Page 69 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“The perception of it,” I say. “What this is. What we’re building here. If we don’t set that first, someone else will.”

She studies me. “You really think that far ahead?”

“I have to.”

“And you think everything just spirals if you don’t manage it?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It’s necessary.”

“For you,” she says. “Not for them.”

“It is for them,” I counter. “They just don’t…” I stop myself, exhaling once. “They don’t think about it the same way I do.”

“No,” she says. “They just go on stage and make a whole room forget how to breathe.”

I look at her then, and everything shifts.

Because she’s not talking about strategy, she’s talking about what she felt, and suddenly the conversation isn’t where I left it.

“You felt that,” I say.

Her eyes flick up to mine. “I mean, yeah. Everyone did.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She huffs a breath. “You’re very persistent.”

“I’m precise.”

“Same thing,” she mutters.

I take another step closer, not planned, not calculated. “What did you feel?”

She hesitates. “Like it was real.”

That’s it.

That’s the break.

Because I’ve spent the last five minutes talking about control, about timing, about managing perception, and she’s standing here talking about something I can’t manage at all.

Something I can feel slipping.

“That’s exactly the problem,” I say, but it comes out rougher than intended. “People respond to that before they understand it. Before we can⁠—”

“Before you can control it?” she says.

“Yes.”

“And what if it’s not supposed to be controlled?”

“It always is,” I reply.

“Maybe that’s why people don’t trust it,” she shoots back.