Johnny Lewis, a struggling actor trying to make it in Hollywood, had been dealing with chaos in his personal life lately—all thanks to his high-maintenance girlfriend, Katy Perry.
Katy's career was skyrocketing. She had recently signed with Columbia Records, and through her manager, she was now in talks with Capitol Music Group, one of the five major labels under Universal Music.
Johnny knew that if Katy could land a deal with such a powerhouse, her future would be paved with stardom.
But in the entertainment industry, relationships where the woman outshines the man often end in breakups. And Johnny could already feel the shift—Katy had been getting suspiciously close to a music producer lately, not to mention those late-night "meetings" with her manager.
Desperate to salvage their relationship, Johnny had gone out of his way to bring Katy here tonight to meet Pete Tong, a heavyweight in the UK music scene.
When it came to nightlife and dance music in Britain, Pete Tong's name was synonymous with influence. He was the host of Essential Selection on BBC Radio 1, the most popular dance music show in the country.
Securing this meeting hadn't been easy. Johnny had pulled strings, even gifting Pete a car and calling in a favor from Anya Goode, a well-connected producer at Universal. He needed to flex some industry muscle to remind Katy why she should stay with him.
But of course, some insignificant fly had to ruin the moment.
"Huh. That guy's ugly as hell."
Johnny's temper flared, but before he could react, Katy dug her nails into his arm and hissed, "Johnny, we're here to ask Pete Tong for a favor. Don't embarrass me."
"Sure thing, babe." He tried to kiss her cheek, but she dodged it smoothly. Unfazed, he shot a glare at the drunk Asian guy now swaying on his feet.
When the guy let out a loud burp, Johnny sneered. "Classy."
Anya Goode, dressed in flashy hip-hop attire, sauntered over and playfully punched Johnny's chest. "Damn, Johnny, since when did you become so patient? The Johnny I knew would've thrown a punch by now."
Then she turned to Katy, eyes widening. "Wow, this is your girlfriend? Gorgeous."
Katy offered a polite smile but said nothing, her eyes scanning Anya's booth with thinly veiled disdain. The table was littered with drug paraphernalia, and scantily clad women lounged around, whistling at passersby.
Johnny, however, was too preoccupied to care. "Where's Pete Tong? He was supposed to be here by now."
Anya waved him off. "Relax. He owns this place—of course he'll show. You see that VIP booth over there? That's Calvin Harris, this year's breakout DJ. You think just anyone can book him? Trust me, money talks."
With that, she grabbed Katy's wrist and pulled her into the booth. Johnny followed, forcing a smile as he joined the party.
Meanwhile, Ronaldo breathed a sigh of relief when the other group didn't escalate things. He grabbed Claire's arm, trying to stop him from opening another bottle. "Hey, kid, you've had enough."
But Claire ignored him, chugging the beer while muttering under his breath, "You can lose anything… but never your dreams. You were the reason I kept going all these years!"
Ronaldo froze.
There was something in Claire's eyes—disappointment.
Even under the pulsating club lights, Claire's gaze was hollow, devoid of its usual spark.
"I…"* Ronaldo's hand lingered on Claire's shoulder, but the words caught in his throat.
Before he could speak, Claire dragged his stool closer and slurred, "You really won't apologize to Rooney, huh? You chose to stay at United. He's still your captain."
Ronaldo snorted. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Ferguson sent you to lecture me."
Claire ignored the jab, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling lights. "If I were you… I'd do it. Past me, present me—doesn't matter. I'd never betray someone's trust."
"If you wait for Rooney to apologize first… you'll lose everything. No matter how good you are on the pitch."
"Look at Chelsea—after that massacre at Madejski Stadium, their injury list is a joke. All that 'Red vs. Blue' hype? They're finished. Shevchenko's been a flop, and they just dropped three points last game."
Claire was on a roll now, one foot planted on the stool as he ranted.
"But if you step up in the next home game against Arsenal—prove yourself to the fans, to the team—then apologize to Rooney in the locker room? The media will shut up overnight."
Ronaldo watched Claire's animated gestures, his lips twitching into a smile.
Then, finally, he nodded.
"I promise. I'll apologize. I will."
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