He had worked so hard he forgot how to vacation, but standing there, he realized the work was the reward. The "Congratulations" didn't need to come from the crowd downstairs. It was the quiet nod he gave himself in the glass reflection. He’d made it. And he wasn't going back.
He wasn't just dreaming anymore; he was living the lyrics he used to write on the backs of napkins. Every snub, every closed door, and every "no" had been fuel. Now, the fire was so bright it was blinding. He pulled his phone from his pocket, ignored the fifty new notifications, and simply watched the sun start to peek over the skyline. He had worked so hard he forgot how
But tonight, the bass from the speakers downstairs didn't sound like noise—it sounded like a heartbeat. He’d made it
The neon lights of the penthouse blurred into streaks of gold and white, a shimmering backdrop to the bottle of champagne sweating on the marble counter. Every snub, every closed door, and every "no" had been fuel