Lucian's smile grew even wider the moment Sarah's words landed.
"Drake is on the line for you."
He chuckled under his breath, his voice low, amused, like a predator that had just tightened the noose.
"I guess he heard the news," Lucian said softly, his eyes gleaming like polished steel under the cabin lights.
The men and women around him exchanged glances, knowing exactly what he meant. They could feel the undercurrent, the power shifting in real time. Lucian shifted in his seat, sitting up straight, the relaxed exterior vanishing as he entered full predator mode.
"Pass me the phone," he ordered.
The room went silent as Sarah handed him the secure satellite phone. Lucian didn't take the call immediately. No — he let it hang for a few extra seconds. He swirled his wine gently, eyes fixed on the swirling burgundy liquid as if reading it like an oracle. The jet continued slicing through the clouds at 40,000 feet, the altitude perfect for the gods of the industry to scheme.
Everyone watched him — knowing full well this was psychological warfare. Power is often silent. It is rarely rushed.
Only after a long pause did Lucian finally lift the phone to his ear, speaking slowly, his voice velvet-smooth.
"Aubrey... how are you?"
The room remained hushed as Lucian carried on his conversation for several minutes, his tone calm, controlled, never betraying an ounce of tension. He spoke with the finesse of a man who'd orchestrated hundreds of deals over decades, who had made and unmade kings in the industry. Occasionally, a faint chuckle escaped his lips, but his words were too soft for anyone else to catch.
When the call finally ended, Lucian gently placed the phone down on the table with surgical precision, like a chess grandmaster completing a game-winning move.
His cold eyes slowly turned to Lucas, who had been studying him with a mixture of anticipation and reverence. Then, with a smug grin creeping up his face, Lucian spoke.
"Draft up a new 360 deal with Drake's name. He's agreed."
Gasps rippled across the private jet. For a moment, everyone stared, processing what they had just heard. Lucas blinked.
"Really, sir?" he said, voice tinged with disbelief. "And… how much will it be?"
Lucian didn't respond right away. He let the tension stretch once again before dropping the number with surgical coldness.
"Three hundred and fifty million."
The room exploded, but not the way most would expect. There was no cheering at first — only shock. Audible gasps. Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. Julia looked at Lucas, whose brows furrowed deeply.
But it wasn't the amount that shocked them. No — it was how small it was.
For months, they had been trying to lock down Drake. Negotiations had dragged like a long war of attrition. The Canadian megastar had been holding out, his team demanding nothing less than $450 million upfront as part of any extension. They knew their worth. Drake, after all, was arguably the biggest artist under UMG's belt. Every quarter his streaming numbers printed money like an endless oil well.
So to hear they had closed him for a full $100 million less?
That was power.
That was fear.
Lucian's eyes gleamed as he watched the disbelief on their faces. He leaned back, like a king satisfied with his latest conquest, and then, with his voice low and sinister, addressed them all.
"Why are you all surprised? Have you forgotten what's happening right now?"
He scanned the room, his tone dark, cold, dripping with confidence.
"Drake can feel it. He sees it. This isn't about numbers anymore. This is survival."
He paused, giving each of them a chance to let the words settle like venom.
"Understand this: for years, Drake sat comfortably as the biggest act we controlled. The untouchable golden goose. The flagship. But that changed the moment we built Ethan Jones."
The way he said Ethan's name was deliberate, almost like a sorcerer speaking the name of the monster he had summoned.
"Look around you," Lucian continued.
"One album. One album — and the boy has triggered a global stadium tour that's on pace to break every record in history. Halfway in, he's already sitting at five hundred million in ticket sales alone. Do you know what that does to men like Drake?"
He laughed — a dark, menacing sound.
"It makes them nervous."
The executives exchanged glances, the gravity of Lucian's manipulation becoming crystal clear.
"The reason Drake asked for four hundred fifty million was simple: he feared becoming irrelevant. He feared losing leverage. But now? Now, I've made it public. The world sees Ethan doing what only Drake thought he could do. And Ethan's earning less, but generating more. The math is humiliating — and humiliation breeds desperation."
He raised his glass once again, eyes glittering.
"We put the pressure on. Let him stew. Let him sit and watch as a 21-year-old sells out stadiums faster than he ever could. The fear does the work for us. His demand shrinks as his anxiety grows."
Lucian's voice dropped even lower now, speaking almost to himself.
"Ethan isn't just revenue, people. He's leverage. With Ethan, I can crush any negotiation. Every other artist under contract sees what's happening. If even Drake is bending, who are they to demand more?"
The room fell utterly silent.
The evil brilliance of Lucian's long game was on full display.
He was using Ethan as both a sword and a shield — a weapon to control not just revenue, but psychology itself. Fear was the currency. Desperation was the tool.
And Lucian Grainge was the puppet master.
Julia leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but sharp, slicing through the brief silence like a scalpel.
"If we've leveraged him this perfectly… shouldn't we also worry about oversaturation?" she asked in a measured tone. "Burning him too fast could backfire long-term. The audience has limits, even for stars."
Lucian smiled—deep, knowing, patient. This was the kind of question he liked.
"Excellent, Julia. And yes, you're correct." He paused, swirling his drink. "But you're also missing one thing."
He gestured lazily with his hand.
"The reason we're pushing so aggressively now isn't just to squeeze Ethan's current popularity—it's to weaponize this moment. Justin and Scooter Braun have been pushing hard behind the scenes to expand immediately, to lock him into another tour cycle after this one. And they're not wrong."
His voice grew darker.
"One tour? One tour proves a phenomenon. But two, back-to-back? Two tours proves dominance. It's the kind of thing that doesn't just make money — it builds an empire. And once you control that narrative, you control the artist's psychology. You make them dependent on the machine we built."
Lucas nodded in full agreement while Julia absorbed every word, her eyes flickering with admiration for the cold, ruthless precision of Lucian's long game.
Jack, who had been quietly processing all this, suddenly interjected — cautious, but unable to stop himself.
"But sir... if Ethan is this important — this pivotal — why only sign him to a three-album deal? Why not lock him into a full 360 deal from the beginning? Total control would've been cleaner."
The tension in the air tightened slightly. But Lucian didn't flinch. Instead, his smile widened like a patient spider.
"Jack, Jack, Jack," he said, almost amused. "You're young. You don't understand certain nuances yet. Lucas — explain it to him."
Lucas leaned forward, the old veteran stepping in as mentor.
"Jack, listen: the three-album deal was by design." He folded his hands.
"At the time of signing, we needed Ethan to want us. If we pushed too hard for full control, we risked scaring him — or worse, pushing him into another label's arms. His legal team would've fought back. Instead, we made him feel protected — like partners, not owners."
He smiled coldly.
"And here's the real game: marketability. We're not even halfway through the first album cycle. By the time we finish this tour, Ethan's worth will be exponentially higher than it is now. When renewal talks begin, it won't be a negotiation. It'll be submission. And when that happens, the deal we lock in will make him UMG's property in ways no artist has ever been before."
Lucas leaned back. "The next contract will be generational."
Sarah, who had been watching with glittering eyes, suddenly burst in — her voice almost breathless with admiration.
"Exactly! This is perfect. With Ethan, we're not just making a star — we're setting a precedent. He becomes our living proof."
She stood, energized, pacing slightly.
"Whenever any artist comes into the negotiation room demanding ridiculous numbers, we'll simply say: 'You're not even Ethan Jones. You're not pulling half his numbers — and look at what Ethan signed for.'"
Her voice lowered into a fanatic whisper.
"He gives us leverage not just for his own contract but for every future contract."
Her eyes locked onto Lucian's, almost worshipful.
"You're a genius. My God, when did you start planning all of this?"
Lucian laughed, the sound cold and smooth.
"Don't you worry about that," he said with a devilish grin, waving her question away like the flicker of a cigar ash.
Then, with the mood still humming with dangerous energy, Lucian turned toward Jack again.
"Has the gift been prepared already?" he asked.
Jack's jaw tightened slightly, his youthful face betraying resistance.
"It's on its way, sir," Jack replied, trying to keep his voice even.
Lucian chuckled at Jack's reaction, his eyes narrowing with amusement.
"Jack, Jack... don't be like that," he said, his tone half-mocking, half-patronizing.
"I know Ethan isn't your favorite. But you need to make an effort. You'll be seeing much more of him. In fact, I want you to become his primary corporate liaison. Jessica reports directly to you when she needs anything from headquarters."
Jack opened his mouth slightly, as if to object, but before the words could form, Lucian shifted the conversation, cutting off any debate.
"Speaking of Jessica..." Lucian turned toward Sarah. "That PR girl she brought in — is her request being handled?"
Sarah's eyes widened with something close to awe.
"Sir... where did Jessica even find that girl? Her plan is... brilliant."
She paused, calculating the full scope.
"It's complicated — incredibly complicated. But if executed right, within a year..." She smiled slowly.
"Ethan won't just be a household name. He'll be the name."
Lucian's smile returned, darker, more dangerous now. The others may have been seeing Ethan as a star. But Lucian saw him as something else entirely — a weapon, a symbol, a commodity.
A tool for complete industry domination.
Because when a powerful man has plans for you, those plans often start with "good intentions." But intentions, in the hands of the powerful, are easily corrupted.
Ethan Jones had already crossed a threshold he would never return from. He was inside the machine now. And the machine wasn't designed to let you out.
And it wasn't just Lucian, Drake, or the UMG executives who were feeling the ripples of this moment.
No — this was something far bigger.
Like a meteor crashing into the center of the music industry, the aftershock from Ethan Jones' tour was being felt everywhere.
Across label boardrooms in Los Angeles, New York, London, Tokyo — cold eyes scanned the headlines while hot coffee steamed on mahogany desks. High-ranking executives in glass towers sat frozen in disbelief, staring at the metrics flashing across their polished monitors.
"500 million... in less than two months?"
The words sounded almost absurd when spoken out loud. Fifty shows. Forty cities. All sold out. Stadiums. Arenas. Secondary markets already reselling tickets at 500% markups. And they weren't even halfway through the run.
The headlines were everywhere:
"ETHAN JONES CRACKS $500 MILLION IN TOUR SALES — PROJECTED $1.2 BILLION GROSS."
Label heads, agents, and managers scrolled through spreadsheets as their analytics teams broke down the impossible. Ethan Jones was breaking the business model.
What used to take legacy artists years to accomplish, he had done in less than a fiscal quarter.
For years, tour revenue had been slow-burn: summer arena tours, multi-year world circuits, artists carefully spacing out dates to avoid burnout. But now?
Now everyone was questioning the entire framework.
"Why are we spreading tours across 3 years?" one executive asked.
"If this kid can milk half a billion in two months, we're leaving money on the table," said another.
"Clearly these markets have more money than we thought."
Territories once considered "B-tier" were now being reclassified as billion-dollar opportunities. States that once got 2 shows now could handle 6.
America wasn't saturated — it was thirsty.
Suddenly, strategy meetings were being called at midnight. Rival labels started dispatching talent scouts like sharks sniffing blood in the water.
"Find me the next Ethan Jones."
The orders came down like war directives.
"Find me the next young face. The next pop boy. The next marketable franchise."
A few began quietly sketching out their own mega-tours, preparing to launch competing global events.
"If UMG can do it, we can do it."
But beneath the ambition, there was fear.
Because whether they admitted it or not, Lucian had done something terrifying:
He had rewritten the ceiling.
The old rules were dissolving. There was before Ethan, and now there was after Ethan.
The music industry was mutating in real time.
But this wasn't just shaking the industry boardrooms.
Far away from the suits and skyscrapers, this moment was also quietly affecting someone much closer to Ethan himself.
Inside a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills, hidden behind ornate iron gates and perfectly manicured hedges, a young woman sat on an enormous velvet couch, scrolling through her phone. Two Maine Coon cats lounged lazily beside her — their fur glistening like silk under the glow of the marble chandeliers.
The headline flashed across her tablet screen:
"ETHAN JONES CRACKS $500 MILLION ON TOUR — EXPECTED TO CROSS $1 BILLION."
Taylor smiled, her lips curling with genuine pride. She tapped her father's arm as he entered the room, carrying two glasses of sparkling water.
"Dad. Look."
She turned the tablet toward him, her voice lit up.
"Ethan just crossed 500 million!"
Her father chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as he glanced at the numbers.
"That kid is insane," he said.
Taylor laughed softly.
"I know, right? And to think — our song together is still sitting at number one on Billboard.
She grinned, eyes glowing.
"We made a hit, dad."
For a moment, there was nothing but warmth between them — pride, success, celebration.
But then her father's eyes lingered on the screen, his smile fading just slightly. His mind — always calculating — locked onto the number.
Taylor noticed the shift instantly.
"Dad? What's wrong?"
He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, forcing the smile back on his face.
"Oh, nothing, sweetheart." He paused, then lowered his voice thoughtfully.
"I was just thinking..."
He looked at her directly now.
"Maybe it's time we talk about your Eras Tour."