Michael had been having a bad week—no, a bad month.

Ever since Dayo returned, nothing had gone smoothly for him. Not once. He had never felt this helpless, this irritated, this out of control since the day he first stepped into MM Label.

He sat back in his office chair, hands clasped tightly, jaw clenched, staring at nothing as his mind wandered.

Everything he built… everything he controlled… everything he commanded…

It was all slipping.

And it all started when Dayo came back.

Michael did not grow up in struggle.

He grew up in comfort—softness, wealth, influence.

He was a son of old money, born into a family that owned broadcasting networks, held partial shares in radio stations, and quietly influenced multiple entertainment boards. His father was respected. His mother was adored. Michael wanted for nothing.

As a boy, he wore designer clothes before he understood their worth.

As a teenager, he attended elite private schools where the children of producers, showrunners, executives, and Grammy voters studied.

From a young age, he understood a simple truth:

Power was not talent.

Power was control.

While other children dreamed of being superstars, Michael dreamed of owning the labels those superstars begged for deals from. He never wanted the stage—he wanted the boardroom.

He never wanted applause—he wanted leverage.

He was smart, sharp, cold, and brilliant with numbers. Even better with people.

By 21, he was interning at the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the country—not because he earned it, but because his father made a call.

But once he got in, he studied everything:

how labels manipulate charts how media controls narratives how scandals are created and erased how to bury an artist without ever touching evidence how fame worked behind the curtain

And he loved it.

By the age of 26, he had already carved out a reputation—not as an artist, not as a producer, but as an industry fixer, one of the youngest in history.

Labels approached him when they needed exposure.

Managers approached him when an artist became "too stubborn."

Executives approached him to clean up scandals.

He was good.

But "good" wasn't enough.

There were many like him—children of power, raised in wealth, molded for control. He wanted something greater. Absolute dominance.

And then he met someone who gave him the push he needed.

It wasn't a nudge.

It was a launch.

Suddenly, Michael wasn't just influential—he was feared.

He wasn't just connected—he was indispensable.

He became the man who controlled more than half of the industry's biggest names, either through partnerships that could never be broken… or through threats of evidence that could destroy careers and their life in whole.

Michael wasn't the face of the industry.

He was the underboss.

The shadow.

The name whispered in backroom meetings.

Artists feared him.

Executives respected him.

Young stars were taught one rule:

"Don't get on Michael's bad side."

Michael thrived on obedience.

On control.

On outcomes he orchestrated.

Until Jason Dayo appeared.

A young singer with a voice hot enough to scorch the industry. Someone Michael initially watched from a distance. He didn't want to sign liabilities, so he waited to see how Dayo would perform.

And to his shock, Dayo didn't just perform—he exploded.

As a rookie, Dayo shattered the record for the most sold album in a week. By such a wide gap that experts predicted it wouldn't be broken for 50 years.

No scandals.

No leaks.

No weaknesses.

Michael saw potential.

A gold mine.

He offered Dayo a contract wrapped in power, privilege, and money.

Dayo smiled… and refused.

Michael was stunned. At first, he thought Dayo didn't know who he was.

But Dayo told him he knew exactly who he was.

That made Michael laugh then.

Now he regrets ever laughing.

He should have walked away.

But Michael was a control freak. He couldn't accept "no"—especially not from a rookie. He had never been rejected before. Not once.

The rejection stung.

Then annoyed him.

Then consumed him.

He tried to break Dayo in quiet ways—industry pressure, blocked access, subtle sabotage. But Dayo always found a way to escape… and turn it back on him.

The industry shook.

This was Michael. Someone who had run the industry like a personal kingdom for almost three decades, being challenged by a boy who hadn't even hit 21.

Worse—Dayo beat him.

Repeatedly.

Publicly.

The media froze.

Executives whispered.

And Michael felt something he had never experienced before:

Insult.

Humiliation.

Loss of control.

From that moment, Dayo wasn't an artist anymore.

He was a target.

A threat.

A puzzle Michael swore to dismantle.

He had all the tools:

media connections record labels paid producers fake scandals blacklisted venues data manipulation industry secrets invisible power

He had everything he needed to destroy Dayo.

But then the higher-ups—the ones above him, the ones whose faces he had never even seen—began demanding answers.

They wanted to know how Dayo broke that record.

They wanted to know his secret.

They pressured Michael hard.

He approached Dayo again.

Offered a new contract.

Tried to lure him with power.

Dayo rejected him again—and told him there was no secret at all.

Michael refused to believe it.

His bosses refused too.

They gave Michael an ultimatum:

"Sign him… or destroy him."

Michael tried to destroy him.

He succeeded.

Or so he thought.

Until Dayo returned—not as an artist, but as an athlete, and an outrageously talented one at that.

That alone sent Michael's higher-ups into frenzy.

And they pushed him again.

Ordering him.

Threatening him.

Pressuring him.

Michael resented it.

He felt belittled.

He didn't even know who these people were—he only carried out orders.

He had forgotten where he stood because power had blinded him. But their tone reminded him.

He wasn't the king.

He was still someone's puppet.

A puppet who wanted to cut his strings.

He started digging.

Quietly.

Carefully.

He tracked conversations, traced connections, collected names, and gathered fragments of truth.

Eventually, he discovered who his real bosses were.

And he dug even deeper.

For the first time in years, Michael smelled something stronger than power—

revenge.

Just when he thought things might change

Dayo stepped back into the spotlight.

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