faint city light from his window, their golden gleam a stark contrast to the hollow feeling in his chest. His mind replayed the night's events, not the roar of the crowd or the warmth of the spotlight, but the sight of Liz with Michael. He tossed and turned, the soft hotel sheets feeling like chains, and the words "unofficially together since 2012" echoing in his head. This wasn't just disappointment; it was the first real heartbreak of his life, a new and excruciating pain that had nothing to do with fame or career setbacks. It was personal. It was real.
At 1:00 AM, he gave up on sleep. He swung his legs out of bed, the silence of the room suffocating him. He took a cold, quick shower, the icy water doing little to numb the ache inside him. Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a simple black hoodie, he grabbed his phone and wallet and requested an Uber.
Ten minutes later, the driver, a man in his late fifties with a kind, tired face, was waiting in the sleek, brightly lit hotel lobby. Landon slipped into the back seat, the hum of the car a welcome distraction from his own thoughts.
"Where to?" the driver asked, his voice a low rumble. Landon leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "Take me to the funnest club in California," he said, his voice flat. "I need to get lost in some noise."
The Uber dropped Landon off in front of a pulsing nightclub, its bass thumping so hard he could feel it vibrate through the pavement. A long line of people snaked down the block, all eager to get inside. But for him, the velvet rope parted instantly. The bouncer, a mountain of a man, recognized him and waved him through with a respectful nod. Inside, the noise was a physical thing. It was a dark, sweaty, chaotic sanctuary of sound, exactly what he had asked for. The air smelled of spilled liquor and cheap perfume, and a dizzying laser light show cut through the haze. He moved through the throng, a ghost in the crowd, invisible in his simple hoodie, anonymous amongst the hundred dancing bodies. He made his way to the bar and ordered the strongest drink he could think of, downing it in one swift gulp, the burn in his throat a brief, welcome distraction.
He ordered another, then another, the alcohol doing little to dull the sharp edges of his heartbreak. The laughter of strangers, the pulse of the music, the bodies pressed against each other, none of it could drown out the image of Liz and Michael together. He saw couples laughing, whispering secrets, and dancing as if they were the only two people in the world. Each happy moment he witnessed was a brutal reminder of what he had lost, or perhaps, what he never even had.
The DJ dropped a track that made the crowd roar, and Landon felt a sudden, sickening jolt. The melody was familiar, a song he had heard a hundred times before(Mario let me love you), but tonight, it sounded different. He closed his eyes, and a flash of memory hit him: singing along to that very song in the car with Liz, the windows down, her hair flying in the wind as she belted out the chorus. He opened his eyes, the lights and noise overwhelming him. He had sought out chaos to get lost, but all he had done was find a mirror to his own internal turmoil. The fun, the laughter, the noise,it was all a performance, just like his own perfect night at the AMAs. But beneath the surface, the truth was the same. The night had been a lie. He couldn't drink away the pain, he couldn't dance it away. The heartbreak had followed him, and it wasn't going anywhere.
He left the half-finished drink on the bar, pushed his way through the crowd, and walked out into the cool night. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew with a chilling certainty that he was done running.
Landon walked, his feet carrying him aimlessly through the city streets. The cold air bit at his skin, a welcome sting that replaced the thumping bass of the club. His mind was still a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a brutal hangover from the highs of his career and the lows of his personal life.
He turned a corner and spotted a dark alleyway. At first, it looked empty, just a shadowy space between two buildings. But as he got closer, he saw movement and heard a woman's voice, laced with fear. A group of three men had her cornered, their laughter low and menacing as she tried to back away.
He pulled his hoodie a little tighter around his face, a reflex born from his past life memories as "Ghost" , and slowly walked toward the alley, his footsteps muffled by the city noise. He stopped just short of the alley's entrance, leaning against the brick wall with a deceptive casualness. The men were so focused on their victim they didn't even notice him. "Ey, isn't it rude to be doing that to a lady?" he said, his voice a low, cold challenge that cut through the darkness.
The men froze, their heads snapping toward him. For a moment, they looked confused, as if a ghost had just spoken. The largest of the group, a hulking figure with a cruel smile, stepped forward. "What's it to you, tough guy?" he sneered, his eyes scanning Landon's simple hoodie and jeans. "Go find your own fun."
"Fun, huh?" Landon said, a cold, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. The three men exchanged confused glances, their menacing expressions replaced by a shared look of disbelief. Was this guy crazy? Did he not see the odds? He then stopped laughing, his face going hard and serious.
"Do you find harassing a lady 'fun'?" he asked, the change in his tone as chilling as a dagger's blade.
One of the men, a skinny guy with a snarl on his face, stepped forward. "You're a crazy guy. You need to be put down," he sneered, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The glint of steel was the only warning Landon needed. In that single, timeless moment, everything went still. The overwhelming noise of the city, the thumping bass from the nearby club, the pounding in his own chest, it all faded away. His mind regressed to a life he hadn't lived in a while. He wasn't the heartbroken pop star anymore. He was 'Ghost'.
His body moved on its own. As the man charged, the knife aimed for his gut, Landon pivoted on the ball of his foot, his movements so fast and detailed they were like a martial arts ballet in the dark alley. His momentum carried him into a perfect spinning backheel kick. The heel of his boot connected with the man's jaw with a sickening thud. The man's eyes rolled back in his head as he flew backward, hitting the alley wall with a heavy thud and crumpling to the ground, the knife skittering across the concrete.
Landon landed lightly, his breath coming out in a cold cloud. He looked down at the unconscious man. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to run with a knife?" he said, the words cutting through the sudden silence. He now faced the two remaining men, his eyes holding a dangerous glint that told them this was just the beginning.
The two remaining men stared at their downed accomplice, their bravado fading into shock. The hulking leader took a hesitant step back, his cruel smile gone. But the second man, a skinny guy with a buzz cut, wasn't so smart. He lunged at Landon with a wild cry. Landon swayed slightly, a ghost of a stumble from the alcohol in his system, but his body moved on instinct. He ducked under a clumsy hook, his arm shooting out to grab the man's wrist and twist it, sending the guy spinning into the leader. As they stumbled, Landon drove his elbow into the leader's ribs with a sharp, sickening crack. A grunt of pain escaped the man's lips as he doubled over.
The third man recovered and came at him again, throwing a sloppy punch. Landon's movements were a mix of fluidity and brutal efficiency. He sidestepped, his foot sweeping out to trip the man, then landed a clean, precise blow to his jaw as he fell. The man's eyes fluttered before he went limp, falling on top of his grunting accomplice.
Landon stood over them, his chest heaving. The adrenaline was a fire in his veins, burning away the last of the alcohol. He looked at the three unconscious men on the ground, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. It was a brutal, quick fight, a stark, ugly contrast to the polished stage he'd stood on just hours before. The skills were still there, locked away but ready to surface when needed.
He turned to the woman, who was still huddled against the wall, her face pale with shock. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now.
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank you so much."
He just nodded and backed away. He had gotten the fight he wanted, and in a way, it had worked. The adrenaline had momentarily pushed the heartbreak to the back of his mind. But now, as he stepped out of the alley and back into the cold night air, the silence was once again filled with the echo of Liz's words and the crushing weight of his own loneliness.
He left the alley, the cold night air a stark contrast to the rush of adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His mind was a mess, the high of the fight already fading, leaving him with a familiar emptiness. He just wanted to get lost again.
"Wait!" a nervous voice called out behind him.
Landon stopped and turned to see the woman still standing at the mouth of the alley. She was hugging herself, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief. "I... I'm so sorry to ask, but... would you mind walking me home? It's just a few blocks away. I don't feel safe walking alone."
He took a deep breath, a tired sigh escaping his lips. He was exhausted, heartbroken, and just wanted to disappear. But looking at her, he couldn't just leave her. He gave a single, slow nod. "Sure. Let's go."
As they began to walk, a little distance between them, she finally spoke. "Thank you again. My name is Amala. Amala Dlamini."
Landon's steps faltered. The name hit him with the force of a physical blow, a sudden and bizarre collision of his past and his present. He turned to her, a look of pure shock on his face. "Doja Cat?" he asked, the name coming out as a breathless whisper.
She froze in her tracks, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her nervousness was now mixed with suspicion. "How... how do you know that?" she stammered. "I haven't told anyone my stage name. Who are you?"
Landon knew there was no hiding now. He pulled the hood of his black sweatshirt down, revealing his face in the soft glow of a streetlamp. "I'm Landon," he said, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. He quickly added the only half-truth he could think of. "I heard a few of your songs on SoundCloud."
Amala took a step back, her hand flying to her mouth. The streetlamp illuminated his features, a face she had just seen on every news channel and social media feed. She wasn't looking at some stranger who had just saved her, she was looking at the 20-year-old superstar who had just swept the American Music Awards, taking home Six trophies. Her disbelief and shock were now replaced by a different kind of awe. The man who had just taken down three men in a dark alley was none other than Landon Asher himself.