Page 254 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“Are you touring?”

“Is The Lonely Ones involved?”

“Is Redemption Falls becoming a music hub?”

Xander waits. Lets the noise crest naturally before speaking again. “The Last Rebels will record their new album here in Redemption Falls.”

Another explosion of noise.

Beside me, Willow physically jumps at the volume. Julian looks delighted.

Xander continues calmly through it all. “And after the album releases… they’ll be touring globally.”

The reaction is nuclear.

I’ve seen major announcements before. Hell, I’ve orchestrated them. This is different. Because this isn’t just industry hype. This is legacy. Nostalgia. Excitement. History colliding with something new.

Phones lift everywhere. Social feeds explode in real time. News alerts probably start firing worldwide within seconds. And standing in the middle of Redemption Square watching it happen… I finally understand exactly what Xander did.

He didn’t just save the label.

He helped the town, too.

Because now Redemption Falls isn’t the place where scandal happened. It’s the birthplace of the biggest comeback story in music.

The Last Rebels launch into an old song and the entire square erupts. People scream lyrics. Phones wave overhead. Even locals who pretended they didn’t care start cheering.

The whole town vibrates with energy.

And standing there in the middle of it all, I realize this worked.

I glance toward Xander on stage again. He catches my eye briefly across the crowd.

There’s gratitude there. Trust.

For helping hold everything together long enough to get here.

Epilogue

WILLOW

It turns out touring with rockstars is significantly less glamorous than people think.

There’s a lot more waiting around in hallways than anyone tells you. Also a deeply alarming amount of energy drinks.

And cables. So many cables.

“Why are there this many wires?” I ask, stepping carefully over another tangled pile backstage.

Julian glances up from where he’s sitting on an equipment case tuning a guitar. “Nobody knows. I think they reproduce when left unsupervised.”

“That explains sound engineers,” Gabe mutters beside me, scanning his tablet.

A nearby crew member laughs nervously like he isn’t sure whether Gabe’s joking.

It’s been two weeks since The Last Rebels officially launched the tour, and somehow my life has become an endless blur of stadium lights, security checkpoints, backstage passes, and watching grown men scream lyrics into microphones like they’re trying to physically exorcise their emotions.

Very healing for everyone involved.