$1 Million?
For the fans packed into the stadium — 60,000 strong, shoulder to shoulder under the evening sky — Ethan's voice rang out like electricity, lighting the place on fire. He had just made the wildest declaration of the night.
"I'm giving someone here… one million dollars."
The words didn't even sound real. A million? A million dollars?
And yet, as the beat of "Young Dumb & Broke" rolled in, Ethan had already slipped seamlessly back into performance mode. The band hit their marks. Lights flared. His voice curled around the melody, smooth and playful.
The crowd danced.
They sang.
They jumped.
But something was off — if only just slightly. The crowd moved, yes, but not the way they had earlier in the night. Before, they had given themselves to the music. Now, they were waiting. A buzzing static crawled across their skin. For all their movement, their eyes weren't clear. Their hands clapped on autopilot. Their voices carried the lyrics, but not their hearts.
Because in truth?
They couldn't stop thinking about it.
"Is one of us really going to get a million dollars?"
That single thought had cracked into their minds like a splinter. It dug itself deeper with every passing second.
Small groups huddled and whispered between choruses. In every section — floor, lower bowl, up in the rafters — clusters of friends and strangers turned to each other and whispered breathlessly:
"He said it. You heard him, right?""A whole million? That's life-changing.""Nah, he can't be serious… can he?""Dude, he's got half a billion from this tour alone. He could give 10 people that and still eat.""God, if he calls my name, I swear I'm quitting everything tomorrow.""If I win, my student loans are gone. My mom's getting a house. No jokes.""He said he'd pick someone here. Like, in the crowd. That could be any of us."
In the back rows, in the nosebleeds, in the gold-drenched VVIP zones… it was the same question:
"What if it's me?"
Online? It was even crazier.
Clips of the announcement had already gone viral within minutes. Twitter (or X), Instagram, TikTok, Reddit, Discord — Ethan's name exploded across every feed.
"BROOOOOOOO ETHAN SAID HE'S GIVING 1 MIL TO A FAN IN THE CROWD???""Adele + $1 million giveaway in a stadium? This man is rewriting the blueprint of live performance.""Drake gives away cash but NEVER like this. A full million?? Ethan Jones is not normal.""We are witnessing HISTORY.""I didn't go and now I have regret in my lungs.""I hate everyone in that stadium.""This is real life? Man just sang Dusk Till Dawn with Adele and now he's making people millionaires???"
People online even speculated whether it was a gimmick. Some swore it would be a scholarship, or a "symbolic" award. But most were all in — watching livestreams, trying to guess who'd be chosen, wishing they could leap through their screens and into that roaring sea of people.
And inside the stadium itself?
It was starting to consume them.
The crowd cheered between songs, but it was the loudest anytime Ethan looked in their direction. They waved frantically, pointed to themselves, screamed his name in desperation and devotion. They weren't just fans anymore — they were hopefuls, every single one of them holding onto a wish that tonight might just be the night their lives changed forever.
And yet…
Not everyone in the stadium was swayed by the number.
Up in the velvet-wrapped, chandelier-lit VVIP suite — an entirely different world above the roar — the energy was muted, almost amused.
In that room, $1 million wasn't much. Most of the people here didn't flinch when they spent that on luxury real estate or startup investments or even the latest bag or shoe some on themsleves osme to impress their partners or potential partners. Many weren't even paying full attention to the concert anymore. They sipped champagne, networked across polished marble counters, and watched from behind designer sunglasses even though the sun had long set.
To them, the concert was just as much an event as a backdrop. Phones were out — not to watch, but to film themselves watching. They swayed lightly, recorded a few stories, whispered to whoever had the hottest new plan or business proposal. A few took mental notes of Adele's vocals so they could say they were there live when she lit the stage.
But even in that room, where the money didn't matter…
Someone still cared.
In fact, no one in that room cared more than one man.
And that man…was Jack.
Jack was standing near the far edge of the VVIP lounge, the stem of a crystal wine glass clenched between his fingers, his jaw so tight it looked like it was carved from stone. His eyes weren't on the concert. They weren't on the celebrities mingling behind him or the investors talking shop by the window.
His eyes were locked on Ethan, now bathed in red and violet lights, singing as if he hadn't just tossed a live grenade into the middle of their carefully planned financials.
Jack's teeth ground together.
"This bastard," he muttered under his breath.
He wasn't some jealous executive upset about a performative stunt.
No — Jack was the Chief Financial Officer of Universal Music Group, the man who had overseen every line item of this tour — from stage builds across continents, to exclusive brand licensing deals, to the ridiculous catering demands in Tokyo. This concert wasn't just a night of art.
It was their product.
Their investment.
And Ethan had just added a brand-new $1,000,000 liability to it — live — in front of the entire world.
No approvals.No signatures.Not even a whisper beforehand.
Every dollar Ethan promised tonight was a dollar they would have to provide — an extra million that hadn't been budgeted, forecasted, or even discussed.
The glass slipped from his hand.
It didn't shatter. Not dramatically. It just clinked against the polished floor and rolled sideways, bleeding wine into the sleek, ivory carpet.
Jack didn't even look down.
He was already walking.
His stride was sharp, efficient, moving like a man with too much urgency and not enough time. He spotted Lucian Grainge — UMG's CEO — near a cushioned seating area, laughing and toasting with two executives from a streaming platform and an up-and-coming luxury brand rep. Lucian held a half-full tumbler, grinning like the world was perfect.
Jack didn't wait for a break in conversation.
He stepped into the circle and spoke, low but firm.
"Lucian, we need to talk."
Lucian turned, eyes still lit from laughter.
"Jack!" he said, spreading an arm toward a man beside him. "Perfect timing. I wanted to introduce you to Sterling, he—"
"We can talk about that later," Jack cut in, not harshly, but with enough gravity to snatch the air out of the room. "Right now, there's something more important."
Lucian blinked. Then nodded, reading the tension in Jack's face. Without protest, he handed his drink to a server walking past and gave a polite gesture to his circle.
Jack subtly steered him toward a more private corner of the lounge — away from the chatter, the waiters, the watching eyes. The music from the stage was softer here, muffled by distance and thick velvet curtains.
Lucian turned, brow slightly furrowed now.
"What's this about, Jack? I was in the middle of introducing you to some very important people."
Jack didn't waste time.
"The one million," he said flatly. "Is it part of the course?"
Lucian blinked again, momentarily thrown off. "Ehn? What are you talking about?"
Jack stared at him.
"Ethan just announced he's giving someone in the audience a million dollars. On stage. Live. That's not in the tour's approved plan. That's not a PR stunt we signed off on. We've already locked the entire tour budget, Lucian. You know that. Any last-minute additions — especially one this size — could throw off our entire accounting structure. Artistically, sure, it's sweet. But financially? It's reckless. That's a million in liability on top of the most expensive tour we've ever produced."
Lucian let out a soft "Ah," then gave a small, amused smile.
"Oh… you mean the reward?"
Jack didn't answer. His silence was an answer of its own.
Lucian's smile grew wider.
He exhaled through his nose, amused in that way only very powerful men could be.
"Jack… don't you see it? This is brilliant."He gestured toward the window, where the massive stadium crowd was lit by strobes and cellphones and the raw noise of hysteria."It's trending everywhere. You should see the metrics coming in. The internet's on fire. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok — it's exploding. Drake gives out scholarships, Beyoncé donates to causes… but Ethan? Ethan's humanizing himself to his fans in real time. This isn't a loss — it's an investment in his brand. This one gesture will pay itself back tenfold."
Jack's face didn't move.
Lucian, though, was warming up.
"From a business standpoint, this is huge. People will see him as generous, real, down-to-earth. They'll trust him more. Love him more. He's not just some distant superstar — he's someone who changes lives. That emotional bond? That's priceless, Jack. It'll drive streams. Merch. Loyalty. And the next time he tours? Tickets will sell themselves."
Lucian chuckled lightly, eyes flicking toward the stage with something almost like pride.
"Honestly, I didn't even know Ethan thought this way. I thought he was still just a vibes-and-melody guy. But this? This has PR fingerprints all over it. That PR woman — what's her name? Rebecca right? The one we brought on? She's sharp. Really sharp."
Jack stood in silence for a moment. His lips were parted slightly, but no words came. His jaw ticked again — faint, tense — and his hand drifted briefly to his temple, massaging away the burn behind his eyes.
He didn't want to sound like the killjoy in the room. But this wasn't idealism. This was arithmetic. Hard numbers. Cold margins.
"It's not about that, sir," Jack finally said, voice low but weighted. His gaze met Lucian's directly. "We don't have the money."
Lucian turned slightly, taking in Jack like a man trying to figure out whether he was facing a fire or just smoke.
Then, with a wave of calm that only CEOs of global empires could summon mid-crisis, Lucian exhaled, chuckled softly, and said—
"Don't we have an emergency allocation built into the tour budget?"He waved a hand loosely, gesturing as if money were just vapor. "We can take it from there. Shift a few things around. It's what the buffer's for."
Jack stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line.
He was about to object — explain how that money was already pre-marked for logistics shortfalls in New York and some key money spending states, for last-minute venue renegotiations, for sudden artist health issues. He opened his mouth—
Lucian cut him off.
"Jack," he said, his voice taking on a new, sharper tone.
He stepped closer. Not threateningly, but with a kind of fatherly finality.
"If you want to run your father's company someday…"His voice dropped."…then I suggest you start learning to look at the bigger picture."
The words struck Jack like a slap dressed in silk.
He faltered for a second. That old ghost of pressure—the legacy, the expectations, the endless chain of suits and boardrooms and the ever-watching eye of his family name—weighed heavy on his chest.
Lucian didn't blink. He'd made his point.
Jack's shoulders fell. Not in defeat—but in exhausted acceptance.
"No problem, sir," he murmured.It was the only thing he could say.
Back on Stage…
The lights were pulsing deep magentas now, layered with gold flickers that moved like stars across the stadium roof. The final chord of Ethan's song rang out like a thunderclap through the sound system, followed by the thunderous roar of 80,000 voices.
He was breathing heavy.Sweat traced down the sides of his face, soaking the collar of his shimmering dark-blue stage jacket. His chest heaved with adrenaline and triumph.
The crowd was unhinged — screaming, sobbing, dancing, waving lightsticks, camera phones high, every one of them trying to capture this moment, this feeling, this man. His name echoed in waves across the stands like a spell being chanted.
"ETHAN! ETHAN! ETHAN!"
He walked to the edge of the stage, smiling, eyes sparkling with wild joy. He looked like he was floating.
He raised the mic.
"I said…" he shouted. "I SAID… WHO'S HAVIN' A GOOD TIME TONIGHT?!"
The place exploded.
Fireworks burst in bursts of gold and red from the stage spires. The floor of the arena seemed to quake from the foot-stomps and cheers. Even the security guards near the barricades couldn't stop themselves from grinning.
Ethan twirled once, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then he leaned forward, hands out like he was holding the whole crowd in his palms.
"Y'all better believe me when I say this—""Tonight is just getting STARTED."
Another scream. A wall of it.
"I've got TWO brand-new songs lined up for y'all!"He grinned like a kid about to pull a magic trick."And one of them… is a COLLAB with some absolute legends in this game. I mean LEGENDS."
Gasps. Screams. A chant of "Let's go! Let's go!" started in the east stands and rolled through the bowl of the stadium like thunder.
Ethan laughed.
"I can't say names yet — but trust me — you don't know what's coming your way."He took a deep breath."But before we get to that… I believe we've got something even more special to do first."
The lights dipped. A low, tense synth hum started playing.
Ethan looked into the crowd, smile wide, breathing still shallow.
"Let's pick our newest… millionaire."