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Something worse.

I’m just…hollow.

I close my eyes and feel Zymon move closer beside me. He’s close enough that I know he’s there.

“Maybe you should stop trying to fix it through the music.”

My jaw tightens.

I keep staring at the fractured snowflake spreading across the glass.

Fix it.

The words settle somewhere deeper than I want them to.

Because he knows.

The bastard has known me since I was seventeen.

Back when neither of us had money.

Back when I was another exhausted trainee sleeping three hours a night, surviving on instant noodles, stubbornness, and the desperate hope that someday someone would care about what I had to say.

So when Zymon looks at me, he doesn’t see the billionaire.

He sees the kid underneath.

The one I’ve spent my entire life trying to bury.

“They’ll always twist whatever I do,” I say quietly. “Turn me into the villain.”

A humorless laugh escapes me.

“Nothing new.”

The media has been doing it for years.

If I stay silent, I’m arrogant.

If I speak, I’m controversial.

If I win, I got lucky.

If I fail, they celebrate.

Same shit.

Different headline.

“Maybe.”

Zymon pauses.

“Or maybe you stop letting them control the narrative.”

That gets my attention and I glance at him.

“Right now,” he says, “they only talk about your past.”