Chapter 1
In the kitchen, John Harrington beamed with happiness as he wiped his hands on his apron, carrying dinner to the table. “Dinner’s ready, honey,” he called out. “I’m not eating. Just leave it.” “Come on, last night you said to leave it, and look what happened—it became my breakfast. Skipping meals isn't good for you…” “Shut up.” “Yes, dear.” John sighed and turned back to the kitchen, opening the fridge. The dim light inside dimmed as his gaze turned hazy. A year ago, he’d crossed from Silvermoor to Eldoria. In his past life, he’d hustled for over a decade to become a multi-talented superstar—singing, dancing, rapping, acting, you name it. Who could’ve guessed that during a promotional event, trying out a couple of black garlic cloves would make him vomit and faint? When he woke up, he found himself as John Harrington of Eldoria. His predecessor had been a lounge singer with mediocre talent, just another voice lost in a bar, dreaming of stardom. “Ugh…” John shook his head in disbelief. Over the past year, he’d become one with the memories and feelings of his predecessor. What had once been another’s desire now burned within him. His predecessor's past became a part of his own reality. Thinking of his wife, Elena Woodward, brought a bright smile to his face. With a clang, he shoved the dinner into the fridge. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he closed his eyes, savoring the aroma wafting through the air. Damn, it’s good. Although he was just a low-tier artist in a small town, his looks were above average. Five years of relentless pursuit finally led him to win Elena over—a stark contrast to his previous life in Silvermoor, where he'd been too busy for romance, let alone a girlfriend. He wanted a calm little life, with Elena by his side, maybe two kids, one of each if he could have it his way, and a few vacations each year. But Elena didn’t seem to share his vision. She’d never shown much affection; their marriage felt transactional at best. Now, it was worse than ever. It was like clouds were gathering, hinting at a storm brewing. In the living room, Elena suddenly called out, her tone sharper than usual. “John!” He jolted, quickly shutting the refrigerator door and rushing to the living room. “Yes, honey?” Elena was sitting cross-legged on the couch, gesturing at a nearby chair. “Sit.” John settled into the chair, rubbing his hands together. His gaze softened as he watched her. “What’s up, sweetheart?” Elena glanced out the window, pausing as a chilly spring breeze swept through the room. Her voice was cold. “Let’s get a divorce.” John froze, but part of him wasn’t surprised. Still, he hadn’t expected it to happen this fast. “What are you talking about?” She turned to him, her eyes fiery. “I said, we’re getting a divorce.” He let out a nervous laugh, hunched down in front of her, grasping her pale hand. “Are you having a bad day?” She yanked her hand away. “I’m not upset. I just want a divorce. No drama about it.” His brow furrowed as confusion mingled with desperation. “But… I need to know why.” “Okay. You want a reason? Fine. I don’t love you anymore. Does that work?” John stared at her, his silence stretching like a taut wire. “Okay, then who do you love?” She looked down at him, her expression piercing. “Honestly? Anyone but you, you pathetic loser.” That stung. Rage bubbled up within him, but he wrestled it down, emerging with palpable restraint. “I’m not a loser.” “Please. I’ve never made any huge mistakes in my life, but marrying you? That was my biggest blunder. You think you’ve got what it takes to be with me, Elena Woodward? You’re nothing but a bar singer. Meanwhile, you’ve got guys like Henry Ashford and all those scouts passing through, and you still can’t make something of yourself.” John met her gaze, unwavering. “And remember who said you’d be better off with me backing you? I sacrificed my dreams for you, and now you…” Before he could finish, she interrupted him, steel in her voice, “I don’t want to talk to you right now. This marriage? It’s over.” With a swift motion, she unzipped the designer bag he’d gifted her and pulled out two divorce papers. “Sign here. I’ve already taken care of my part.” The chill from the draft outside seeped into his bones as he stared at the contracts, his heart dropping into his stomach. John’s jaw twitched. “When do we head to the Crown's Registry?” “Tomorrow.” In an instant, John’s palm felt the sting as he slapped his own face. Elena’s eyes widened in shock. He’d never raised his voice at her before. But he didn’t get it—how, after five years of bending over backward, that’s all he got in return. He internally vowed, “John Harrington, how did you let it come to this? You’re a man—stand up for yourself.” Realization washed over him. Kneeling and begging only made you look weak. Maybe a man could grow up in one defining moment. The old John was gone; he was a man now. He stood in the living room, surrounded by the cold wind, gathering his thoughts. Suddenly, he smirked, pulling off the apron and draping it over the sofa arm. “Fine. I agree. I’ve been expecting you to say that.” Elena, expecting resistance, blinked in surprise at his calm composure. She was suddenly the uneasy one. After all, John had treated her well over the years—not just well, but wonderfully. “What do you want from me, then?” He replied, keeping his tone neutral. “I want the real reason behind this.” After a brief hesitation, she finally spoke. “I’m about to get signed by Regent’s Revelry. A normal divorce now is better than one later when I’m famous—it’ll just be dirt.” John nodded slowly, brushing the dust off his pants. “Got it. You’re on your way to stardom, and I’m just not good enough.” He stifled an ironic smile. In his past life, he’d understood the industry—it was just the beginning, not the end. But he kept that knowledge to himself. Instead, he walked into the Chamber, picking out a blue suit that cost around two hundred bucks—the most he’d spent on clothing in years. Exiting the Chamber, he swung open the front door and stepped out, determined. He walked toward Moonfall Inn, his workplace. Moonfall Inn was where all the companies gathered, where talent scouts and Henry Ashford often hosted events. The flashing lights and drunken revelry buzzed around him as he made his way inside. Sinking into a chair, he pulled out a lighter, popped a cigarette into his mouth, and sparked it up. “C’mon…” He cursed, flicking the smoke into the ashtray. Suddenly, a mechanical voice caught his attention, sparking excitement in his chest. John stared at the blue screen in front of him, his heart racing. He knew exactly what it meant.
Chapter 2
The system was no stranger to John Harrington. Having spent years at Silvermoor, he had read his fair share of online novels filled with fantastical elements. But this system? It was a bit perplexing. “Man, you sing beautifully.” As he pondered, the compliment aimed at the performer on stage caught his attention. To his surprise, it was Ethan Sullivan — his colleague and the bar's featured singer. A wave of notifications flooded John’s ears like a synthetic whisper. *Potential Gain +21, Vocal Quality +2.* So, this is what they meant by accessing someone else's talents? Among the crowd, the applause echoed as Ethan's melodic voice filled the space. A bespectacled man in a sleek suit remarked, “This guy is impressive. How did we not discover him at Silverwing Entertainment? I need to ask for his contact later.” John recognized him as a high-ranking executive from Silverwing, the biggest agency in Westbridge. Just below them, Regent's Revelry was ramping up its efforts to sign Elena Woodward. *Potential Gain +21, Vocal Quality +2.* Another figure in black approached, drink in hand. “You guys at Silverwing might as well throw in the towel. Regent's Revelry is about to strike a deal with him. He's not just a great singer; he can dance too.” John knew him as well—a frequent sight in these circles, also from Regent's Revelry. *Potential Gain +21, Vocal Quality +2, Coordination +2.* This system was kind of interesting, John thought to himself. The last note faded, and the applause roared like thunder. People cheered and reveled in the atmosphere. *Potential Gain +21, Vocal Quality +2.* *Potential Gain +21* *...* Curious, John tested his own voice, “Eh~ eh~ eh~~~” He had to admit, it felt smoother than before. Excitement coursed through him. At that moment, Ethan hopped off the stage and approached John, bowing to the crowd before he made his way to him. “Hey, look who showed up early! Did you skip out on cooking for your wife?” John offered a faint smile but didn’t respond. “Seriously, my skills have improved, haven’t they?” Ethan was fishing for compliments. John nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, pretty good.” Then, he paused and added, “What do you say we do a duet?” Ethan waved him off. “Nah, I’m done with that. I’ve got a deal lined up with Regent's Revelry. From now on, I’ll be a solo artist.” John rolled his eyes at this self-aggrandizing display and turned his gaze away. “Gotta hand it to you, man,” Ethan said with a playful smirk, patting John on the shoulder. “Better start practicing. You never know; maybe with some luck, you’ll get a shot when you hit your forties.” Laughing, Ethan sauntered back to the crowd. John scoffed and glanced at his phone. “Time for me to take over.” Adjusting the microphone, John walked to the center of the stage, gripping it tightly. “Today is a special day. On this special day, I dedicate this song, ‘The Nameless Few,’ to someone who feels familiar yet remains a stranger. Moving forward, I’m chasing my dream. I know there are many talent scouts here tonight. I hope you see the spark in me.” In a bar brimming with dreamers, his words fell flat, met with indifference from the crowd, who assumed he was just another amateur. After all, this bar, Eldoria, was a parallel universe; no one had ever heard of ‘The Nameless Few’ before. “Ding ding ding.” As John strummed the guitar, his voice smooth and clear, he sang: *In the dawn of the city’s glow, There are always shadows that fall, Copies of dreams rise and fall, Characters lost to it all. Who do you choose to admire? Who to despise?* The song began softly, almost unnoticed in the bustling environment. At that moment, the man in black from Regent's Revelry jabbed Felix Glass from Silverwing, saying, “Why don’t you sign this one up? He’s... acceptable, at best.” “Nah,” Felix replied, “we're after Ethan. Let's keep this a fair game.” The executives barely heard John’s voice, more focused on stealing deals from each other instead. But Ethan? He noticed. Leaning closer, he mumbled, “When did his voice get so good?” As the pulse of the song built to its climax, John suddenly paused, holding the silence for a moment, before letting his voice explode with emotion. Neon lights flashed, and the spotlight washed over him. *Who is the nameless one? Forgetfulness is fine with me. Whoever struggles to reach the end Must march through life alone, Exhausted, broken, Unseen glow, I might never be your light.* A roar of feelings burst forth from John’s soul; it was a desperate cry from his core. Ethan's jaw dropped as he processed the transformation before him. “No way,” he exclaimed mentally. The John Harrington he once dismissed as mediocre was now unrecognizable. The audience’s attention shifted, whispers of intrigue filling the air. “What’s the name of this song? Why haven’t I heard it before?” People readied their phones to record or share it later on social media. As John strummed on, everything blurred. All eyes were on him; he was a rising star. *Who is the nameless one? Forgetfulness is fine with me. Chasing glories through tears, Exhausted, broken, A life spent in strife, Who among us isn’t the same? Call me the nameless one.* With each verse, Ethan edged closer to the stage, wiping away a tear, thinking, “Is that really John Harrington? I’d recognize him even from a mile away.” He yearned to share a duet, but would John even consider it now? Murmurs filled the atmosphere. “He’s been singing here all along? How did we overlook him?” “Moonfall Inn has its treasure hidden in plain sight.” This song was electric, so full of life. Meanwhile, executives from Silverwing and Regent's Revelry began sparring. “Don’t even think about signing him; he’s ours!” “Back off! We have our eye on him now.” The silence evaporated as laughter and shouting erupted, a mix of excitement and ambition swirling in the air. “Get Henry Ashford here right away; we've found a gem!” one yelped. “Make it two Henry Ashfords; we already have a deal in mind!” came another. As John's final notes resonated, the buzz around him grew, shifting the tides of ambition and fate.
Chapter 3
A post titled “Whispering Bard's Spectacle” was quickly going viral on Minstrel's Ledger. Likes: 208, Shares: 54, Comments: 20,000. **Comments:** 1. **User1:** Who's this guy? He’s gorgeous, and his singing is amazing! 2. **User2:** @User1, that’s John Harrington, the resident singer at Westbridge Moonfall Inn. 3. **User3:** @User2, I live in Westbridge and have been to Moonfall Inn before! How have I never noticed him? 4. **User2:** @User3, he's been around, but something seems off today. His wife is threatening to leave him for not making it in music. 5. **User4:** Seriously? His wife has no taste! 6. **User5:** Is he really single? Does anyone have his contact info? 7. **User6:** I want his contact info too! John, I love you! 💖 8. **User7:** Same here! 9. **User8:** +1 10. **User9:** +10086 In just a few minutes, the buzz around this post exploded. As the clock struck nine, the Minstrel's Ledger was hitting peak traffic. Whether elsewhere in the south had caught on was uncertain, but in Westbridge, many were already aware of the tidings. John Harrington stepped off the stage, and Ethan Sullivan stood in awe, staring at him. He couldn’t believe that the man who seemed to have life falling apart was actually his coworker. This was the same man Ethan had once underestimated, now commanding the room, igniting wild cheers from the crowd. If only he had agreed to sing a duet with John, or even accompany him; that would have been worth it. Once off the stage, John faced a throng of admirers, a feeling reminiscent of his Silvermoor days washing over him. He waved at the cheering crowd, recognizing that this new iteration of John was no longer the same man they once knew. The old John was gone; a fresh version had emerged. **Twenty Minutes Later** News of the scene drew the bar’s owner, who swiftly informed Henry Ashford from the entertainment company to head to his office. Due to the crowd, only one Henry was allowed in from each entertainment agency. Inside the office, John spotted seven stunning women who were clearly from top-tier management firms. His thoughts drifted, "Never realized there were so many beautiful women outside of Elena Woodward’s world. I’d been wasting my admiration on her, and for what? There are plenty of other flowers in the field." With these agencies at play, his interest lay primarily with Silverwing Entertainment—for its reputation as Westbridge’s leading agency, eclipsing Regent's Revelry. And of course, with its talent pool, he would tap into a wealth of advantages. Since he had so many options, it was time to raise the stakes. Raising his head, he surveyed the distinguished women surrounding him. “Okay, let’s line up, one by one. I have a bad back, so I can’t stand long. Please jot down your offers on a note and hand them to me.” The first to submit was Henry Ashford from Royal Lineage Entertainment. John glanced at the note: “55% cut for the artist.” In usual circumstances, it was the agency that took the lion's share; this time, the tables had turned. He gulped back his excitement, forcing a frown. “You really think I’m still the old John? Only 55%? Dream on. Next!” The other agencies exchanged shocked looks, their jaws dropped. They scribbled furiously, revising their terms. “56% for the artist.” “57%.” It climbed steadily to 60%. A staggering sum. John mused, “I didn’t realize I was worth this much.” Yet he maintained a poker face. After scanning the papers for a moment, he declared, “Alright, I’ll keep Silverwing Entertainment and Regent's Revelry on the table. You other ladies, leave me a business card and take your leave.” One by one, they had no choice but to exit. Turning to ask Alice Bennett of Regent's Revelry, he asked, “What about your offer?” With a bright smile, she leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “I’m Alice Bennett from Regent's Revelry.” The enchanting way she leaned in almost made his heart race. “Hey, I have a secret offer for you. At eleven tonight, when it’s quiet, let’s talk. I promise my offer will match what Silverwing has.” But what about the details?” Despite the tease, John wouldn’t let it distract him from pushing Silverwing’s proposal. Clearing his throat, he gestured for attention. “Ahem. I’d say your offer has to be at least as good as theirs, right?” Alice blinked. This was to be heard by Isabella Fairfax from Silverwing Entertainment. With a glint of determination, Isabella eyed John closely, analyzing the smile playing on his lips. She knew her biggest competitor—Alice—was likely offering him a premium. No way was she going to lose him. With a swift move, she tossed her blazer aside, revealing a pristine white blouse contrasted against a fitted pink skirt that hugged her curves just right. She was all of 24, with a perfect blend of grace and allure, the embodiment of confidence. “Alright, John, Silverwing Entertainment is offering you a 62% cut,” she declared, her voice silky warm, rivalling a songbird’s. John felt himself gulp as he raised his hands defensively. “62%? Great, but what’s with the theatrics? I’m not open to any funny business.” **Potential Points Gained: +21, Chest Gains: +2** They both exchanged wide eyes. Alice, catching wind of Silverwing's high offer, shot Isabella a sideways glance. “Alright, how about 62.5%? Just to sweeten it up?” “63%,” Isabella shot back. “64%,” John’s heart raced with each increment. Elation surged as the stakes climbed higher; his target was 65%. “65%.” Alice hesitated but shook her head defiantly. “66%,” Isabella countered sharply. “67%.” “68%.” John felt himself nearly levitating with excitement, each raise lifting his spirits higher. Finally, Isabella announced, “70%.” Unable to help himself, John quickly turned away, covering his face to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside. Suddenly pulling it together, he turned back, feigning a serious demeanor. “Okay, 70% now. You still wanna try and beat that, little lady?” A snicker escaped from him, and Alice bit her lip, glaring at Isabella. “Wow, sis, you really pulled a fast one.” Isabella gritted her teeth, “If I don’t go all out, how am I supposed to keep up with you?” In this swift back-and-forth, John realized he was finally playing in the big leagues. His fixation on Elena had always narrowed his view; it felt absurd now. “Alright, looks like I’m going with Silverwing Entertainment, but I have one condition.” “What’s that?” the room echoed with anticipation.
Chapter 4
John Harrington had made a deal with Silverwing Entertainment, and Alice Bennett wasn't about to let that slide without a fight. Before he could even speak, Alice jumped in. Her big, doe-like eyes blinked quickly as she stamped her foot, “Hey there! We can offer a 70% cut on artist commissions too. And everything you want, you can get it from Regent's Revelry.” John leaned in closer, his voice a low whisper, sending chills racing down Alice’s spine, much like when she had brushed against him moments ago. “Sweetheart, I know your heart’s in it, but let’s be real—you look fresh out of college. Give it a few years, and maybe we can revisit the idea of working together.” Alice felt a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. Did he really think she didn’t know what she was doing? Her heart raced, and she swallowed hard, pushing herself to ask, “Why? I mean, is Regent's Revelry really less desirable than Silverwing?” He pointed to Isabella Fairfax, who was impeccably styled and poised, drawing attention like a magnet. “You don’t have fashion like this.” Alice's cheeks flushed with a mix of indignation and disappointment. Pouting, she huffed and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the room. John turned to Isabella, who was watching aloofly. “What were you two discussing?” she asked, intrigued. “Oh, just some idle chatter,” John replied, feigning innocence. Isabella leaned back on the sofa. “Care to share the conditions you were just mentioning?” John settled next to her. “First, if I join Silverwing, I need to resign from Moonfall Inn and I’ll need three days to wrap things up there.” “That’s doable,” she said. “But I have conditions too.” He gestured for her to continue. “Before you handle your exit, you’ll need to sign a contract with us first.” In his past life, John had been a superstar; he understood the ins and outs of relationships between artists and agencies. He recognized Isabella’s shrewdness as a savvy operator in this game. “Fair enough. But I have another requirement,” he said. “Go on,” she encouraged. “I need an advance. I imagine you've already dug up some details about my situation. Tomorrow, I'm getting divorced and walking away with nothing. So, I need some cash to keep me afloat.” He stared intensely, waiting for her reaction. Isabella’s laughter broke the tension. “We can handle a little alimony, sure. No problem there.” “Really, it’s just a little something to tide me over. Or do you want me to discuss it with your boss?” She waved her hand dismissively. “No need for that; I can make decisions here.” “Great. I’ll send you my card details on Messenger. I need a hundred grand transferred by tomorrow.” Isabella’s amusement vanished. Her brows knitted in disbelief. “Wait—Did you just say one hundred thousand for living expenses? That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?” “And another hundred for the signing bonus.” He shrugged, keeping his expression casual. Two hundred thousand? With his current pay, John would need nearly two decades of work to cover that. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond, but it was a risk he had to take. After all, he was no longer the same John Harrington he had once been. Isabella’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned in closer, incredulous. “Two hundred thousand? You’ve got to be kidding me.” “I know it’s hefty, but think about it. Higher quality of life means less stress. Less stress means better work for your company.” As he spoke, he noticed Isabella’s previously made-up face was now stripped of its glam, yet her beauty still shone through, a stark contrast to the wilted flowers in his past. “Plus,” John offered, “if you need me to work late, you might be crashing at my place. It won’t just benefit me.” Isabella wasn't naive. She saw right through him. This was simply John’s way to squeeze money out of her. She shook her head, unmoved. “I can’t agree to those terms.” “Why not?” “First, we reserve signing bonuses for established stars,” she replied, biting back her irritation. He interrupted, “Let’s skip the formalities. I’m looking for your answer, not a rundown of your company’s policies.” John picked up his phone, tapping away rapidly, enjoying the moment. After a few moments, he placed it to his ear dramatically. “Hey, yeah, so Regent's Revelry is ready to sign me. They’ve offered a hundred K for a signing bonus and another hundred for living expenses.” Isabella’s teeth ground together as she shot daggers at him. It was a bluff, and she knew it. Her mind raced: If he managed to get in touch with Alice, well, that would be another story. After an agonizing pause, filled with tension between them, John suddenly burst into an exaggerated grin, “Fantastic! When can I sign?” With a flicker of impatience, Isabella couldn’t hold back, “Fine! I’ll agree, but only the signing bonus. Prepayment? Not happening.” John inwardly celebrated. If Isabella wasn’t present, he might’ve jumped up with joy. But the moment was fleeting as another thought struck him. “Wait, this isn’t going to be difficult for you, is it?”
Chapter 5
Isabella Fairfax snapped her fingers, the sound crisp and commanding. “Smart move.” She had been tempted to shut the whole deal down right then and there, but after walking right into John Harrington's trap, she had reluctantly agreed to fork over two million dollars. After some intense discussions with the higher-ups at Silverwing Entertainment, they decided to throw down their own conditions, ones they figured would make John reconsider. He hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. He knew better; if they were proposing conditions, there had to be some weight behind them. “Go ahead,” he said, bracing himself. Isabella raised her finger, poised to drop some big news. “First condition.” John held her gaze, unflinching. “I have an artist on my side, her name is Catherine Ellis,” she said. John nodded slowly. “I know her. Nothing to write home about in the superstar department, but she has a decent following—her voice is her strong suit. What’s her role in all of this?” Isabella avoided his question slightly, adding, “She’s quite the looker, too.” John smirked. “In that case, I’d rather work with you. You’ve got the better looks.” Heat shot through Isabella’s cheeks, creeping from her forehead down to her neck, then further still. She was stunning, sure, but her fierce demeanor often left men intimidated, not tempted. His comment made her pulse quicken. “You bold man,” she thought, surprised yet intrigued. Trying to keep her composure, she shot him a playful glare. “What do you think of her singing?” John rested his chin on his hand, considering for a moment. “I wouldn't dare to judge.” “What if I insisted you make a judgment?” John intertwined his fingers and glanced down at his shoes, contemplation hanging heavily in the air. After a lengthy pause, he finally spoke. “Simply devoid of emotion.” Isabella narrowed her eyes. “You think a bar singer can’t sing with feeling?” He shrugged. “Someone cold usually finds it hard to show emotions. That’s Catherine. Talent aside, she has her limitations.” That struck a nerve. Isabella felt the sting of his words deeply, and she realized he was hitting on a frustration she'd wrestled with for two years. Despite all her efforts to elevate Catherine’s career, she remained stuck, tied down by that very emotional barrier. Isabella’s thoughts raced: perhaps John was right; Catherine was a fortress of emotional distance, disconnected from everyone—friends, family, love. There, in that moment, she sensed something about John. He carried a weight, an untapped strength that felt like a challenge waiting to unfold. “So how should a singer express their emotions?” she pressed, eager to hear more. A soft smile crept onto John’s face. He responded with four simple words: “Singer and song unified.” “Oh.” “Look,” he continued, “to truly deliver, a singer has to connect with the song. It’s more than technique; it’s emotion. If they don’t feel it—if the music and lyrics don’t resonate—they can’t bring the song to life.” Isabella felt her heart lift at his conviction. She pounded the table enthusiastically. “The first condition is simple: you need to write her a song that truly moves her!” John thought to himself, crafting a song that could unlock Catherine’s emotions? That was as likely as thawing a glacier. But if his song did reach Catherine, it could catapult her career past its current limitations. “Sure, but about the copyright?” John asked wary of the terms. “The rights to the song belong to the company. After you write it, you have no claim,” she asserted confidently. “Now, I doubt you’ll be asking for two million after that.” John paused, weighing his options. He wasn’t thrilled about being backed into a corner, but the reality of his finances was a cold splash of water on his face. “Fine. I agree.” Isabella’s smile widened as she extended her fingers once more. “The second condition? You’ve got to release an album within a month of joining the company, and it needs to have at least ten songs.” John rubbed his face in disbelief. One month? Ten songs? Three days per song? Who did she think he was, a machine? But then he remembered—he was no slouch. “What about the copyright?” “Lyrics and music stay yours,” she assured him. “The company just gets first dibs if you decide to sell it later.” “Good,” he breathed out. At least he wouldn't lose everything. Noticing that he was still hanging in there, Isabella continued, “However, one of those songs needs to hit the top one hundred on the major streaming platforms within a month of its release—NetEase Cloud Music, Silverwing Music House, and Frostmelody.” At this, John shook his head, resignation washing over him. “Okay. Merchants prioritize profit.” He thought again: Sure, the odds were against him, but if a song managed to resonate with Catherine, that could mean a world of royalties. But would he actually nail the timing? Rushing an entire album in a month? It felt maddening, as if he was being asked to draw water from a stone. “What happens if I can’t pull it off?” he asked. “If you don’t finish, the two million comes back to us within two months, no questions asked,” Isabella replied, making it sound straightforward. Seeing John’s neutrality, she added, “Or hey, you can always pass on this condition, and we’ll still give you two grand to help you settle in.” With that, she allowed herself to lean sideways, signaling the end of their negotiations. Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. It was John, the one who had just slammed it shut behind them. “Don’t forget to wire the funds tomorrow.” With that, he exited, leaving Isabella staring blankly at the closed door. She hadn’t expected him to remain so composed; these conditions felt like setting any new artist up for failure. Yet he seemed unfazed. The next day, John returned to a home that no longer felt like his. After a long night, Elena Woodward remained lost in her dreams. The divorce papers lay conspicuously on the coffee table, a weighty reminder of his past life. With calm determination, he pulled a pen from the drawer and signed his name on both copies of the contract without a second thought. Just then, he heard the bedroom door swing open.
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