"Thank you, Texassss!" Ethan Jones screamed into the mic, his voice almost drowned out by the never-ending roar of the crowd. His chest heaved, sweat clung to his skin, but he felt nothing but pure electricity.
This… this was it. The greatest night of his career. His best show yet.
The fans weren't letting up. They were still screaming—chanting his name, shouting random phrases, jumping, crying, reaching for him. The sheer energy of it was overwhelming, intoxicating.
Ethan took a step back, about to exit the stage, but something held him in place. No, not something—someone.
The fans.
They wouldn't let go of the moment, and neither could he.
Instead of leaving, he moved forward, standing right at the edge of the stage, where the barrier separated him from the sea of hands reaching for him. He just stood there, closing his eyes, soaking it all in.
The screams. The flashing lights. The chants. The love.
Twenty seconds… forty-five seconds… one minute… two minutes.
He stood there, unmoving, basking in the overwhelming adoration. He could feel the pulse of the stadium, the collective energy vibrating through him.
When he finally opened his eyes, his expression was serene, almost reverent. Slowly, dramatically, he gave a deep bow. The crowd erupted into another deafening roar.
Then, with one final wave, he turned and walked off the stage.
The moment he stepped backstage, he was hit with an entirely different kind of chaos.
A wall of flashing cameras, microphones shoved toward his face, reporters practically foaming at the mouth to get a quote.
"Mr. Jones, did you know you and Eminem were going to perform today? If so, what's your take on the performance? How close are you two?"
"Ethan, Ethan! What about the car crash with Taylor Swift? Can we get more details?"
"Since you've performed with both Taylor Swift and Eminem, is there a project in the works between all three of you?"
"Ethan, we hear you got punched in your hotel room—is it true?"
"Who wrote the song between you and Taylor Swift? What's it called?"
"Between Eminem and Taylor Swift, who did you like performing with better?"
"Ethan, we hear you're dating Sydney Sweeney. Any truth to that?"
"Will Taylor and Eminem appear at your next show too?"
The questions kept coming—rapid-fire, unrelenting. Cameras flashed, blinding him. Microphones were shoved so close he could barely move.
For a split second, Ethan was frozen. He'd been hounded by the press before. He'd been surrounded by fans before. But this—this was something else.
It was suffocating.
"One question at a time!" Ethan finally shouted over the chaos, his voice cutting through the barrage of voices. But they didn't stop. They just kept pushing, kept snapping, kept shouting.
He had just stepped off the biggest high of his career, and now—this.
As Ethan struggled to process the chaos around him, a booming voice finally cut through the noise.
"Give him space!"
"Let him breathe!"
"Excuse me! Move back!"
Bill and a couple of security guards had finally pushed their way through the sea of flashing cameras and insistent reporters. The guards moved fast, shoving people aside with controlled force, their sheer presence making it clear they weren't asking—they were demanding.
Ethan gasped for air, finally given a moment to breathe.
"Ethan, start moving to the dressing room!" Bill shouted while still holding back a particularly persistent reporter. He pointed at one of the bigger guards, a mountain of a man. "Lead him!" Then, turning to Ethan, he barked, "Follow him!"
Ethan, utterly drained, didn't argue. He just nodded and followed the bodyguard, who walked beside him like a human shield. Bill and the rest of the security team stayed behind, keeping the frenzied press at bay.
When Ethan entered the dressing room, he was met with a much calmer scene—Rebecca was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while Jessica stood off to the side, deep in conversation on a call.
The moment the door shut behind him, Ethan exhaled sharply, then suddenly let out a frustrated yell.
"What the fuck was that?!"
Rebecca barely looked up, only flicking her eyes toward him for a second before going back to her phone. Jessica, however, turned around, raising a hand in a polite but firm gesture for silence before walking further into the room to continue her call.
Ethan scoffed but didn't push it. Instead, he stormed toward Rebecca.
"What the hell was that back there? Why were they acting like lunatics today?"
Rebecca, still scrolling, barely reacted. "Who?"
Ethan's patience was razor-thin. "The press!"
At that, Rebecca made a small "Ohhh" sound of realization, like she had just remembered something trivial.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Wait… you knew about this?"
Rebecca finally set her phone down and met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "I had a strong suspicion. That's why I sent Bill and extra staff to get you."
Ethan opened his mouth to protest, to complain about the ambush, but Rebecca beat him to it. Instead of an explanation, she flipped her phone around, showing him something on the screen.
Ethan barely glanced at it—he was still too rattled to focus. "What am I looking at?"
Rebecca didn't wait for him to figure it out. "Ethan, you thought you were big before? After tonight, you're humongous." She let out a breathy laugh, almost in disbelief. "Do you even realize what kind of miracle just happened? You performed with not one but two superstar-level artists—two of the biggest names in music history, with completely different fan bases. And guess what?" She grinned. "The world is obsessed with you right now."
Ethan frowned, still processing.
Rebecca shot up from the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Sit, sit, sit!" she ordered, shoving him onto the chair before he could even protest.
She started pacing, hands animated as she spoke. "This kind of buzz is insane. If we play this right, we can cement you—not as some breakout artist, not as a rising star—but as one of the biggest names in pop. No—scratch that—the whole industry."
Ethan tilted his head. "I thought I was already one of the biggest names?"
Rebecca paused mid-step and smiled at him like a parent indulging a clueless child. "Oh, my darling," she cooed before dropping the hammer. "Not even close."
Ethan blinked, his mood immediately deflating.
Rebecca smirked. "The truly huge names? They can disappear for years, do absolutely nothing, and still be legends. You—" she pointed at him "—you have the numbers, the stats, the hype. But you don't have the structure yet."
Ethan sighed. "And let me guess… that's where you come in?"
Rebecca's smirk deepened, her eyes glinting with something sharp—calculated. "Exactly. That's my job. And trust me, Ethan, I will make you the biggest name in the business."
There was something about the way she said it—the determination, the hunger—that made Ethan chuckle, but there was no humor in it.
Because, at that moment, he couldn't help but feel like he wasn't a person to her.