Strings of Fire

Chapter 1 - The Unexpected Ticket

Celeste Alarcon stared at the stack of papers on her desk like it had personally offended her. Kung pwede lang niya batuhin yung stapler sa wall, ginawa na niya. But she couldn't. She was only an intern, kahit technically her surname carried more weight than most people in the entire building.

She forced herself to breathe. Compose yourself, Celeste. Image first, ego later.

"Elle, you okay?"

It was Mica, one of the junior associates. Sweet, friendly, and annoyingly perceptive.

Celeste forced a polite smile. "Yeah. Living my best life. Stapling papers is my ultimate dream."

Mica laughed. "Grabe ka. Eh ikaw lang may pinakamaraming submissions today. Alam mo, you need a break. Speaking of..." She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she was spilling some company secret.

"I have something for you."

Celeste raised an eyebrow. "Is this going to involve karaoke night? Because no."

"No! Something better. VIP ticket. Tonight. Company treat. Guess who's performing?"

Celeste gave her a look. "Mica, I don't do crowds."

"Trust me, this one's worth it. Ascent. The Ascent."
Celeste blinked. The name registered. That band. The one all over billboards and social media—rock-pop fusion, impossibly good-looking members, and scandal rumors hotter than EDSA at noon.

Mica grinned. "Come on, Elle. Free drinks, front row seats, bragging rights. Plus, people will see you bonding with the team. Good image for you, di ba?"

Celeste sighed, leaning back. She hated to admit it, but Mica was right. If she was going to survive this internship without everyone thinking she was a spoiled heiress, she needed to blend in somehow.

"Fine," she said, snatching the ticket. "But if it's boring, I'm blaming you."

The rehearsal studio thumped with bass as Ascent prepared for the night.

"Callum, bro, seriously, can you stop scrolling and warm up?" Lance, lead guitarist, was plucking at strings while glaring at their frontman.

Callum barely looked up from his phone. "Relax, I'm fine."

"Fine? Marcus is about to throw a mic stand at your head," Jiro, the bassist, said from the couch.

Marcus, their long-suffering manager, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear, you four will give me a heart attack. Callum, focus. Big corporate crowd tonight."

Theo twirled his drumsticks, smirking. "Corporate crowd, so basically stiff people pretending they know music."

Lance laughed. "Careful. Some of them might be future sponsors."

"Or future wives," Jiro added, dodging a thrown pillow from Theo.

Callum sighed and finally put his phone down. "Can we just play? I'm not here to kiss anyone's ass."

Lance grinned. "And yet the fans think you're the sweetest guy on earth. If only they knew."

Jiro leaned forward. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they keep thinking you're approachable while you sulk in a corner."

"Approachable? That's Lance. He flirts with anything that breathes," Callum said dryly.

The room erupted with laughter. Even Callum's lips twitched. Their banter was effortless, the kind of teasing only brothers could get away with. Fame hadn't changed that—if anything, it made them cling to each other more.

"Alright, alright," Marcus said, though his eyes softened. "Ten minutes till we leave. Try not to cause a scandal this time, okay?"

Theo saluted. "No promises."

Later that night Celeste arrived at the venue wearing high-waisted trousers and a silk blouse, her hair loose, her makeup minimal but sharp. Colleagues gave her second glances, but she ignored them. She was used to it.

Inside, the venue buzzed with excitement. Lights dimmed, conversations turned to murmurs. Celeste found her seat in the VIP section, scanning the crowd.

The stage lights flared.

And there he was.

The vocalist. Dark hair styled like he didn't try too hard, dressed in black that somehow looked expensive. Callum Ainsworth.

Celeste's first thought: Figures. He looks exactly like the type I avoid.

Her second thought: But damn, that man knows how to own a stage.

The music started, and it was impossible not to watch. Callum's voice was smooth, powerful, but with an edge. The band was tight, the energy magnetic. Even the usually composed Celeste found herself tapping her foot—though she quickly stopped.

Callum scanned the VIP section like he always did, detached but observant. His gaze brushed past her, then paused. Just a second. Curious eyes meeting hers.

It meant nothing.

Or so she thought.

"Good crowd," Theo said, tossing his sticks onto a chair.

"Good crowd? Bro, they were screaming," Lance said, still riding the high. "Even the suits in VIP were vibing."

"Corporate people can vibe?" Jiro asked. "First time hearing that."

"Someone was vibing, alright," Lance teased, glancing at Callum, who was toweling off his face. "Saw you look at someone in the crowd. Tall, brunette, white blouse. That her?"

Callum shot him a look. "You're imagining things."
Theo smirked. "Bro, you literally stopped mid-scan. You never stop."

Jiro leaned back, grinning. "Should we expect a new muse for your broody songs?"

"Shut up," Callum said calmly, but the tips of his ears betrayed him.

The teasing continued, easy and relentless, until Marcus came in to usher them out for meet-and-greet.

Meanwhile, Celeste was making her exit.
She had fulfilled her social obligation, smiled at colleagues, clapped at the right moments. Now all she wanted was to go home, soak her feet, and forget the smugly attractive frontman who thought the world revolved around him.

She didn't know this wouldn't be the last time she'd see him.