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🕑 Added 2025-06-26 16:33:07 +0000 UTCChapter 204: Private Party
Stepping out of the elevator, a haze of crimson light cloaked the hallway like a veil of sultry ambiguity. Dashes of blue, green, yellow, and silver shimmered along the corridor, outlining the contours of an entirely new world. As your gaze followed the lighting’s rhythm, the whole space began to spin, a dizzying cascade of lights and shadows distorting time itself.
In the center of the hallway stood Maxim, his rigid posture eerily reminiscent of the twin girls in The Shining, staring ahead without moving. The visual tension in the air didn’t release until Jimmy stepped forward, overtaking Maxim and breathing warmth back into the atmosphere.
Jimmy took the lead. Although it was his first time at this particular party, the vibe was all too familiar—he slipped into it effortlessly. They followed the hallway to the end, turned through an open archway, and suddenly the party unfolded before their eyes.
Waiters dressed in shirts, ties, and formal vests carried trays of strong liquor through the throng of revelers. Dappled light bathed their masked faces, which hid all recognizable features in shadows. As you drew closer, you’d realize their lower halves were clad in nothing but swim trunks—a shocking contrast to their buttoned-up tops, creating a jarring but striking visual impact.
Closer in, bodies were dancing atop tables and sofas, twisting and grinding to the music. Sweat glistened under the kaleidoscope of lights, radiating heat so palpable it almost touched your skin. People stood, sat, lay entwined or embraced, stuffing every corner of the space with motion and desire, a visual overload.
Further off in the distance, the peacock-blue sky and multicolored neon lights reflected off water. Only then did you notice—there was a swimming pool outdoors. A silhouette leapt into the air, sending up a splash that scattered like fireworks, the blue of the water echoing the dusk above.
The air hung thick with the mingling scents of alcohol and musk. The heavy atmosphere dulled the senses and made each step feel uneven, like the floor itself was shifting beneath your feet.
Parties weren’t exactly novel. In college, back-to-back-to-back parties were a weekly norm. Waking up on sidewalks with no memory of the previous night was almost a rite of passage. But what made this party special wasn’t just the scale—it was the people. Parties, at their core, are games of human interaction. This one just happened to feature a crowd like no other.
Reggae music boomed through the speakers, thumping against eardrums, calling bodies to move. Red and green neon beams danced across the faces of the crowd. Some looked strangely familiar—as if this wasn’t just a party but a portal into another world.
By the DJ booth, a striking woman with close-cropped black hair danced with wild abandon. Her sleek and sexy confidence marked her unmistakably as Rihanna, completely immersed in the beat, even syncing up with the DJ.
On a black leather sofa, Drake sat sprawled with arms and legs wide open. He lay across a heavy fur coat—too dark to identify the material in the dim lighting—which begged the question: it’s only September, isn’t that boiling hot?
Near the pool, Janelle Monáe stood out in a camo green coat that had slipped off her shoulders to reveal sculpted collarbones. Her fiery red lipstick flashed with laughter as she chatted with Nate Ruess, looking sharp in a custom dark blue suit. But where were the rest of his band?
Nate, frontman of indie rock group Fun., was riding a massive wave this year. Their second album’s lead single, “We Are Young,” had held the No. 1 spot on the Billboard Hot 100 for six straight weeks, catapulting the band to fame after four years in obscurity. But for Nate himself, the journey had begun back in 2000—twelve long years of waiting before finally getting his break.
Wobbling by, CeeLo Green—in a pair of tiger-striped shorts and matching fur coat—passed just two steps ahead. Even in an indoor party, he hadn’t taken off his signature sunglasses. Then he kicked the corner of a couch and let out a dramatic groan.
It was dazzling—overwhelming.
So many unfamiliar yet recognizable faces crammed into every direction. In the seven years since their debut, the band had met only a handful of named artists. Tonight, they’d seen more celebrities in one room than in their entire career. How do you even begin to describe that?
It was like… someone obsessed with crayfish suddenly dropped into a pool teeming with live crayfish. The dream turned into something grotesque and surreal, overwhelming the senses to the point where the brain simply couldn’t keep up.
Maybe it sounded strange, maybe even inaccurate, but the sheer force of the experience was undeniable—heat prickled across the skin, and the pressure in the air was very, very real.
Ronan, on the other hand, held it together well. After all, he’d already experienced the mind-bending impossibility of time-traveling. Compared to that, this was manageable. Besides, these weren’t actual spiders crawling on the floor.
The flashing lights also blurred reality. Everyone’s faces shimmered behind a soft glow—like costumed impersonators at a Halloween party. Maybe that’s all this was.
He thought back to his first meeting with Bruno, when he hadn’t even recognized the guy at first. A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“Ronan!”
The thundering music barely masked Jimmy’s voice as he stepped up and shouted over the noise. He waved to the rest of the One Day King band and motioned for them to follow—taking on the role of tour guide as he led them to the bar.
There, instead of champagne, everyone could choose whatever suited their tastes. Alcoholic or not, there was something for everyone.
“You need something in your hand,” Jimmy leaned in and said directly into Ronan’s ear. “Otherwise, you’ll look totally out of place.”
And just like that, Ronan understood. That’s why everyone always holds a drink at parties.
Chapter 205: Blurred Lines Between Host and Guest
“Ronan! Hey! Heeey! Ronan!”
A high-pitched, excited voice cut through the booming music like a street vendor shouting at a concert—wobbly, raspy, and absolutely buzzing with energy. Whoever it was had clearly been shouting and cheering for hours. Their voice was on the brink of giving out.
And then, Ronan saw him—the host of tonight’s party: Bruno Mars.
Bruno was decked out like a king, wearing a crimson cloak trimmed with velvet, a golden crown on his head, and a black scepter in hand. His eyes and mouth were wide open in exaggerated glee, every cell in his body vibrating with excitement. Without waiting for Ronan’s response, he leapt forward and wrapped him in a huge hug.
Due to the height difference, Bruno ended up looking like a human backpack dangling from Ronan’s shoulders. He even lifted his feet off the ground, letting out a hearty laugh. “Jimmy, did you see that? Haha, Ronan's like a giant!”
Normally, Bruno was a little self-conscious about his height and rarely brought it up. But tonight, clearly tipsy, he laughed at his own expense without a care in the world.
Ronan hadn’t expected such a warm welcome. He turned to Jimmy and quickly waved his hands, “Don’t get the wrong idea—nothing happened.”
Ironically, that explanation only made things seem more suspicious.
Jimmy froze for a moment before realizing Ronan was joking. Bruno had barged in and unintentionally sidelined the rest of the band and Jimmy, but Ronan’s offhand humor instantly lightened the mood. Everyone broke into laughter. That kind of easy, casual wit impressed Jimmy more than he expected.
While Jimmy was still caught off guard, Bruno continued, “Sorry, sorry! I’ve been a totally irresponsible host, only just showing up now. Jimmy, thank you for helping entertain all these guests.”
At a normal party, people would just jump in and start dancing, whether they knew anyone or not. But tonight’s vibe was different. The crowd was full of A-listers who were used to flattery and attention. If someone approached the wrong way and got mistaken for waitstaff, it could be humiliating.
That’s where the host came in—to introduce their friends and break the ice. But Bruno had been missing, and the band didn’t know how to get started.
Even someone as outgoing and confident as Maksim felt a bit hesitant.
Thankfully, Jimmy stepped up and filled the host’s shoes. He introduced several key guests to the band and led them around the party. Slowly but surely, Maksim and Cliff began to relax and enjoy themselves.
And that’s when Bruno finally showed up.
Jimmy beamed at him. “Actually, I should correct you. They’re also the hosts tonight—I’m just the guest.”
Warm-up acts don’t usually count as hosts, right?
But Bruno didn’t care. “Right, right, my bad! Please forgive me. You're the hosts too. So, Ronan, how are you liking your own party?”
He was clearly tipsy—his voice raspy, words slightly slurred. The stress he’d been carrying throughout the tour had all been released in one night of letting loose.
Ronan gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Couldn’t be better. So? Ready to hit the dance floor?”
Dancing, more than drinking, seemed like a better way to burn off energy and emotion. Once it was all out, a good night’s sleep and a new day would follow.
“Dance? Of course! Let’s dance!” Bruno immediately started swaying in place. But after just a few moves, he suddenly remembered something. “Oh! I totally forgot—Aaron’s been looking for you guys. Not sure if he knows you’re here. You should go find him later.”
“No problem,” Ronan chuckled, then followed Bruno into the main hall, where they joined Rihanna on the dance floor.
The party had officially begun.
Maksim and Cliff had fully warmed up and joined the fun in their own ways.
Oli, however, was still a bit reserved. He didn’t like talking to strangers and initially stuck close to Ronan and Bruno, like a nervous puppy afraid of getting lost. But he wasn’t big on dancing, so eventually he settled into a seat nearby.
Ronan was a little concerned and was about to check on Oli when Bruno grabbed his arm.
“Come on, come on!” Bruno seemed excited, as if he’d found someone he wanted Ronan to meet, and began pulling him along. Ronan was about to say he wanted to check on Oli, but his steps paused as soon as he saw who it was.
“Ronan, I’ve been meaning to introduce you—this is Achmed! Tada! Hey, Achmed, what do you think? Are you enjoying the party?”
It would’ve been rude to walk away with a guest right in front of him, so Ronan held off on his concern. A quick glance at Oli confirmed he was fine for now. Taking a breath, Ronan turned his attention to the man before him.
Achmed was a stout, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head reflecting the colorful neon lights above. A ring of silky black hair clung to the back of his scalp. His slightly chubby cheeks gave him a friendly, approachable vibe, and he had a warm, goofy smile on his face. What stood out most, though, were his arms—covered in thick hair like a grassy field, in stark contrast to his smooth head. The juxtaposition made his Jewish heritage instantly obvious.
He smiled at Bruno and nodded repeatedly in a deep, mellow voice. “Good, good, good. Of course, it’s great—Bruno’s parties are always the best.”
It was typical party small talk, and he wasn’t hiding the fact. But his gentle tone made it sound genuine—neither too enthusiastic nor too distant. Even though everyone knew it was polite chit-chat, it was hard to dislike.
Bruno turned to introduce them. “Achmed, this is Ronan. Ronan, meet Achmed.”
Achmed nodded politely and raised his glass of whiskey. “Pleasure to meet you. The concert performance was perfect.”
Another standard compliment, but Ronan returned it with equal politeness. “I’m honored to be part of it.”
Then Bruno cut in with his usual boldness. “Achmed has one of the most respected ears in the industry. I’ve been dying to get him to hear your music. If he has any feedback—that’d be golden.”
Chapter 206: A Keen Eye for Talent
An authority on musical taste? Bruno’s wording was a bit unusual, and the fact that he made a point of introducing this person made Ronan’s eyes light up slightly with curiosity. It was like stepping through a doorway into a new world—he couldn’t help but give Ahmed another look.
Ahmed gave his round belly a little shake, almost sheepishly, and touched his forehead as if embarrassed, though his expression didn’t show much humility. “They just like pushing me into the spotlight,” he said.
Then, meeting Ronan’s gaze directly, he didn’t hold back, continuing naturally, “I really liked Chasing the Light. I don’t know who did the arrangement, but the depth and dimension were outstanding. You could feel the spatial qualities of the music, almost like architecture. And the emotional dynamics between the verse and chorus during the live performance were spot-on.”
Though it was praise, there wasn’t a trace of flattery in his tone. He spoke more like someone calmly analyzing a math problem—yet his approval came through clearly. It made for a rather unique conversational experience.
Ronan’s eyes flashed with surprise—this man clearly knew what he was talking about. “When I was arranging it, I tried to use orchestral instruments to create that sense of space,” Ronan said thoughtfully. “But time and skill were both limited, so I wasn’t able to fully realize my vision. Honestly, I’m not completely satisfied with the current version.”
Ahmed shook his head. “Less is more. It’s good as it is. If it were too ornate, those simple chords wouldn’t be able to carry the grandeur like Bohemian Rhapsody does. It would feel hollow instead. The current version conveys the emotion perfectly.”
Even his critiques were gentle, delivered with objectivity rather than superiority. It felt more like an equal exchange of thoughts than any kind of condescension.
Ronan didn’t respond right away—not because he was upset, but because he was lost in thought. He couldn’t quite tell if Ahmed was offering sincere feedback or just being polite to avoid disrupting the party mood. Ahmed’s tone had a calm, steady rhythm, making it hard to discern whether he was being diplomatic or genuinely appreciative. Everything was subtly wrapped within his words.
Even for someone as perceptive as Ronan, it was difficult to read Ahmed completely. Maybe, with time and more interactions, he’d get a better sense. But for now, this first meeting remained ambiguous.
Ronan took a moment to reflect on Ahmed’s comments, trying to distinguish how much was genuine and how much was just small talk. His pause lasted only a beat before he replied, somewhat formally, “Clearly, there’s still a lot I need to learn on this musical journey.”
Ahmed gave a gracious smile. “Aren’t we all?”
Meanwhile, Bruno had vanished again into the crowd. The partygoers pressed in around them, making it impossible to spot him. Ronan hesitated—should he politely excuse himself or try to keep the conversation going?
After all, Bruno hadn’t even mentioned Ahmed’s full name or title. Without that context, Ronan wasn’t sure how to steer the conversation meaningfully. A shallow attempt would likely fall flat, especially with someone like Ahmed—who didn’t seem the type to respond well to flattery or small talk.
Besides, Ronan’s mind was still partly preoccupied with Oli.
Just then, Allen Bay Shook appeared with a glass of champagne. “Ah-ha! So you’ve met already,” he said, smiling warmly at Ahmed. “Had a chance to talk?”
Allen glanced between them, halting Ronan in his tracks just as he was about to walk away. Then Allen turned back to Ahmed, “Well? What do you think? Personally, I love their music. But more than that, I love what’s going on in Ronan’s head. I really think Ronan and his band One Day King have the potential to become the next big name in the market.”
Ahmed just smiled without saying anything.
Ronan, however, raised his eyebrows in surprise, unable to hide the shock on his face as he looked at Allen. He hadn’t expected such high praise—especially since they hadn’t really spoken much since that show in Washington. Ronan had assumed Allen had long since moved on.
After all, Allen was a busy talent manager. Why would he remember a small indie band like theirs? But clearly, he had. Not only that—Allen had been working behind the scenes to connect them, leading to tonight’s introduction.
Ronan was too caught up in his own amazement to notice how Ahmed reacted.
Ahmed, however, took everything in silently.
Allen didn’t seem surprised by Ahmed’s reserved demeanor, as if he was used to this kind of interaction. He turned to Ronan again, “I’ve been looking for you all evening, hoping to introduce you to Ahmed—or rather, hoping Ahmed would get a chance to hear your music.”
Oh? At that, Ronan finally caught up with what was happening and turned once more to look at Ahmed.
To be honest, he hadn’t picked up on any of this earlier. Ahmed had seemed so composed and casual, as if Bruno had simply dragged him into an unplanned conversation. There had been no sign that Allen had orchestrated the introduction or that Ahmed had already heard about the band.
Was this a good thing… or a bad one? Ronan’s thoughts swirled, but before he could make sense of them, Allen added, “This is Ahmet Ertegun. He’s currently the Executive President of Atlantic Records.”
At last, the formal introduction. Standing before him was the top executive of a major record label.
Don’t be fooled by the title, Allen continued. “He’s not just a suit. He’s also the VP of the Artist Division—he’s in charge of discovering new talent. He’s found more than a few hidden gems in his time. Without him, there would be no Bruno Mars.”
So that’s it!
Back when Bruno left Motown and, through Allen’s introduction, signed with Atlantic, it was this man—Ahmet—who had recognized his potential.
Ronan vaguely recognized the name Ahmet Ertegun, but the memory slipped away too quickly. Foreign names were often difficult to place. Still, whether he remembered it right or not didn’t matter. The facts were clear: Ahmet had discovered Bruno Mars, signed him to Atlantic Records, and helped shape a star.
And now, Ronan stood face-to-face with the same man.
