"Thank you so much," the man said, his voice warm and genuine, carrying the subtle tremor of excitement that comes from capturing a memory he truly valued. Dough, standing nearby, held out the professional camera, handing it back with a small, awkward smile. "No issue, sir," he replied. "Honestly, it was my first time using one of these professional cameras too."
The man, in his fifties, chuckled softly, taking the camera from Dough with care, as though it were a fragile treasure. "Well," he said, adjusting the strap over his shoulder, "I had to make sure I did it right. I have to show my wife and kids. They'll never believe it otherwise."
Dough laughed lightly, a bit self-conscious as he stepped aside. The man's excitement was infectious, yet slightly overwhelming. He carried the camera a few steps back, muttering under his breath as he scrolled through the pictures, "Oo, they're never going to believe this…"
With the camera safely back in the man's hands, Dough took a deep breath and turned to find Ethan. The singer was still posing with the landlord for a quick photo, part of a deal that had allowed Ethan to park his two cars at the building without issue. Marcus, one of Ethan's trusted security guards, stood nearby, quietly keeping an eye on the surroundings, his stance alert but unobtrusive.
Dough walked up to Ethan, lowering his voice so only he could hear. "Let's head up. The others should be there by now."
Ethan gave a subtle nod, his expression calm but alert, his mind already half on what awaited him upstairs. They began to move toward the elevator when the landlord suddenly called out, his voice carrying a friendly authority.
"Oo, are you guys heading up?" he asked, glancing briefly at Ethan but focusing more on Dough, who responded quickly. "Yeah, we are."
The man raised a hand, stopping them with a small chuckle. "Oo, don't worry about it. You don't need to tell me all this," he said. His tone was amused, yet respectful, carrying the confidence of someone who had seen it all before.
He leaned slightly against the railing, his gaze steady. "I know how it goes—how you need your secrets, your privacy. My apartment complex has seen its fair share of celebrities. I've learned the ropes. Maybe not quite at your level," he added with a sly grin, "but we've had Johnny Depp live here once, if that's any measure."
Dough and Ethan exchanged a brief, surprised glance. The man's tone shifted slightly, sincere now, catching them both off guard. "But you," he continued, gesturing subtly toward Ethan, "you're different."
Ethan's eyebrows lifted slightly, intrigued but cautious. Dough mirrored the reaction, curiosity piqued. The landlord shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Most celebrities I meet tend to talk a lot," he said, his eyes sweeping from Ethan to Dough. "You haven't even said a word since you came."
Dough's eyes widened, panic creeping into his voice as he started to speak. "Well, it's not what—"
The landlord chuckled, cutting him off effortlessly. "Guess the more popular, the more eccentric, eh?" His laugh was warm, easy, putting Dough slightly at ease, and Dough let out a nervous laugh in return.
"We've sent the autographs already," Dough said, trying to regain composure, "and all the remaining merchandise will be sent to the address you provided."
The landlord laughed again, a deep, heartfelt sound. "Thank you. My family will be so happy." He waved a hand dismissively. "And don't worry about your cars. I told the staff to move them to the VIP area."
Ethan extended his hand with a small smile, and the landlord shook it warmly, their eyes meeting briefly in mutual respect and understanding.
Upstairs, on the 24th floor of the apartment building, the penthouse suite awaited. A sleek, modern two-bedroom, two-bathroom layout, it had long been considered the third-best apartment in the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed breathtaking city views, polished hardwood floors reflected the soft glow of recessed lighting, and the open-plan living space featured a state-of-the-art kitchen, a marble-topped dining area, and a plush, custom sectional sofa that anchored the room. A private balcony stretched across the front, offering a perfect vantage of the city skyline. The rent: a cool $23,000 per month, generously covered by the record label during periods when Ethan needed to be close to the studio for recording.
The apartment, empty for months while Ethan had been on his nationwide tour, was now alive with the presence of half his core team. It wasn't just the cleaning staff anymore; these were the people who had been with him from the very beginning. Dough, his newly appointed executive assistant, moved quietly near the corner, while Kiesha, Rebecca's assistant, sorted through a stack of papers. Marcus, ever-watchful, kept an eye on the entry points, his posture taut yet relaxed. Even with the tour over, their work hadn't vanished—they had plans to execute, strategies to outline, and nothing about this moment was casual.
At the center of the living room, a whiteboard had been brought in for clarity. Standing in front of it was none other than Rebecca, PR manager and unofficial (yet unofficially official) manager of the team. Her gaze swept across the room, landing on Ethan briefly before continuing to address the group.
"So," she began, her voice measured yet firm, "these next few weeks are going to be some of the most important we've faced. We need to plan every single detail carefully, especially considering the circumstances we find ourselves in." She paused, letting the gravity sink in.
Bill, leaning against the side table, cracked a small smile and muttered, "Consider this a meeting of the inner sanctum," before straightening. "So, no mincing words. Let's lay everything bare. The doctor's clear: even though the surgery was successful, Ethan can't speak for at least two weeks. Which brings us to the real issue… the Grammys are in just a week, and from what I've heard, Ethan is expected to win a few awards that night."
Jessica, seated with her notebook open, chimed in, voice calm but resolute. "Not just expected. Our label sources confirm it—Ethan has already secured at least two awards, and there's more we don't yet know. But make no mistake, he will be standing on that podium."
Everyone nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. Bill ran a hand over his face, exhaling. "Thanks, Jessica. So here's the dilemma: how does Ethan, who literally cannot speak, go on stage in front of the world to accept his awards and give his speech?"
Kiesha, leaning slightly forward, spoke up, her tone professional, sharp. "The Grammys are more than just the awards themselves. They're about the networking, the media exposure, the guest interactions, the interviews afterward. The visibility is immense Him going and not speaking at all in the interviews, when others talk to him even doing the speeches. Honestly, if you want my opinion, he shouldn't go at all. We could present it as, say, post-tour fatigue, or that Ethan fell ill unexpectedly. That way, he doesn't appear absent without reason, and we protect both him and the brand."
Jessica's voice cut through the heavy silence of the room, firm and anxious. "That would be bad. We've made so many arrangements already—met with dozens of organizers, coordinated schedules, secured venues, and handled every little detail. If Ethan snubs his first Grammy, especially in front of those old crooks, trust me—they hold grudges. Very well. It would be like signaling to them that after all the promoting, all the promises, we're just going to leave them hanging. Winning another one after that would be near impossible. The Grammy is a blessing. Not showing up, after everything that's been set in motion, would feel like a blasphemy."
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with consequence. The team collectively shuddered, realizing the weight of the stakes.
"So… what are we gonna do now?" Dough finally voiced what everyone was thinking but too hesitant to admit. The room seemed to shrink a little under the pressure of that question, and a tense silence followed.
Rebecca, standing at the front, scanned the room. She could see it clearly: everyone's energy had plummeted. Faces downcast, shoulders slumped, eyes darting around for guidance. As the person leading this team, she knew she had to take control. She needed to act—and quickly. The only option she had at that moment was to shift the focus before despair completely took hold.
"Okay, guys," she said, raising her voice slightly to regain their attention. "Let's pause on that for now. The Grammys are still a week away. Right now, let's focus on the things closer to us. Who knows? Maybe we'll think of a solution before then. And if all else fails," she gave a subtle nod toward Kiesha, "I agree with Kiesha—our best bet would be not to go at all. We can do a press release, play the sympathy angle a little, and at least ease some of the tension."
As she spoke, Rebecca internally groaned. Shit, I just wanted to get our minds off it—why did I even mention it again? She quickly tried to shake off the creeping frustration and refocus.
"Bella," she said, deliberately shifting her tone, sharper this time, "what are the plans for the next few days?" She leaned slightly forward, hands clasped in front of her, forcing the team to pivot.
Bella, startled out of her flustered thoughts, scrambled for her tablet. "Uhm…" She rifled through the digital notes, swiping and tapping with growing urgency, her mind racing to catch up.
Before she could continue, Kiesha spoke first, her voice calm but precise. "We don't have much planned after this. As we agreed, there's a break after the tour. For the few interviews and appearances that were scheduled, we've already called and either canceled or rescheduled everything."
Rebecca nodded approvingly. "Good," she said, glancing around the room. Her eyes found Ethan, who was observing quietly, taking in every detail with his characteristic focus and measured curiosity. She then turned to Dough.
"And you, Dough," she prompted, her tone firm but encouraging, "what about Ethan's plans for the week?"
Dough blinked, realizing the spotlight had shifted to him. "Oo, yeah," he said, bringing out his own tablet. He scrolled quickly, checking the schedule, before looking up. "Well, for today, he's free. Nothing on the calendar. Tomorrow, he has a meeting with Bill and his finance team… and, uh, that other thing."
Rebecca's brow furrowed, her voice sharpening. "What other thing? You know how sensitive everything is. We don't need rumors leaking. Everyone involved in the tour signed NDAs—we have to keep everything locked down. If anything does slip, we need to control the narrative immediately, not let it snowball into a mess."
Bill, leaning casually but authoritatively against the wall, interjected. "It's nothing concerning. Just a meeting with some finance guys and a wealth manager. Also, a walk-through with the real estate agent tomorrow—Ethan is considering buying a house."
Rebecca opened her mouth to respond but Bill raised a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. These are people I trust, known them for years. Everything is okay."
Rebecca exhaled slowly, nodding. She turned her attention back to Dough.
"Alright, continue," she said.
Dough shifted slightly, tapping on his tablet again. "Oo, sorry. Okay, so after that, Ethan is actually free. Nothing lined up, no appointments, no appearances. He's clear."
Rebecca gave a subtle nod, her face relaxing just slightly.
Rebecca opened her mouth to continue, but before she could, Jessica, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up. "We still have something else to discuss," she said, her tone careful but firm.
All eyes in the room turned toward her, and she let them linger on Ethan for a moment before continuing. "Now that the tour is officially over," she said, her voice measured, "we need to talk about some rather uncomfortable questions."
Ethan simply nodded, his expression calm but attentive, signaling for her to continue.
Jessica exhaled softly and pressed on. "We need to talk about staff retention. Dough and Kiesha here are different—they were hired for roles outside of the tour's direct scope. Now that the tour is finished, the label won't be covering everyone involved salaries anymore. Per our prior agreement, that responsibility now falls on you, Ethan. You're going to need to decide who is essential and who can be let go."
Rebecca added her perspective, stepping closer to the whiteboard where the team had been jotting notes. "Considering Wisdom," she said, thinking of Ethan's stylist, "he's been hired in more of a stylist-for-hire capacity. While his talent is undeniable, and he's definitely used this tour to springboard his own career, we would need to hire a full-time stylist for ongoing work. It would be reasonable to let him go and start looking for someone permanent he has shown interest in going towards content creation so I'm not sure of his availability. Vivienne, however—her role is critical. As your creative director, Ethan, she's been indispensable. Since she came on board, the latter half of the tour was widely praised by creative magazines and industry critics alike for its innovation, visual concepts, and stage presentation. Her contribution is absolutely necessary to maintain the standard we've set."
Bill leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, so a stylist would go, Vivienne stays. What about the band, the drivers, and Mark?"
Jessica spoke next, her tone factual. "The band was hired just for the tour. We don't need to retain them; they're already in high demand and booking gigs elsewhere."
Bella added quickly, scrolling through her tablet. "Yes, they told me just a month after the tour ends, they'll be heading to England to perform for another artist."
Jessica nodded in agreement. "Exactly. As for the drivers, I honestly don't see the necessity anymore. Our security team can handle transportation needs. Although Ethan did request we keep them for full-time coverage, it may no longer be practical."
Ethan silently nodded his head in agreement, signaling that he was aligned with her assessment. Bill muttered under his breath, "Drivers noted."
Rebecca then asked, "And Mark?" Her eyes briefly met Ethan's, seeking his input.
Bill shook his head, glancing between Rebecca and Ethan. "Since we aren't planning a tour anytime soon…" He trailed off, watching Ethan's subtle shake of his head. "…honestly, I don't see the need to keep him around either."
Jessica let out a small sigh, resigned but professional. "I'll call Mark tomorrow to inform him," she said, reaching for her phone. But just as she was about to dial, her phone rang unexpectedly, startling her. She quickly pulled it out of her pocket, muttering, "Sorry, I thought I had it muted… let me just—"
Her eyes widened as she saw the caller ID. "Oh… sorry, I have to take this," she said, rising quickly to her feet.
Turning to Ethan, she asked, "Ehm… where can I go to take this?"
Ethan pointed toward the terrace with a calm, almost imperceptible gesture. "There," he said simply.
"Thank you," she replied quickly, and before anyone could respond, she bolted toward the terrace, phone pressed to her ear, moving with the urgency of someone who knew the call could change everything.
Bill leaned back in his chair, muttering to himself, "Who called her that she zoomed off like that?"
Dough, still seated and watching the sudden departure, hesitated before replying, "Uh… I'm not sure, but I think I saw the name… Lucian on it."