The morning after the American Music Awards, the atmosphere inside the Zenith Records Headquarters was one of pure, unrestrained euphoria. The massive corporate tower, usually a place of quiet, high-stakes commerce, was buzzing with celebration.
Every employee, from the interns to the senior executives, felt the surge of pride. The win for Artist of the Year was not just a trophy; it was the final, undeniable proof that their strategy, their investment, and their belief in Aether had paid off spectacularly.
The AMA trophy, a heavy, lucite statuette, was the star of the morning. It was placed prominently on a long, elegant shelf in the main lobby, joining their multiple other awards. Employees stopped to stare, take photos, and exchange high-fives. The placement of the awards was a deliberate corporate move: a constant, visible reminder of their dominance to clients and rivals alike.
The Aether boys arrived at the company to a cheering crowd. Jax, Kellan, Rhys, and Nick were exhausted but running on adrenaline and the high of victory. They spent the morning shaking hands, taking photos, and celebrating with the entire staff, acknowledging the collective effort behind their success.
Silas Trent walked with Jax, reviewing the endless stream of media coverage. The news cycle is completely dominated by us, Jax. Every major outlet is still covering the 'Gravity Well' performance and your speech. Sales are spiking again, and the Ascend campaign has gone stratospheric.
"Good," Jax replied, his smile genuine but brief. We delivered. Now, we demand. He was already thinking about the unanswered email he had sent to Vance Global.
In the executive lounge, Damian Reed, the CEO, raised a glass of champagne to his team. "To Aether," Damian announced. They conquered. They have given us the most valuable asset in the entertainment world: momentum.
Jax did not attend the celebratory lunch. He had one place he needed to be—the quiet, grounded world of his family. He drove to the comfortable, familiar suburb where his parents still lived.
Stella Ryland and Richard Ryland, Jax's parents, met him at the door. Stella pulled him into a hug that held all the pride and worry of a mother who had watched her son achieve the impossible.
"We watched the speech ten times, honey," Stella said, her eyes shining. It was beautiful. You remembered to thank God and the fans, just like you promised.
Jax kissed her forehead. It was all real, Mom. Every word."
Anastasia, Jax's younger sister and a university student, stepped forward. The tension that usually pinched her brow was gone, replaced by a smile Jax hadn't seen since childhood. I'm proud of you, big brother. You earned every bit of that.
That evening, Stella cooked a meal Jax always asked for: a classic, rich beef pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy. It was a simple, grounding meal, free from the pretense of celebrity chefs and corporate dinners.
As they ate, the family avoided talking about the awards. Instead, they talked about the quiet life—Richard's garden, Anastasia's work schedule, and the new puppy their neighbor had gotten. Jax felt the tension from the last week—the corporate battles, the mystery of Aria Vance slowly ease from his shoulders.
Later, Jax sat with his father. "You know, Jax," Richard said quietly, You have everything now. Fame, money, respect. Don't lose yourself chasing things that aren't real.
Jax nodded, knowing his father meant the industry's traps. But in his mind, he was chasing something very real: the woman who had walked into his life and stolen his focus; the woman who defied his power.
He returned to his own penthouse late that night, the family warmth lingering, but the corporate drive immediately returning. He checked his phone. The Vice President of Vance Global, Michael Johnson, had replied to his demand. The answer was another polite, impenetrable corporate shield. Aria Vance was still "engaged in high level planning."
Jax's jaw tightened. She is deliberately ignoring me. That is not just a corporate maneuver; it's a personal challenge.
In a luxurious penthouse overlooking the historic skyline of Milan, Italy, Soverkis Volkov watched the news coverage of the AMAs.
Soverkis was an intimidatingly beautiful woman, the sole heir and CEO of the formidable Volkov Global Group. She was the type who always gets what she wants.
She watched the clip of Jax Ryland's interview the one where he spoke about wanting a "partner... someone who's a challenge, who has their own power." Soverkis remembered meeting Jax just a few months ago in Paris at a high-profile Gucci event. The brief, intense interaction had intrigued her, and now his public declaration cemented her interest.
"A challenge, is it, Mr. Ryland?" she murmured to the screen, her Italian accent making the English sharp and precise. You want power? You have no idea what real power looks like.
She saw his public dominance as a sign of his worthiness, but his emotional intensity as his weakness. He was a prize waiting to be claimed.
Soverkis finalized the details of her trip. Book the private jet. We are going to the United States. I need to 'explore new investment opportunities' in New York City.
The game had just changed. Soverkis Volkov was coming to claim her prize.
Aria's Private Sanctuary
At her high security home, Aria Vance was settling into her forced recovery. The quiet house was a sharp contrast to the adrenaline of the mission, and the pain in her lower abdomen was a steady, physical anchor.
Just after Elias left to meet Major Grant, the doorbell rang. Aria knew who it was. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Evelyn Carter, arrived precisely at 9:00 AM every morning. Mrs. Carter was a kind, steady woman whom Aria saw as a mother figure—a rare, gentle warmth in her disciplined life.
Mrs. Carter entered with a quiet efficiency that Aria appreciated. She immediately noticed the quiet stillness in Aria.
"Commander Vance," Mrs. Carter greeted her gently. Welcome home. That looks like a particularly exhausting trip this time.
Aria offered a slight, tired nod. It was, Evelyn. Doctor's orders: no moving for a week.
Mrs. Carter, a woman of few words but deep understanding, didn't pry. She knew Aria's work was demanding and dangerous, even if she believed Aria ran an international security firm.
Mrs. Carter immediately began her routine, cleaning the house with meticulous care and moving to the kitchen. Soon, the comforting smell of home cooking filled the air. She prepared a small, nutritious lunch: a bowl of homemade chicken and vegetable broth with crackers, ensuring the food was easy on Aria's system.
Later, as Aria rested on the sofa, Mrs. Carter came in to check on her.
Do you need anything, dear? A book? The heating is just right.
"No, thank you, Evelyn," Aria said. "Just your presence is fine."
Aria genuinely felt safe and happy with Mrs. Carter's presence. The woman represented a normalcy and maternal care Aria had been stripped of early in life. She knew Mrs. Carter would never pry, only care.
A few hours later, the front door burst open. Talia Hayes rushed in, a bottle of champagne and a congratulatory bouquet of flowers in her arms.
"Aria! You're back! I knew it! Talia screamed, dropping the champagne onto the marble floor with a muffled thud. She threw herself at Aria, wrapping her in a fierce, tight hug.
The sudden, intense pressure directly on Aria's lower abdomen sent a sharp, involuntary jolt of white pain through her core. Aria gasped, a small, choked sound escaping her tight lips.
Talia immediately pulled back, her joyful expression replaced by deep worry. Aria? Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? What was that noise? She looked wildly at Mrs. Carter, who instantly appeared from the kitchen, concern etched on her face.
Elias, who had just returned, stepped in smoothly. Talia, easy. She's fine. Just… stiff. Mrs. Carter, perhaps you could get Aria some ice?
Talia, however, was already examining Aria's face. She noticed the slight grimace and the tight bandage beneath Aria's clothing. No, you're not fine. You're never stiff. Aria, did you get injured again? What happened on this trip? You look pale.
Aria forced a calming breath. Talia, stop. It's a minor occupational hazard. A deep cut, nothing more. I'm home, I'm resting. End of discussion.
Elias stepped in, smoothly diverting Talia's attention. Talia, save the victory celebration for later. Right now, Ryland is blowing up our corporate lines. Focus on the win.
Talia, though still worried, immediately brightened at the mention of her success. I heard about Ryland's frantic emails! He's losing his mind because you went offline! But never mind him. We won, Aria! We won everything! Ascend is breaking sales records, and Aether took home Artist of the Year! We engineered a perfect corporate and cultural win!
Aria gave a genuine smile. You engineered it, Talia. The strategy was flawless. Congratulations. You deserve every bit of that success. It's a masterful piece of marketing.
"It was easy," Talia replied, glowing with pride. Ryland is so focused on winning, he's predictable. He gives the fans exactly what they ask for. You, my friend, are complicated. And right now, the most powerful woman in the world is resting on my couch. Now, let's talk corporate chaos. He won't wait. What's the play?
Aria looked at the untouched email on her tablet—the final, demanding message from Jax Ryland. He demanded the name of the 'field commander' by noon. He's trying to force a meeting with my representative, believing that will give him control. We will give him the meeting, Elias. But not with a representative.
Elias looked sharply at her. "You are going to meet him yourself?"
"Not yet," Aria corrected. We will give him the only name that makes sense to him. He is obsessed with me, Elias. So, we give him someone who looks and sounds like me, but answers only to the Commander. Aria looked at Elias, a dangerous plan forming in her mind.
Elias understood immediately. "A proxy."
Aria nodded slowly, her gaze hard. "The wound will keep me safe here. We need someone who can withstand Ryland's charm and obsession, someone who can execute a highly controlled corporate play. Someone who knows the security contract inside and out, but is just a face. We need a decoy.
"Who?" Elias asked, knowing the risk.
Aria smiled, with a cold, strategic expression. The solution is always in the details, Elias. The solution is always close. Let Ryland think he is finally in control. We will feed him the information, the control, the meeting he craves. And while he is distracted by the illusion, we will prepare our next move.