Chapter 131: Who’s That?!

The presenter pulled out the card, paused for a beat of artificial dramatic suspense, and read the name into the microphone:

"...ColdZon!"

Ruby’s hand went completely limp in mine.

A heavy, bizarre beat of silence rippled across the arena before a scattered, hesitant applause slowly broke out. People looked around at one another, confused, whispering in hushed tones.

Ruby remained frozen in her seat, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely unblinking as an unknown girl in an overly flashy outfit stood up three rows back, looking just as surprised as the audience, and began walking up to the stage to collect the trophy.

"Who... who is that?" Ruby whispered, her voice barely audible over the clapping, crackling with raw shock and devastation. "I’ve... I’ve never even heard that name before..."

Chloe leaned forward from the seat behind us, her eyes narrowed into a dark, piercing stare as she watched the girl reach the podium.

"That’s Quin Records’ latest signee," Chloe said, her voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register. "She signed with them less than three weeks ago. She doesn’t even have a breakout single yet."

"They bought it," May muttered under her breath, her jaw clenched, her hands forming tight fists on her lap. "They completely rigged it right in front of everyone."

Ruby sat completely motionless, staring at the stage while the girl babbled through a rehearsed acceptance speech. The color had drained from Ruby’s face, the brilliant glow from her performance completely wiped away in a single second.

She turned to look at me, tears brimming at the edges of her violet eyes, looking completely crushed.

I looked back at her, my expression calm, unbothered, and deadly confident. I reached over, taking her hand back into mine and giving it a slow, firm squeeze.

"Let them have their little plastic trophy, Ruby," I said softly, a dark, calculating smile playing on my lips. "It’s time I pull my trick."

I pulled Ruby up from her seat by the hand, wrapping an arm around her waist. "We’re leaving," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise of the auditorium. "We’re not staying for the rest of this joke."

Chloe, Patricia, and May immediately stood up behind us, their faces a collective front of cold disgust for the rigged spectacle unfolding on stage.

As we turned toward the side exit, Fastine Hope stepped out from the VIP lounge corridor, blocking our path. She was flanked by two Quin Records reps, a champagne glass tilted in her hand and a razor-sharp, smug sneer plastered across her face.

"Leaving so soon, Ruby?" Fastine purred, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy as she stepped closer. "Oh, don’t be a sore loser. ColdZon is a fresh, manageable talent. But hey, second best is still... well, actually, no one remembers second best, do they?"

Ruby flinched as if she’d been struck, leaning back against me, her hands trembling.

Fastine took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes flashing with cruel satisfaction as she poured more salt directly on the wound. "You thought one viral moment could carry you against Quin Records? This industry runs on real leverage, sweetie. My label owns the algorithms, the charts, and the trophies. You’re just a flash in the pan who’s fading back into irrelevance."

Before Ruby could let out the quiet sob caught in her throat, I stepped directly into Fastine’s space, towering over her. The temperature in the hallway instantly plummeted.

"You’re loud for someone whose entire career relies on bought judges and manufactured numbers, Fastine," I said, my voice dangerously low, smooth, and laced with absolute contempt.

Fastine’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second under the sheer weight of my gaze.

"Enjoy your little bought-and-paid-for trophy while the ink on the check is still wet," I continued, giving her a slow, cold smile. "Because starting tonight, Quin Records won’t have enough money left to buy you a single view."

Without waiting for her reply, I turned my back on her, wrapping my arm firmly around Ruby’s shoulders and guiding her past the stunned label executives. Chloe and May flanked us like bodyguards, while Patricia glared back at Fastine with pure ice in her eyes.

We pushed through the double exit doors toward the private backstage parking bay, leaving Fastine standing there in the hallway, her smug look rapidly turning into a scowl.

We walked straight past the blinding flashes and shouting reporters waiting outside the exit, completely ignoring the microphones shoved toward our faces. Security cleared a path, and within seconds, we were all inside the blacked-out tour bus, the doors hissing shut, locking the noise of the red carpet outside.

The atmosphere in the bus was dead silent.

None of us tried to offer forced comfort or empty platitudes—Ruby had insisted she was "totally fine" the moment we stepped inside, but one look at her glassy, brimming eyes said otherwise. Pushing her would have broken her completely right then and there.

Instead, Ruby sat hunched on the leather sofa, her hands trembling as she reached for a bag of chips. She fumbled with the wrapper, her fingers shaking so badly that she accidentally tore it open with too much force, scattering chips all over the floor of the bus. She didn’t even bother picking them up. She just reached for another snack, stress-eating in frantic, ragged bites.

I slid over and sat right beside her, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and gently guiding her head down against my chest, pulling her close into a firm, protective hold.

The moment her cheek hit my chest, the dam broke.

"Why... why did they do that to me, Ethan?" she sobbed, her hands clutching tightly at my shirt as her shoulders shook violently. "I worked so hard... I practiced until my throat bled... I gave everything on that stage tonight..."

"I know," I whispered, resting my hand against the back of her head, soothingly stroking her hair. "I know you did. You were perfect."

She sobbed into my chest for a few minutes before suddenly stopping. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, pulled her phone out of her purse with a sharp, erratic motion, and tapped on the screen.

A track started playing over her phone speaker—ColdZon’s latest release. It was a mess of over-processed, experimental psychedelic synth noise and heavily auto-tuned vocals that barely sounded human. For three agonizing minutes, the entire bus sat in absolute silence, listening to the track play out while May crossed her arms with a scowl and Chloe stared out the window with disgust.

The moment the song ended, Ruby paused it, tossed the phone onto the cushion, and buried her face in her hands, crying even harder.

"It’s not even good!" she wept, her voice choked with pure frustration and heartache. "It’s nonsense! Her entire voice is modded and pitch-corrected in a studio! It’s not even real!"

I reached out, picked up her phone, and turned off the screen, setting it completely out of reach. I placed both hands on her cheeks, lifting her face so she had no choice but to look straight into my eyes.

"Hey," I said, my voice firm, grounding, and absolutely resolute. "Stop comparing yourself to her. Stop lowering your standard to a studio-manufactured product."

Ruby blinked back her tears, looking up at me, her chest heaving as she listened to every word.