The morning after his failed meeting with the decoy, Jax Ryland was not a coiled spring; he was a snapped wire, vibrating with a raw, impotent fury. He stalked into the massive rehearsal studio, the air thick with the metallic tang of his unresolved frustration. His focus was fractured, his mind a battlefield where the cold, impenetrable wall of Aria Vance stood unyielding. He tried to lose himself in the technical demands of the upcoming Eclipse Tour rehearsals, but the music was merely noise.
He found the rest of Aether his band, his anchor already entrenched in their instruments. The powerful thrum of electric guitars fought the humid air. Rhys Vance was tearing into the guitar riff for "The Shadow Heir," a song now distilled into the ruthless precision of corporate ambition and the icy isolation of power. Nick Aliyev, lost behind his shield of cymbals and snares, pounded out complicated, aggressive drum patterns. Kellan Frost, ever the quiet foundation, laid down the grounding bassline, his gaze steady and concerned on Jax.
"Hold up!" Jax's voice was a violent crack that splintered the melody. He threw his microphone not tossed, but hurled onto the stage floor. The resulting feedback was a painful, high-pitched scream that echoed the chaos in his skull. We're flat. We sound rehearsed, not alive. This isn't about hitting the notes; it's about hitting the feeling. It's a funeral procession for the soul, not background noise!
He pointed a rigid finger at Rhys. Rhys, Iron Anchor isn't a power ballad about fame. It's about being trapped by money, by contracts, by promises you never meant to keep. It needs to sound like you're trying to tear your way out of solid concrete. Where is the struggle? Where is the panic?
Rhys, ever the pragmatist, wiped sweat from his brow. The arrangement is structurally sound, Jax. I'm playing precisely what's written. You wrote a song of corporate resignation, not panic.
"It's not enough!" Jax snapped. The music was his only legitimate outlet for the white-hot rage he couldn't unleash on Aria. It wasn't about the notes; it was about the crushing realization of being outmaneuvered.
Kellan walked over, his presence a deliberate calm. He spoke close to Jax's ear, his voice a low, steady rumble. Jax, the songs are good. You're projecting your corporate fight onto the music. You're still focused on that Head of Security, on the feeling of being dismissed. Let it go. The obsession is killing music.
"I can't," Jax admitted, the confession a quiet surrender. I'm taking your advice. I'm pulling back on the professional front. The corporate angle is dead. But I'm going after the personal angle now. I need a connection, a human weakness I can exploit.
Just as Jax was spiraling into the depths of this new, calculated obsession, Silas Trent burst into the studio. He didn't walk; he erupted. His face was pale, slick with a mix of breathless terror and professional excitement. He held his phone up like a shield against an invisible threat, a live news alert flashing across the screen.
Jax, stop whatever internal crisis this is. We have a five-alarm emergency. Not a tour issue, a devastating Zenith Publishing issue.
Jax looked at the screen, the scrolling headline a punch to the gut: VOLKOV GLOBAL GROUP TARGETS MEDIA ACQUISITION; CEO SOVERKIS VOLKOV LANDS IN NYC.
"The Volkov Global Group?" Jax felt a genuine, cold shot of adrenaline. They're not merely massive, Silas. They're a corporate apex predator. Film, fashion, finance they swallow entire industries whole.
Silas was already dialing Damian Reed, the CEO of Zenith Records, his fingers flying with frantic speed. They didn't land for sightseeing. Their PR team just issued a release confirming their immediate interest in a high-stakes strategic partnership that would require a major executive overhaul at Zenith. And Jax, Soverkis Volkov, the CEO herself, has demanded a one-on-one meeting with you—not Damian, you—by the end of the day. She bypassed the entire board.
The atmosphere in the studio didn't just shift; it shattered. Aria Vance was a ghost of corporate annoyance; Soverkis Volkov was a hurricane of genuine threat. This was a challenge Jax could not, dared not, ignore. It was a threat to his kingdom, not his ego.
The arrival of Soverkis Volkov in New York was a masterclass in aggressive, calculated publicity. She didn't arrive; she took possession.
Hours earlier, the sleek, black private jet bearing the silver-and-red insignia of Volkov Global had cut through the New York skyline, touching down with a predator's grace. The moment the hatch hissed open, Soverkis Volkov stepped out onto the tarmac. She was a vision of controlled power, a vivid red designer suit a stark contrast against the gray backdrop of the city. Her dark hair was slicked back, pulled into a severe style that highlighted the sharp, assessing intelligence in her eyes. The scent of her power seemed to precede her.
A dozen black-suited, stone-faced security and legal aides marched in her wake as she descended the steps. She stopped on the tarmac, tilted her head back to look at the Manhattan skyline, and a possessive, almost triumphant smile touched her lips.
"Jax Ryland," she murmured, her Italian accent a melodic, commanding instrument. "I am coming for you." It was a promise, not a declaration.
Later that afternoon, she swept into the Zenith Publishing boardroom, not like a guest, but like a monarch claiming new territory. She was everything Aria Vance was not: visible, accessible, and openly aggressive. When Jax entered the room with Silas trailing him, Soverkis rose from her seat at the head of the table.
"Jax Ryland," she said, offering a handshake that was firm, precise, and lingered for one breath too long. "We meet again, but this time, in a slightly more substantial venue than a smoky Parisian club."
Jax remembered the Gucci party a handful of months ago, right before the start of the current tour cycle. Soverkis had offered him a business partnership then, a move he had politely rebuffed, not wanting to dilute his spotlight. Her pursuit, he now realized, was relentlessly strategic.
"Soverkis. I appreciate the swift approach, but I need to understand why you're bypassing my CEO, Damian Reed, and demanding my time, Jax said, his voice measured, a carefully controlled performance of calm.
Soverkis walked toward the massive window, looking out over the conquered cityscape, a gesture of dominance. Because, Jax, our business is not merely financial; it is charismatic. You are the charisma. You are the brand. And because Zenith Publishing is facing a corporate stagnation that only I can solve.
She turned back to him, her expression shifting to one of knowing, almost cruel amusement. And because you, my dear, powerful Jax, are currently wasting your energy on trivialities. I hear you've been chasing shadows at Vance Global. They are a security detail, Jax, not a corporate challenger. Focus on something worth your time. The world is watching.
The subtle, accurate dig into the awareness of his private obsession with Aria infuriated Jax, a flash of white-hot shame and rage. It also confirmed her threat was deeply personal and aimed at his distraction. She was challenging the ruler's focus.
"Vance Global is a contracted partner, necessary for my security," Jax countered smoothly, forcing a dismissive tone. "The partnership with you is entirely speculative, and your move is predatory."
Soverkis laughed, a rich, confident sound that filled the sterile room. Speculative? I'm offering a corporate structure that would double your media reach overnight. I'm offering to make you the unchallenged apex of the entire industry. I'm offering you a woman, a partner who sees your potential, not your flaws. She sees the crown you deserve.
She stepped closer, invading his personal space, the scent of her expensive perfume and her ambition filling the air. You declined my help once. Don't make the mistake of declining my partnership now, Jax. I don't take rejection well. I take the prize."
For the next two grueling hours, Soverkis forced Jax into a savage strategic negotiation. She was brilliant, cold, and utterly compelling, her arguments sharp enough to draw blood. Jax was forced to engage fully, pulling his focus away from Aria and his obsession for the first time in weeks. Soverkis was the beautiful, dangerous distraction that his empire required him to confront. She was a true rival.
While Jax was battling the formidable Soverkis Volkov, Aria Vance was in her secure studio, the quiet hum of her planning her only companion. Her goal: the finalization of her escape plan the launch of her anonymous design firm.
She had secured a small, unassuming office space in a nondescript industrial area under a clean shell company name. Her life as a designer required the exact opposite of her Commander life: creativity, vulnerability, and a quiet, almost invisible presence.
She was reviewing architectural plans for the studio layout on her secure tablet when an encrypted message from Talia Hayes pinged, signaling a new, immediate threat.
"Jax Ryland's manager, Silas, has been making discreet inquiries about me," the message read. He's asking old colleagues about my personal life my dating history, my hobbies, where I spend my weekends. He's trying to find a personal angle to get to you.
Aria nodded, completely unsurprised by the shift in strategy. Talia, being an employee at Ascend's communications and a previous, accessible associate of Jax's, was the most accessible bridge.
"He's desperate," Aria typed back. "He failed to break the corporate wall Lena Rourke, so now he is trying to bribe or charm the personal firewall you. Do not give him an inch. He knows you worked for Ascend and are a fan of Aether. He's weaponizing charm."
Aria then accessed the news reports on Soverkis. The headlines were a frantic, screaming mess of corporate panic.
"Who is Soverkis Volkov?" Talia messaged. "The news is calling her a hostile threat to Zenith."
Aria paused. She had no personal, instinctive knowledge of Soverkis. She accessed the quick-reference file Elias Vance had sent her moments before the storm hit.
Soverkis Volkov: Head of Volkov Global Group. Reputation for aggressive, non-negotiable mergers and acquisitions. Known for targeting high-profile, ego-driven CEOs. Treat as an immediate, maximum threat to Ryland's executive stability.
"This changes things," Aria stated in a voice note to Talia, her voice calm and steady. Soverkis will occupy ninety percent of Jax's attention. He has to deal with her. He won't be chasing ghosts at Vance Global when his entire company is at risk. It buys us time. Focus on the design launch, Talia. Get the first machine ordered the custom automated tailoring system. We need to move fast while his guard is down.
Based on the cold, strategic calculation provided by Elias, Aria messaged Talia: She is a corporate giant. A rival who operates in the open. A strategic distraction. Jax Ryland won't fall for the offer, but he will be forced to play her game. She is an open door; I am a locked safe. Jax Ryland only chases what he can't control.
Later that evening, after his exhausting, mind-numbing meeting with Soverkis, Jax returned to the silent grandeur of his penthouse. He felt mentally drained, but his obsession with Aria was now sharper, more defined than ever. Soverkis had temporarily relieved the corporate pressure by giving him a legitimate opponent, but her blatant challenge had only reinforced Jax's core need for control over the unknown.
He sat alone in his massive living room, pouring a glass of amber whiskey. His focus returned, with laser precision, to Talia Hayes. He knew the weakest link in Aria's armor had to be her non-Vance associates, and the most accessible link was the fan who worked at Ascend.
Jax pulled out his phone. He sent a brief, formal text to the contact information he'd secured for Talia:
Ms. Hayes. I'm reaching out regarding future communications strategy for the Eclipse Tour. I'd like to buy you dinner this week to discuss a more harmonious working relationship between Zenith and Ascend. Strictly professional.
He put the phone down, knowing she would either ignore it or accept it with extreme caution and the thrill of meeting her superstar. This was the first, soft move of his personal hunt no corporate threats, just the strategic use of his charm and fame. He was testing the firewall, looking for the human crack.
He then pulled up the game on his separate, secure laptop. He didn't want to play; he just wanted to watch the scoreboard. He found his friend MoodMaker, Nick, online. Jax was fully aware that MoodMaker was Nick, having watched him play many times, but Nick had no idea Jax was watching.
Jax leaned back, whiskey in hand, watching the screen. I have to find a way to escape this pressure, he thought, the way Nick does. Nick knows how to turn off the fame and just be a guy.
Jax had absolutely no idea that the silent, tactical player Nick was currently working alongside, the one named Valkyrie, was the very woman he was obsessively hunting. His search for a personal connection to Aria was running right through the heart of his own bandmate, completely unnoticed by either of them.
The pieces were now set for a game of three-dimensional chess: Soverkis was challenging Jax's empire, Jax was challenging Aria's firewall and Aria was quietly building her exit strategy, all while finding necessary solace with a bandmate whose secret gaming identity she did not know. Jax was fighting a battle on three fronts, and only one of them, the one that truly mattered, was completely hidden from him. This was a dangerous game, and the clock was ticking.