Backstage after the concert, the roar of the crowd was fading, replaced by the steady hum of equipment being packed away.
Sammy Cervera Mera leaned back on the plush couch in her dressing room, exhaling slowly as she reached for a bottle of water. Her reflection in the mirror showed the faint shimmer of sweat on her skin and the faint glow of someone who had just owned the stage.
Her manager stepped in, clipboard in hand.
"Sammy, time for the meet-and-greet. Five lucky fans. After that… the usual suitor parade."
Sammy let out a small laugh. "Of course. Can't end the night without the chaos."
The first four fans were easy. Nervous smiles, shaky voices, arms full of expensive gifts. One fan nearly dropped the camera during the photo because his hands were trembling so much. Another handed her a necklace that sparkled under the dressing room lights like it came straight from a royal treasury.
Then came the fifth fan.
He walked up slowly. Not shy. Not nervous. Just… calm. Too calm. His hoodie was simple, almost plain, but his eyes carried a weight she couldn't place.
"You already have everything," he said in a voice low enough that only she could hear. "Money. Fame. Power. Love. Doesn't it all feel… boring sometimes?"
Sammy blinked, caught off guard. She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, he placed a small black box in her hands. A single red ribbon tied it shut.
"If you want things to stay exactly as they are," he said, "throw it away. But if you want to feel something different… open it."
And then he left. No name. No smile. Just gone.
Sammy stared at the box for a moment. It felt heavier than it looked, like it carried more than a simple gift inside. But before she could dwell on it—
"Princess Sammy!"
The suitors had arrived.
A prince with roses. A tech billionaire promising her the world. A movie star offering her a private jet to Paris for breakfast. They crowded the room, each trying to outdo the other, voices overlapping as gifts piled higher on the table.
And among the glittering jewelry, perfumes, and flower bouquets… sat the small black box.
.
.
.
Silent.
.
.
.
Waiting.
....
By the time Sammy finally dismissed the last of her persistent suitors, her head was pounding. Roses, diamonds, extravagant promises—they all blended into a blur. She just wanted peace.
But peace wasn't on tonight's schedule.
Her phone lit up with a familiar name.
"Dad?" she answered, trying to sound calm.
His voice was firm, as always. "Samantha. This charade has gone on long enough. After this tour, you're coming home. You'll start training to inherit the company."
Her chest tightened. "Dad… what? No, this isn't a charade. This is my life. My dream. I've worked for—"
"I've given you enough time to play around," he cut her off, his tone like a cold blade.
The words hit harder than any criticism she'd ever received. Play around.
He made it sound like the sleepless nights, the bruised feet from hours of choreography, the years of proving herself to the world… were nothing. Like it was all some hobby for a spoiled princess.
"After the tour, this rebellion ends," he said firmly. "You'll come home. And one more thing—choose one of your suitors already. If you delay any longer, your mother and I will make the choice for you."
"Dad, please—"
"It's final."
Click.
The call ended, leaving her sitting there, phone still pressed to her ear, feeling like the floor had dropped from under her.
When she finally collapsed on her bed, the weight of it all crashed down on her. The word play around replayed in her head like a cruel echo. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks before exhaustion finally dragged her into sleep.
When Sammy woke up, her hair was a mess, makeup smudged from the night before, and her eyes carried the weight of her father's words. That call had left a heaviness in her chest she couldn't shake.
Her gaze shifted to the black box on the nightstand.
The stranger's voice echoed faintly in her mind:
"If you want things to stay the same, throw it away.
If you want something different… open it."
Sammy sat there, silent for a moment. Play around… final… choose your suitor. Each word from her father replayed like a bad song stuck on repeat.
She let out a dry laugh. "Different, huh? Guess I've got nothing to lose."
Her fingers untied the ribbon and slowly lifted the lid.
A sudden glow spilled out, soft at first—like the light of a hundred fireflies escaping into the room. Then it grew brighter, filling every corner with a warm, golden radiance. The curtains rustled as if caught in a breeze that didn't exist.
Sammy shielded her eyes, squinting as the glow intensified—not painfully blinding, but enough to make her heart skip. The air hummed, low and strange, and for a moment it felt like time itself held its breath.
.
.
.
.
Then everything went white.