After handling the meeting, Dayo took his leave. He tightened the file in his hands as he sped down the street, thoughts swirling faster than his car's wheels. He had made peace with what was coming. The idea that he might not be able to do what he loved most—music—burned deep inside him, but when he looked at what was at stake, he took a long, steady breath and kept driving.
He soon arrived at Michael's label—an unmistakable structure that could be seen from over five kilometers away. The bold MM logo gleamed proudly at the top of the towering building. At one glance, anyone could tell it was a place with history, wealth, and power.
Dayo parked and stepped out, fixing his collar as he walked toward the glass doors. Inside, the reception area took his breath away. White marble floors, polished walls that shimmered under bright lights, and a reception desk nearly eight meters wide—it all screamed luxury and dominance. The aura alone could humble anyone walking in for the first time.
