Tyler stood in front of the building, his eyes tracing the lines of his new apartment. It wasn't anything flashy, but it was clean, quiet, and, most importantly, far away from his old neighborhood. No more dealing with the constant stress of keeping his head down to avoid Rico and Carlos' gang. This was his new start.
Next to him, the housing agent flipped through a stack of papers on a clipboard. She was a sharp-looking woman in her late 30s, rocking a sleek black blazer. Her professional demeanor reminded Tyler that this was the real deal—no hustles, no backdoor deals, just a clean, legal lease.
"Alright, Mr. Johnson," the agent said, handing him a pen. "Just sign here, and we'll finalize everything. You're officially the new tenant."
Tyler glanced at the dotted line. The thought of putting his name on something that wasn't tied to his old life gave him a strange sense of pride. This was his. This apartment was going to be his new sanctuary, a place where he could focus on his music and his grind.
He signed the paper and handed the clipboard back to the agent.
"Congratulations," she said with a smile. "Here are your keys. You can start moving in today."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," Tyler replied, sliding the keys into his pocket. The agent nodded, giving him a polite wave before heading back to her car. Tyler stood there for a second, taking in the moment.
This was a big step. Not just for his career but for his life.
Inside the apartment, the walls were bare, the hardwood floors echoing under his footsteps. The space was bigger than what he was used to, and the silence was almost eerie after years of noise-filled streets. He looked around, mentally noting what he needed—some basic furniture, maybe a couch, a bedframe, a table. But he had to be smart about it.
The royalty check from "Resurrection" was a blessing, but it wasn't endless. Tyler knew he had to stretch it if he wanted to keep things afloat until the next payday.
"I'll hit up IKEA or something," he mumbled, pulling out his phone to scroll through some cheap furniture options. He wasn't trying to go broke over some fancy stuff—just the essentials to keep his place livable.
As he browsed, his phone buzzed with a notification. Tyler checked the screen, and his eyebrows shot up.
A new message had slid into his DMs.
@Scout_BGold: Yo, this is Marcus from Black Gold Records. I peeped your verse on that "Resurrection" joint with Jax. You got some heat, fam. Let's chop it up. My boss, Miles, is interested. Hit me back if you're down.
Tyler froze, reading the message twice to make sure he wasn't tripping. Black Gold Records? That was Miles Carter's label.
Miles Carter, the former pop legend who'd dominated the charts back in the day, had transitioned into owning his own label a few years ago. Everyone in the industry knew Black Gold was the go-to spot for up-and-coming artists looking to break into the mainstream. Tyler couldn't believe they were already noticing him.
"Damn…" he whispered, heart pounding.
This was serious. Getting a message from a scout like Marcus meant they were watching, and if Miles Carter himself was interested, that could change everything. His mind was racing. A label deal? This could take him from an underground artist to the next big thing. But there were risks too. Labels had contracts that could lock artists in for years, and he'd heard too many stories about rappers getting played.
He leaned back against the wall, phone still in hand. The DM sat there like a beacon. Tyler knew he had to think carefully about his next move. Signing with a label was a game-changer, but it could also be a trap.
"Shit… what would Jax do?"
Jax had been in the industry long enough to know the ins and outs. Tyler figured he'd hit him up before making any decisions, just to get a clearer picture. This was all happening so fast, and while the opportunities were pouring in, he had to stay focused on the bigger picture.
With a deep breath, he sat down on the floor of his empty apartment. The DM from Marcus was still flashing on his screen, but for now, he didn't reply. Instead, he opened up his notes and began sketching out his next move.
A label deal could boost his career, sure, but what about his long-term goals? The system had been pushing him towards becoming the greatest, and that meant he had to play this smart. He couldn't rush it, no matter how tempting it was.