Jessica walked briskly from the room, the sound of her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors as she made her way to the terrace that Ethan had pointed out. The door slid open smoothly, revealing a breathtaking panorama of Los Angeles sprawling below—the city's skyline catching the golden hue of the late afternoon sun, the ocean glinting faintly in the distance, and the rooftops stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
For a moment, she paused, letting the wind lift strands of her hair, brushing against her face, letting the city's quiet grandeur wash over her. But even as her eyes took in the view, her mind wasn't in the sunset or the glimmering city below.
Why is he calling now? she thought, her stomach tightening involuntarily. Lucian. CEO. The man who can make or break careers with a single decision. And me, just a low-level executive caught in the middle…
Her breathing steadied. She adjusted the phone in her hand, took a deep breath, and pressed the speaker button. "Good afternoon, sir," she said, her voice careful but professional.
Lucian didn't waste a second. His voice came through, sharp, commanding, and cutting through the wind like a blade. "Jessica, what's going on?"
Jessica swallowed, her grip on the phone tightening slightly. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I—I'm not sure what you mean?" she replied cautiously, trying to keep her voice even.
Lucian's tone grew more insistent, almost harsh. "I heard about a request from Scooter Braun regarding Ethan performing on his show this weekend. Why isn't Ethan performing?"
Jessica's mind raced. Oo, it's because of that… she thought quickly, analyzing the situation. "Sir," she began, choosing her words carefully, "Ethan's agent has rejected the offer. We've just come off the tour, and at this point, the team doesn't see any need for him to perform on that particular show."
Lucian's voice shifted slightly, attempting persuasion. "Jessica," he said, each word clipped and precise, "you're still assigned to him. You should have some sway. Can't you tell his agent and Ethan that this is a cultural opportunity? That it would benefit his image and exposure? There will be powerful people in attendance—people who matter. Ethan may be huge, yes, but he's only done one show in California that could even be counted as a real performance. This could put him in front of the right audience, solidify his reach…"
Jessica listened, weighing each word carefully, before responding with a measured tone. "From a strategic point of view, sir," she said, keeping her voice calm but firm, "we have considered that. But the potential benefits do not outweigh the risks. The PR team and I believe that the best course for Ethan right now is obscurity. He's been under intense scrutiny for months—every move, every performance, every interview has been dissected. This constant attention has been draining and potentially detrimental. What we need is to allow him to consolidate his work, focus on the next album, and strengthen his presence without overexposure. It's about protecting his career and positioning him for long-term growth, not chasing short-term visibility."
Lucian's voice cut her off abruptly, sharp as a whip. "Jessica." His tone alone made her body tense. "Maybe I came across wrongly. I didn't call you to debate pros and cons. I called you to tell you what I expect you to do. Do not forget who you work for. If you cannot do your job, then you will inform me, and I will get someone else to do it." The words landed like thunder, harsh, absolute, and unyielding.
Shock froze Jessica in place. Her grip on the phone tightened instinctively, knuckles whitening, and for ten seconds, neither of them spoke. The wind whipped softly against her hair, the city stretching below, indifferent to the tension on this terrace.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath and said, her voice steady but resolute, "You are right, sir."
Lucian began to respond, but Jessica interrupted herself, cutting him off before he could continue. "You are right, sir. I should do my job as the company's A&R and as the point person for Ethan Jones. My role is to act in the best interests of both the artist and the label. I am responsible for making strategic decisions to protect his career, guide his trajectory, and build his legacy all in service for the label."
Her voice grew firmer, more assured, carrying authority without disrespect. "In this instance, my responsibility is to ensure that any decisions align with Ethan's long-term development and the label's strategic interests. I will guide and support his career, manage his public image, and help maximize the impact of every project he undertakes. That is my job—and in this matter, that means Ethan will not perform on Scooter's show."
Lucian's silence on the other end was almost audible, the weight of her words settling into the call. She knew she had asserted her authority carefully, showing loyalty to the label while firmly siding with Ethan's best interests.
Lucian's voice fell silent on the other end of the line, leaving Jessica frozen mid-step, the wind brushing against her as the city sprawled endlessly below. Fifteen long seconds passed, the kind that stretches time itself, each second hammering in her chest. Finally, his voice returned, low, measured, and still carrying that unmistakable authority.
"Okay then, Jessica," he said, deliberate, almost cool now. "I have something I need to attend to. We'll talk later."
"Okay, sir," Jessica replied immediately, keeping her voice steady, professional, respectful, every word carefully measured to convey compliance. She didn't dare add more, didn't dare breathe too loudly.
The call ended with a sharp beep, the sudden silence almost deafening. Jessica stood still, gripping the phone in her hand, her legs wobbling beneath her as if they had betrayed her. What did I just do? her mind screamed. Did I just… actually say no to him? To Lucian?
She began walking back toward the penthouse, her steps tentative, almost lifeless, her mind racing with every possible consequence. The terrace's breathtaking view, which should have been calming, was blurred by the storm of thoughts in her head.
"Ooo, she's back," Bella called softly from the living room, noticing Jessica's slow return.
Jessica moved to a chair and sank into it with a heaviness she hadn't realized she was carrying. The leather cradled her, but it offered little comfort. She felt every ounce of fatigue in her limbs. She lifted a shaky hand and muttered, "Water… where is the water…"
Bill, seated nearby, felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Ethan standing there, quiet but observant. He nodded quickly, silently acknowledging the situation before his gaze fell on Jessica.
"What happened?" Bill asked carefully, his voice tinged with concern. "Why is Lucian calling you? Is something going on?"
Jessica's fingers shook slightly as she took a long gulp from the glass of water in front of her. When she finally set it down, her hand had a faint tremor, and she said weakly, almost as if the words themselves weighed a ton:
"I… I think I just lost my job."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The room went quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that pressed in from all sides, demanding attention, making everyone hold their breath.
...
After several deep breaths and a few minutes of trying to steady herself, Jessica finally gathered enough composure to explain what had happened. Her voice was quieter now but steady, each word deliberate.
Bill's voice broke through the tension, calm yet reflective: "So that's what happened…"
Dough, standing to the side, couldn't hide his surprise. "But… if Scooter Braun went to the CEO himself to personally call, that means he's powerful. He can pull strings that big?"
Jessica shook her head, lifting her gaze from the table to meet Dough's. "No, it's not that," she said firmly. "I've just been so focused here, so wrapped up in Ethan's schedule, the tour, the PR plans… something must have happened within the label that I'm not aware of. I need to call my connections there, find out exactly what's going on."
Her words, though quiet, carried determination. Though shaken, Jessica's mind was already turning, plotting, considering her next moves, refusing to be caught off guard by the machinery of power she had just faced.
Jessica looked around and caught everyone's eyes on her. They weren't staring judgmentally or with concern—they were smiling. A slow, almost mischievous grin crept across her face, and she lifted her chin slightly, her voice light but confident as she said, "So… what's going on?"
Bill, trying to hide his amusement, laughed and said, "Normally, when you talk about the executives at the label, you're all jittery, biting your tongue. And now look at you—talking back to the CEO like it's nothing."
Jessica groaned theatrically, burying her face in her hands for a moment. "Oo, please don't remind me," she muttered, though a small smirk betrayed her nerves.
Bill laughed harder this time, shaking his head as he did. Ethan, watching her from across the room, couldn't help but grin widely. There was a sparkle of pride in his eyes, mixed with relief, happiness, and the quiet comfort of knowing someone had his back.
The team slowly began to disband, chatting as they gathered their things. Each member went their separate ways, heading off to their respective homes or hotel rooms. By the time the clock struck 11 p.m., Ethan found himself alone in the penthouse, the house silent except for the faint hum of the city below. The apartment felt enormous and empty, the shadows of the furniture stretching across the polished floors.
He tried, more than once, to start his series back up, attempting to distract himself with something familiar, something that usually soothed him after a long day. But tonight, he simply couldn't get into it. The words on the screen blurred past his eyes, uninspiring. Then he considered messaging friends, looking for a voice, some connection, someone to remind him that he wasn't entirely alone.
Billie, busy with her own tour, couldn't reply. Timothée Chalamet, absorbed in his latest project, was unreachable. Taylor was deep in rehearsals, her world far from Ethan's penthouse. Eminem—the only one remotely available—wasn't much of a texter, too private for casual conversation. Sydney, chatting with him earlier in the evening, had drifted off after her long day on the set of Americana, the dim glow of her phone screen the only proof she'd been awake. Even his little sister was buried in her exams, and his parents were likely halfway across the world, performing some dangerous stunt in another country.
So, with no one to reach out to, Ethan did what any twenty-something with too much time and a restless mind would do—he started deadscrolling.
He bounced from one app to another, his burner accounts shielding him from the world while connecting him to it all at once. YouTube videos, TikTok compilations, trending threads, endless swipes of Twitter—all merged into a constant, restless hum of distraction. The events of the day—the tense meeting with his landlord, the looming uncertainty of the Grammys, the relief and pride he felt watching Jessica stick up for him against her own CEO—slowly receded into the background.
Instead, the noise of the internet took over, a chaotic but strangely comforting white noise. One video blended into the next, a laugh here, a meme there, nothing of real consequence, yet all-consuming in its triviality. Hours seemed to pass without notice as Ethan scrolled endlessly, his mind drifting between reality and screen, between exhaustion and the artificial energy of endless content.
Eventually, the weight of the day, the silence of the penthouse, and the unrelenting scroll wore him down. His eyes grew heavy, the phone slipping slowly from his hand. Somewhere between the flickering lights of TikTok dances and YouTube compilations, Ethan drifted off, unaware of when exactly sleep took him.
A/N
Hey everyone,
So, in the last chapter, someone asked me a question that really hit me — "Are you even having fun writing this book?" — and honestly, it struck harder than I expected. I can't lie: for a while now, I haven't really shown it. I've added so many plot points and situations that, looking back, were probably unnecessary. Honestly? I'm so done with them.
The truth is, the real plans I have for this story… I can't just move on without closing some of these holes first. So that's what I've been focusing on — fixing things fast so the book can get back to what it's really about.
For the next chapters, think of them as more "slice-of-life" moments — little pockets of story to reignite the love and passion I (and hopefully you) have for this book.
About the Grammy situation — I already know exactly how I want to handle it. I only wrote it the way I did in the last chapter because I wanted to show Ethan's artistic side and pull him away from too much commercialization.
So please… bear with me. I promise I'm working to win back your trust, and I can't wait to take you along as the story gets back to its heart.
Thanks for sticking with me.