The flight across the ocean showed two very different worlds. Elias Vance flew in the isolated quiet of his business class suite, calmly reviewing blueprints for a new training center. Meanwhile, the Aether jet hurtled toward London, a screaming, musical bomb of scheduled chaos.
In New York, Aria Vance moved fast. The sudden, secure flow of cash gave her the power to cut through bureaucracy. She needed to fill the two final core positions: the General Manager and the Lead Stylist within forty-eight hours. She wasn't hiring staff; she was building a fortress.
Aria stood in the main office, a large, perfect space holding nearly thirty focused people: designers, pattern assistants, financial experts, and logistics managers. The energy was one of intense, quiet purpose, not typical office noise.
Helen, her Executive Secretary, presented the two final candidates for the General Manager position.
This role demands a fortress mind, Helen. I need someone who can manage budgets of a hundred million and keep every client and supplier completely anonymous, Aria stated, scanning a resume.
She settled on Tony William, a sharp man with a background in moving high-value luxury goods discreetly across borders. His manner was calm, exact, and entirely focused on avoiding risk.
"Mr. William, Aria began, meeting his eye. Vanguard Designs is built on total silence. If one person outside this room learns the names of our suppliers, the company fails. Your job is to make us invisible.
Tony William did not give a speech. He simply adjusted his glasses. Ms. Vance, I build blind supply chains. My last job required me to move billions in rare art without public knowledge. We will use private security and specialized insurance that is not linked to Vanguard. I will build you a financial ghost.
Aria felt a genuine spark of excitement. He understood the mission. You are hired. Your first task is to secure two new storage warehouses using two separate dummy companies that have no link to our Luxembourg corporation.
Next was the difficult hire: the Lead Stylist.
"This person must be public and dazzling, yet personally loyal and completely clean," Aria told Helen. They will control the collection's image and secure the first high-profile clients. They must be famous for their taste, not for gossip.
The choice was Catherine James. New York society knew her as a quiet genius, a stylist who could turn a dress into a major event, but who famously skipped parties and never leaked secrets to the press.
Catherine, in her early thirties, wore simple, tailored clothes, letting her personality and the exquisite jewelry speak for itself.
"Ms. James, Aria said, leaning forward. You will manage our public image. You will ensure the Valkyrie Collection is seen as necessary and untouchable. What is your plan?
Catherine smiled, a genuine, warm expression that surprised Aria. Ms. Vance, your designs don't need marketing; they need protection. Your Nighthawk Gown is a masterpiece. I will not sell a trend; I will sell a secret. I will make sure our clients are not buying clothes, but buying into the Vanguard. Only those who value true, quiet power will wear your work. I will start by securing a private showing with two high-profile, non-American clients who hate the media spotlight. We will make exclusivity our greatest advertisement.
Aria felt the final piece click into place. Welcome to Vanguard. You report directly to Mr. William on all matters of logistics, but to me on all creative direction.
With the hiring complete, Aria went to the Pattern Making Lab. She pushed away the business papers and the logistics worries, retreating to her true sanctuary. She pulled out a needle and thread expensive, custom tools and began working on the stiff inner structure of a new prototype corset. Her fingers, usually giving security commands, moved with precise, focused grace, weaving the raw silk and steel into a shape of perfect, cold defiance. The quiet act of creation was her meditation, her true armor.
Hours later, the Zenith Records private jet landed smoothly at a dedicated field outside London. The band was here for the International Press Tour, a high-stakes campaign designed to do three things: announce the final tour dates, control the story away from corporate drama, and use the excitement to softly launch the new songs.
As the hatch opened, the band was hit by the cold, damp English air and the chaotic sound of the Aether machine roaring to life.
Kellan, Rhys, and Nick were the first to step out, looking sharp and full of energy in tailored coats. Jax Ryland followed, wearing a dark grey trench coat. The four men were instantly swallowed by their bodyguards and the media entourage.
The noise was less spontaneous panic and more controlled, media hunger. Hundreds of screaming Aether Army fans were pressed tight behind steel barricades. They were a wall of color and sound, their passionate, funny chants echoing across the airfield. One fan, holding a massive sign that read "Jax, I love you, will you marry," was nearly fainting with excitement. The sheer, thrilling volume of their love was deafening.
Reporters, managed by Silas Trent's team, were allowed closer, their shouted questions coming in sharp British accents.
"Mr. Ryland! Welcome! The two final Eclipse tracks, Iron Anchor and The Break, were leaked! Was this a trick to change the subject from the truce? A reporter yelled.
Silas Trent, walking beside Jax, answered smoothly. Leaked or not, the music is here! We are here to record new music and prepare for the Eclipse tour! The only story is the music!
The media focused on the rumored tracks. Rhys! Are Iron Anchor and The Break the most emotional songs yet?
Rhys Vance, the band's romantic, paused just long enough to give the camera a quick, intense look. The fans screamed louder, a wave of high-pitched adoration. He gave a sweet, sexy smile. They are certainly the most defining. You'll hear them soon!
Kellan Frost, calm and friendly, gave a wide, relaxed wave to the cameras and the fans. We're excited, London! We're ready to make some magic!
The Aether boys were driven straight to the legendary recording studios they had booked, a bunker-like facility known for its sound isolation and discreet history.
Their temporary London home was a massive, discreet mansion in Hampstead Heath, secured by contractors hired by Zenith. The first evening, after the adrenaline of the airport faded, they had a necessary moment of genuine relaxation.
The Personal Chef had prepared a welcome meal: traditional Roast Lamb with thick mint sauce, served with roasted potatoes and seasonal vegetables.
Nick Aliyev groaned happily as he ate. "I swear, Chef, this is better than any flight food. I'll be able to hit the Iron Anchor drum lines perfectly tomorrow.
Rhys Vance, setting down his fork, looked across the table, his eyes intense. It's more than drum lines, Nick. The Break is a song that is built on raw truth. We're not just playing notes; we're giving the fans the real story of the last six months. It has to feel honest, or the whole 'global shield' idea fails.
Kellan Frost laughed, the sound warm and easy. It's fuel, Nick. We need it. Tomorrow, we're in the studio. We have to nail Iron Anchor and THE BREAK quickly. Silas has us scheduled for three major interviews and two radio appearances this week, all designed to shift the focus from the truce to the music.
Jax, eating slowly, felt the genuine happiness of his brothers. He was surrounded by loyalty and competence. He was carrying a secret, but that secret felt like a strength, not a burden.
"The media firestorm is perfect," Jax confirmed, putting down his fork. It creates a massive global shield. While everyone is arguing about whether Cold Defiance was about Volkov, we launch the next two tracks. We give the fans exactly what they want: new music and a new challenge.
He smiled at Kellan, a private acknowledgment of their conversation on the jet.
Kellan looked back, a slight, knowing smile on his face. "Speaking of quiet work, Jax, you seem remarkably calm for a man who just survived an international media scrum and is about to lock himself in a studio for two weeks."
Jax stood up. I need to review the early studio schedules. But yes, Kellan, the mind is clear. The priority is music. We will make the next two tracks unstoppable.
As the Aether boys retired for the night, the battle shifted back to social media. The Aether Army in London had already posted thousands of photos and videos from the airport.
On every platform, the fan base was on fire, defending the band against the reporters' corporate questions. They were hilarious and fierce.
@LondonRockGirl: They asked about Volkov? Seriously? Look at Jax's face, he doesn't care about some corporate feud. He cares about music! The Cold Defiance is OUR anthem, not a CEO battle. The only thing getting broken is the internet when they drop The Break!
@KellanFrostUpdates: CONFIRMED: Rhys said they're bringing the fire! London, we are getting Iron Anchor and The Break! This is not a distraction, this is the NEXT LEVEL! Watch us break the charts instead of a truce!
The fan defense was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pure, loud loyalty. They successfully redirected the entire global conversation back to the two new song titles and the excitement of the tour, solidifying the shield Jax and Aria desperately needed.
Meanwhile, a counter-narrative, likely funded by Soverkis Volkov's media machine, tried to stir up drama. But their posts were instantly buried under a mountain of Aether fan memes and excited tour countdowns.
Jax was in his suite, reviewing the engineering notes for the Iron Anchor track. He felt a deep, steady peace. He pulled out the secure phone and sent a simple, untraceable message across the Atlantic, where Aria was likely still working at her sewing table:
Landed. London is loud. The cover is holding.
He waited only a moment. Her reply was immediate, concise, and professional:
Good. Keep it loud. I am now building the walls.
Jax put the phone down and looked at the sheet music. Iron Anchor, the song that would be his public declaration of strength, was masking the quiet, growing truth of his alliance with Aria. The quiet work was protected by the public roar.