***Cyrus***
It was never about the art. Hell, it never was.
It was about getting there. Being at the top. Earning respect—the kind that makes people announce your name before you enter a room. The kind that gives you the power to turn down meetings, shift schedules, and slam contracts on the table. That’s what I wanted.
And it wasn’t just for the status. It was because I knew no one was going to hand that place to me.
So when the opportunity came, I took it.
Even if it meant dealing with Denver Young.
That man is the walking definition of elegant filth. The type who shakes your hand like he’s doing you a favor. Who calls you by your full name just to remind you who’s in charge? He talked about his son’s career like you’d talk about a luxury car—with pride, sure, but knowing he could trade it in at any moment if it stopped being worth it.
“Holden is pure talent. But he needs someone who understands the game,” he said the first time he called me in for a more… direct conversation. It was at some charity event that had nothing charitable about it—just twelve-year-old whiskey and fake smiles.
I nodded and smiled like I was one of them.
Because that’s what you do when you want something.
And I wanted it. Managing Holden Young was the chance of a lifetime. A young star, charismatic, just the right amount of rebellious. Ready to blow up for real. I saw in him the chance to finally lock in my place in the industry. To stop being just another guy and become the guy.
But Holden has been a trial. One after the other.
Because he’s not just another project. He’s a walking disaster. An emotional hurricane who insists on ignoring every plan, every strategy. And I don’t blame him. I swear I don’t. He grew up in that circus his parents built—it’s no wonder he came out crooked.
But that doesn’t change the fact that if he sinks, I sink with him.
And I’m tired of swimming.
The last few weeks? Everything’s gone to shit. The headlines, the videos, the arrest… Chloe jumped ship, sponsors are just waiting for the next scandal to pull out, and Denver—that bastard—calls me every damn day like I’m some incompetent puppet.
“You told me he was ready,” he says. “I trusted you. I put my son in your hands.”
Put him there like a rabid dog in a cage. He doesn’t want Holden to shine. He wants him to obey.
And I, fool that I am, thought I could do it differently. That I could take the kid’s talent and show the world I could manage more than egos and spoiled brats. I thought I could play fair and still win.
But this game? It’s not about fairness. Never was.
Then came the line.
That line he dropped this morning with pure disgust, sitting in his office like some mob boss, holding a cigar like it made him king of the damn world.
“That little whore needs to get him back in line. That’s why he’s like this—crying over some woman. What kind of man is that?”
I froze. For a second, I actually thought about standing up and walking out.
Swear to God, I felt this violent urge to tell that old man to go fuck himself, throw every contract in his face, and tell him this wasn’t why I got into this game.
But then I remembered.
I remembered my office—still rented. The pile of bills under my agency’s name. The pressure from the investors who bet on me. My mom asking if she’ll ever see me on TV as a “successful businessman.” And I remembered that Holden, no matter how wrecked he is, is still my highest bet.
So I looked at Denver, took a deep breath, and swallowed the rage.
“I’ll handle it.”
And now here I am, packing my suitcase.
Grabbing the most neutral clothes I own, slipping my tablet with the contracts into my case, double-checking my ticket to whatever tiny shithole town Alissa’s hiding in.
The plan?
Simple.
Appeal to the only thing that still moves Holden: her.
I don’t like it. I’m not proud of it.
But Alissa wants something—her sister.
And I have what she needs: money, lawyers, connections, media power.
I can make it look like she’s the perfect sister, the stable woman, the model citizen.
In return? I just need her to stay close.
To keep Holden from spiraling if he has no reason to live.
He needs an anchor.
And like it or not, she’s the only one who works.
But as I zip up the bag, I realize something.
I’m not that different from Denver anymore. Maybe I never was.
And that makes me… uncomfortable.
Because deep down, I know I’m about to look into the eyes of that girl—a broken, hurt girl just trying to protect the only good thing in her life—and I’m going to offer her a dirty deal disguised as salvation.
And she’ll take it, because that’s how the world works.
We accept the terms until we’re strong enough to change them.
And I haven’t found a better way to survive. I'm not bad, but I'm also not an good human. I guess that, the secret to live and get what we deserved, is realise that not everything is 100% one thing or another.
Not completely good, or bad. No black or white. Just be what I needed to be on the right place, right time.
And right now, I need to be the villain.