The Recording Session

The next afternoon, Aria arrived at Troy's apartment, a high-rise penthouse with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. Music blasted from the speakers as she stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of cologne, leather, and a hint of whiskey.

Troy was already in the recording booth, headphones on, nodding to the beat as he stated the first verse of Fuck Boy Anthem. His voice was smooth, confident, and filled with attitude—the kind that made his fans swoon and his haters talk.

Aria folded her arms, watching through the glass as the producer, Jay, signaled for Troy to do another take.

"Energy's good, but let's punch in that last line again," Jay said.

Troy smirked, adjusting the mic. "Let's run it."

The beat dropped, and he delivered the verse again, sharper this time, each word cutting through like a blade.

Aria couldn't help but be impressed. No matter how reckless Troy was outside the studio, this—music—was where he thrived.

After a few more takes, Jay gave a thumbs-up, and Troy stepped out of the booth, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

Aria raised a brow. "Not bad. You might actually be a little talented."

Troy grinned. "A little? C'mon, Ria. Give me some credit."

She rolled her eyes but smirked. "Alright, fine. You killed it."

Jay leaned back in his chair. "This song's gonna blow up. Fans are gonna eat this up."

Troy grabbed a water bottle, taking a sip before turning to Aria. "So, manager lady, what's next?"

Aria pulled out her phone, scrolling through her notes. "Mixing and mastering should be done by tomorrow. We'll upload it after my final review. Then, we'll plan the launch party at your place tomorrow night."

Troy smirked. "A party, huh? Sounds like trouble."

Aria gave him a warning look. "I mean an industry party. No unnecessary drama, no random girls throwing themselves at you, and definitely no scandals."

Troy sighed, placing a hand on his heart. "You wound me, Ria. I'm a professional."

Jay snorted. "Yeah, okay."

Aria ignored the sarcasm. "I'm serious, Troy. This song's got potential, but if you let your personal life get in the way—"

"I won't," Troy interrupted, his playful expression fading slightly. "I know what's at stake."

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Aria wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him.

"Good," she finally said. "Because this is just the beginning."

Troy smirked again, his confidence returning. "Then let's make some history."

As Jay started finalizing the track, Aria glanced at Troy, a strange feeling settling in her chest.

She had spent years trying to keep him on track, trying to keep him from self-destructing.

But deep down, she knew—no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't save Troy from himself.

The energy from the recording session still lingered in the air, but the sudden chime of the doorbell broke through the moment.

Aria instinctively moved to answer it, but Troy held up a hand, shaking his head.

"Stay here," he said, his voice unusually firm.

She frowned. "Why?"

"Just… let me handle it."

His tone made her uneasy, but she nodded, crossing her arms as he stepped out of the studio room.

Through the slightly open door, she could hear the exchange.

The voice outside was sharp, irritated.

"Here," Ella snapped.

A small package was suddenly flung at Troy's chest, and he caught it just in time.

"This was sent to my house again, and I'm tired of complaining about it," she huffed. "Get your life together, Troy."

Then, without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and stormed off.

Aria stepped into the hallway just as Troy closed the door and walked back into the studio, his expression unreadable.

"A package?" Aria's eyes narrowed. "Who sent it?"

Troy exhaled sharply, tossing the small box onto the table. "Would you chill, Ria?"

Aria wasn't about to let it go. 

Troy finally sighed and ripped the package open.

The moment he saw what was inside, his usual smirk faltered. His jaw tightened, and his fingers clenched around the object.

Aria snatched it from him before he could react.

The second her eyes landed on it, her breath hitched.

A Rolex watch. An expensive one.

And tucked inside was a neatly folded note.

Jay, who had been silent until now, leaned forward, eyes flicking between them.

Aria unfolded the paper and read aloud.

"We love you, Benjackson Troy."

Silence.

Aria slowly lowered the note, exchanging glances with Jay before looking at Troy.

"Who the fuck would send this?" she asked.

Troy took the note from her, rereading it, then leaned back, his expression unreadable.

"Probably a fan," he muttered.

Jay scoffed. "A fan sending this? Dude, this ain't just some merch gift—this is a Rolex. That's serious money."

Aria studied Troy carefully. His body language was too tense, his usual nonchalant attitude slipping.

He knew something.

And he wasn't telling them.

"You sure about that?" she pressed.

Troy forced a smirk, brushing it off. "Relax. People send me gifts all the time."

Aria wasn't convinced.

She crossed her arms, her voice firm.

"Look, Troy, it's absolutely wrong to accept gifts from fans. And by the way, how did they even find out where you stay? That's not just weird—it's dangerous."

Troy exhaled, still staring at the watch, his fingers brushing over the sleek metal.

Aria rolled her eyes, frustrated. "You're a celebrity, Troy. Don't let your fans get too close to you. I'm pretty sure some girl sent that, hoping you'd fall for her. One day, she's gonna show up claiming she's been the one sending gifts and use it as an excuse to get close to you. Then what?"

Jay nodded in agreement. "She's got a point, man. Stalker vibes."

Aria pointed at the watch. "It's not right. You need to set boundaries with your fans. I keep telling you this, but you never listen."

Troy barely reacted, still admiring the Rolex like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jay shook his head. "Dude, at least pretend to take this seriously."

Troy finally looked up, smirking. "What? It's a nice watch."

Aria groaned, running a hand through her hair.

She had a bad feeling about this.

And Troy, as usual, never gave a fuck.

"Listen, guys," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I get what you're saying, but they're fans. Their gifts are just a token of love. What kind of celebrity would I be if I didn't accept them? If I ignored their messages or refused to sign a T-shirt?"

Aria's jaw clenched. "Troy—"

"Let it be," he interrupted, waving her off. "It's not that deep."

Aria exchanged a look with Jay, who shook his head.

But she knew arguing with Troy was pointless.

Still, deep down, she had the sinking feeling this was just the beginning of something much bigger.

But to Troy it was nothing serious.

The tension in the studio room lingered for a few more moments as Aria stared at Troy, frustration written all over her face. But before she could continue with her rant, Troy's phone buzzed loudly, cutting through the thick air.

Troy glanced at the screen. It was a group call from Mark, Bobby, and Ted—his longtime friends and fellow musicians.

"Benjackson Troy!" they all shouted in unison as soon as he answered.

Troy smirked, shaking his head. "What's popping, man?" Mark asked enthusiastically. "What you been up to?"

Troy opened his mouth to respond, but Ted cut him off before he could get a word in. "What's cooking, man?" Ted's voice was full of excitement.

Bobby's voice chimed in from the background. "Would y'all at least let him speak?"

Troy chuckled, holding up a finger to signal them to quiet down. "Just finished recording a hit. We're launching it tomorrow night," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Mark immediately perked up. "Wait, like we're having a party?" His voice was filled with excitement.

"Yes," Troy replied with a grin. "We're celebrating big time."

"Congratulations, bro!" Bobby said. "More wins ahead."

Troy could feel the warmth of their support, but he couldn't ignore the little nagging voice in the back of his mind—Aria's constant warnings about keeping things in check.

Troy, trying to keep the mood light, winked at Aria as he raised an eyebrow. "See guys, tomorrow's gonna be a long night. And we ain't gonna celebrate alone, you know what I mean?"

Aria rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "You would dare bring a woman to the party?" she muttered from the background, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mark laughed. "Relax, Aria! Troy's a legend! What makes him a king without women around?"

Aria shook her head, her face turning slightly red. "It's only Bobby that's a true friend," she said, her voice sharp. "You and Ted make things worse, and it's so bad Troy can't see it."

Ted's voice cut through the air. "Relax, manager Aria. We love how you're looking out for our nigga, but we gotta also look out for him. You know how we do."

Troy glanced at Aria, who was obviously irritated but trying to keep it together. "Wrap this up, y'all," he said, glancing at the clock. "I gotta go now. I'm hanging up."

"Thank you so much for hanging up, Bobby," Mark teased.

"Don't you dare go on us like that, man," Ted and Mark said in unison, their voices filled with playful reproach.

Troy smirked, holding up his phone to end the call. "Later, guys." With a quick swipe, he disconnected the call, leaving the room in a sudden silence.

Aria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Great," she muttered, but Troy could tell she was more frustrated than ever.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning against the counter. "It's just a party. Relax."

Aria shook her head but didn't respond right away. Instead, she turned and headed back toward the studio room, her frustration clear.

Troy couldn't help but feel a strange mix of guilt and excitement. The launch, the party—it was all part of the game. But deep down, he knew Aria was right about one thing: sometimes, it wasn't just about the music. It was about everything else. And he wasn't sure he was ready to face the consequences of what was about to unfold. But what if there no consequences to face?

"Tomorrow's gonna be a long night," he whispered to himself, glancing at the Rolex watch again. He still didn't know who sent it, but something told him that, just like everything else in his life, this party was going to be amazing than he could ever imagine.