Rise of the Zillionaire Star

Chapter 3: Ghosted and Cancelled

The call rang! And rang! And rang!

“Yo, Rico,” Jaylen said, pacing his narrow apartment barefoot with his voice shaky but hopeful. “Man, I know what happened last night was wild. But I need to talk to someone. I’m still trying to get my music…”

Before he could finish saying what he intended, Rico ended the call. 

Jaylen blinked. He stared at the screen. “Call failed.” He tapped again and he was taken straight to voicemail.

He tried Nikki next. Then Trell and then Aysha.

Each call rang once, but none picked up their phones. And when he tried again, it's wasn't going through. Maybe that had blocked him.

He scrolled through his contacts like a gambler with nothing left to bet. All those names, “industry friends,” influencers, stylists, dancers, fellow “dreamers” are gone in a night. He was ghosted as if he never existed.

“You’re a ghost in this industry…” Mia’s voice echoed in his head like a curse. Even though he hates it, that was his reality. 

He tossed his phone across the room. It bounced off a sagging couch cushion and hit the floor with a dull clunk. Jaylen leaned against the cracked wall, running his hands over his face. The ache in his chest hadn’t left since the slap, but this being abandoned by everyone he thought he could count on…this was worse.

The silence rang louder than the phone ever had.

A sudden knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. For one stupid second, he hoped it was someone coming to check on him. A friend or just someone. Hell, even a pizza guy with the wrong address. He stepped out. 

Instead, it was a manila envelope taped to the door, flapping in the breeze from the cracked hallway window.

Jaylen tore it off. It was an EVICTION NOTICE.

“Tenant has 72 hours to vacate the premises due to unpaid rent.”

His breath caught in his throat. His hands dropped to his sides. The paper drifted to the ground. 

Jaylen didn’t bother packing. There was nothing to take. One duffel bag held a change of clothes. The rest was his notebook full of lyrics, his busted headphones and the half-dead laptop.  All useless reminders of a dream that had mocked him into believing.

He stepped into the hallway, locked the door for no reason, and walked into the city night with his head dropped down in thoughts. 

…….

East Harlow never slept. Not because it was glamorous like Uptown, but because people didn’t have the luxury to rest. The streets buzzed with desperation, late-night bodega runs, broken-down cabs, corner hustlers pushing demo CDs and hope in equal measure.

Jaylen walked with no direction, the duffel heavy on his back and shame heavier on his shoulders. A cold drizzle started to fall, misting his curls and soaking through his hoodie. He didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.

Every poster on the walls seemed to mock him, “NEW MIA LENNOX SINGLE OUT NOW!”

“LIVE TAPING OF THE BLAKE VOSS SHOW – TICKETS SOLD OUT!”

The faces that had destroyed him were plastered like royalty across the street. 

And him?

He was a footnote in their story. A failed subplot. A background extra who thought he could speak.

Jaylen turned down an alley to cut through toward the subway when his phone buzzed. Just once.

He pulled it out with trembling fingers.

It was a message from the IronStage Lounge. The subject it held was performance cancellation. 

“Due to recent events, we’re unable to move forward with your performance this weekend. We wish you the best.”

Jaylen stared at the screen.

The IronStage Lounge was a dive bar with a cracked mic and sticky floors but it had been his stage for a long time. It was the only place that ever gave him ten minutes under a spotlight.

Right now, it's all gone.

He slumped against the alley wall, the cold brick pressing into his back. Everything around him blurred even the streetlight seemed shaky. The distant honk of cabs, the muted bass of some club blocks away - everything isn't straight in his ears anymore.

He closed his eyes.

And for a moment, he wondered if this was where his career would end.

Just a guy in an alley, too proud to beg and too hurt to scream.

Until… he heard a loud laughter from a distance close to him.  The laughter was familiar, cruel, and mocking. 

Jaylen’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head toward the street.

A sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, its headlights spilling into the alley like white fire. Music blasted from the windows - one of Mia’s songs. The driver’s door opened.

Blake stepped out, fixing his blazer and laughing with someone in the back seat.

From the opposite side, Mia Lennox emerged with her phone in hand, giggling.

Behind them came two other industry faces. One was a dancer Jaylen used to rehearse with, the other was a PR agent who once said Jaylen had undeniable rawness.

They all looked bright, beautiful and expensive.

And Jaylen was ten feet away. Dry, broke and invisible to all. 

“Hey, stinker! Not so bad to live in the street now. Can you believe he actually showed up at the party like the real deal? I am quite impressed by your courage.” Blake said, loud enough for the others to hear. He pulled out his phone, played the second for everyone. “Can you all hear this rubbish sound? Personally I will give you a zero. I don't blame Mia for leaving you anyway. Dude had the audacity to call himself an artist!” Others laughed and Blake leaned in, “You are trash and you don't belong where humans leave. An animal like you should keep wallowing in the street.”

Mia chuckled. “He said we were a team. But his voice Is more like a charity work.”

The others howled.

Jaylen’s fingers curled against the wall. Rage bubbled up through his chest like lava.

He was still here, still breathing. And they were still mocking him like he was less than human.

They hadn’t just taken everything.

They were adding more damage to his already shattered life. 

Jaylen clenched his jaw, and for the first time in days, he didn’t feel helpless. He lunged at them, ready to fight fist to fist. But Blake didn't hesitate to beat Jaylen up with the help of his friends. 

They beat him until blood dripped from his mouth with his body bruised and violently injured. But they didn't stop until he was lifeless. “Poor man like you shouldn't live on.” Blake spoke with aggressively, spitting on his face. 

They entered their SUV and drove off. 

 Jaylen was still lifeless and he thought that was the end of him. But suddenly, pain surged through his head like a spike, and a cold, robotic voice echoed in his ears, “SYSTEM BOOTING… Welcome, Host: Jaylen Cruz. 

System: ZILLONAIRE CELEBRITY PROTOCOL INITIATED.

Objective: Rise. Rule. Revenge.”