The chat was still burning when the song ended.
Gifts stacked like bricks in a golden wall across the screen. Viewer count: 1,200. Rank: #3.
I'd done it. I'd clawed my way back from the grave—and set the platform on fire while doing it.
But fire attracts attention. And not all of it is friendly.
The first warning came thirty seconds after the last note faded.
[Muse Rep: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? CALL ME. NOW.]
Then another.
[Muse Rep: You're suspended, Velvet! Do you WANT your contract terminated?!]
A smirk tugged at my lips as I skimmed the angry caps-lock messages.
Did I care? No.
Did I need them? Maybe later. For now? They were background noise.
"Looks like someone missed me," I purred into the mic, ignoring the growing storm in my inbox.
The chat erupted again:
> — Velvet, you're trending girl!
— Twitter's blowing UP about you!
— #VelvetIsBack hitting top 10 OMG!
I flicked to another tab. They weren't lying.
Hashtags flashing, comments pouring in, screenshots of Stone's 5k drop plastered across feeds like neon graffiti. Memes, gifs, reaction threads—it was a feeding frenzy.
The haters weren't gone, of course.
> — Desperate much?
— Bought by her sugar daddy AGAIN.
— Clown show in full swing.
Let them talk.
Because every click, every comment, every drop of attention was oxygen—and I was already breathing deep.
I switched back to the live room just in time to see another crimson banner slice across the screen.
$2,000 – From: Stone.
The chat detonated.
> — BRO'S STILL GOING?!
— That's 7k in ONE NIGHT!
— Velv, what's he getting for that kinda cash? 👀
I let the laughter curl in my throat, velvet and sharp.
"What do you think he's getting?" I whispered.
The comments went rabid.
And then—
[Stone: Check your DMs.]
The words landed like a stone in a still pond, rippling through the chat.
> — HOLY SHIT PRIVATE CHAT ALERT
— Girl's about to get LOCKED IN.
I muted the mic for a beat, heart kicking against my ribs, and opened the message.
[Stone: End the stream.]
Two words. Commanding. Cold.
I stared at them, pulse tripping over itself.
End the stream? After this comeback? After hitting #3?
Not a chance.
I typed back, fingers flying:
[Velvet: And disappoint my fans? Not tonight, Stone.]
The reply came fast.
[Stone: You're risking more than you know.]
My brows knit. Before I could respond, another message pinged—this one from Muse.
[Muse Rep: FINAL WARNING. Shut it down or you're DONE. Permanent blacklist.]
A second later, an official banner from the platform:
"⚠ Unauthorized Stream Detected – Account Under Review."
Shit.
I clicked my dashboard. The suspension penalty had doubled. A bright red timer ticked down: Account Lock in 10:00.
Ten minutes.
That was all I had before the curtain dropped.
The chat didn't know, of course. They were too busy spamming fire emojis and begging for encores.
I unmuted, voice sweet as sin.
"Ten more minutes," I murmured. "Make them count."
The frenzy doubled. Gifts rained down like glitter. My rank edged closer to #2.
Stone didn't speak again. Not in the chat. Not in the feed.
But the gifts?
They kept coming.
$1,000. $3,000. Another $5,000.
Every drop detonated like thunder.
The room was chaos. The leaderboard screamed my name. And under it all, that red timer bled seconds like a wound.
9:32. 8:47. 7:03.
And then—
[Stone: When this ends, you and I talk. No excuses.]
A shiver crawled down my spine. Not a request. A promise.
But before I could breathe, another bomb dropped—this time from someone else.
"$6,000 – From: Wolfbane."
The screen ignited.
A username I didn't know. A gift bigger than Stone's last one.
The comments exploded like dynamite:
> — WHO THE HELL IS WOLFBANE?!
— NEW PLAYER ENTERED THE GAME.
— STONE VS WOLF?? THIS IS WAR.
Another gift. $4,000.
Then another. $2,000.
The two names clashed on the leaderboard like titans:
Stone – Total Tonight: $16,500.
Wolfbane – Total Tonight: $12,000.
The air in the room thickened, electric. My pulse pounded in my throat.
This wasn't just a stream anymore.
This was a battlefield.
And I?
I was the prize.
The timer bled down to 2:15. 1:50.
I leaned into the mic, voice low and lethal.
"Boys," I whispered, "who's really in charge tonight?"
The gifts surged like a tidal wave.
And in the private chat, Stone sent one last message before the screen erupted in gold:
[Stone: Don't make me teach you the answer.]
The timer hit 00:00.
The stream cut.
The room went black.
And I sat there, heart hammering, staring at two names burning in my inbox:
Stone. Wolfbane.
And a single thought curled in my mind like smoke:
Let the games begin.
To be continued…
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