SuperStar!

The late afternoon sun bathed Ian Roberts' Los Angeles office in golden hues, illuminating the minimalist decor. Ethan Jones sat on the edge of his chair, his energy undiminished as he tapped his foot against the polished floor. Bill lounged beside him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Ethan's barely-contained excitement. Ian, seated across the desk, adjusted his glasses and prepared to continue, his laptop screen glowing with financial details.

Just as Ian began talking about potential investment strategies, Ethan leaned forward.

"Hold on," he said, interrupting. "Before we talk investments, there's something else I want to discuss."

Ian looked up, intrigued. "Go on."

"My social media revenue," Ethan said with a grin. "We've gone through the music numbers, but what about everything I've made off social media so far?"

Ian nodded, scrolling through his files. "Good point. Let's break it down."

Bill smirked. "The kid's a walking spreadsheet."

Ian started with YouTube. "Your YouTube channel has brought in approximately $10.85 million in ad revenue. As per your contract, you get 25% of that."

"That's…" Ethan tilted his head, waiting for Ian to calculate.

"Roughly $2.71 million," Ian confirmed.

Ethan let out a low whistle. "Not bad at all. And Instagram?"

Ian's fingers danced across the keyboard. "From ad shares and monetized content features, you've earned about $1.5 million so far. No splits there."

"And Twitter?"

"Monetized tweets and activity have brought in around $750,000—again, entirely yours."

Bill let out a soft chuckle. "That's $4.96 million total, Ethan. Not bad for someone who hasn't even signed a sponsorship deal yet."

Ethan leaned back, grinning. "You make it sound so easy. But hey, I'm not complaining."

Bill added, "And I get 10% of that, right?"

Ethan shot him a playful look. "You don't miss a beat, do you?"

"Not when money's involved," Bill replied with a wink.

The room was filled with shared laughter, though none of them noticed Ian's phone buzzing on the desk.

Meanwhile, the internet was ablaze.

@PopMusicUpdates: BREAKING NEWS: Ethan Jones' upcoming tour ticket prices revealed! Expect to pay $150–$200 per show.

The reactions came fast and furious:

@Liv4Music: "$200 for a concert ticket? Who does this guy think he is? Beyoncé?"

@ConcertQueen97: "The audacity. I love his music, but I'm not selling my kidney for it."

@JonesStanForever: "If y'all are poor, just say so. Can't wait for him to come to my city!"

@MusicCriticAnon: "I'll pay $200 for a phone case, but not for a concert? Really? Y'all need to get your priorities straight."

@SilentScreams: "He's worth every penny. You'll regret missing this show."

@BrokeAndBitter: "Guess I'll just watch the bootlegs on YouTube like the rest of us peasants."

The internet was divided, with some fans passionately defending the pricing and others voicing outrage.

In Ian's office, the three men remained oblivious to the online chaos. Ethan, however, seemed unusually thoughtful.

"You know what?" he said suddenly, breaking the momentary silence. "Let's hold off on the investment talk for now. I've got something I want to handle first."

Ian raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Fair enough. Let me know when you're ready."

Bill glanced at Ethan, curious but didn't press him. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's worth the wait."

Ethan offered a faint smile, his mind elsewhere. For now, the millions didn't matter. He had something more personal to focus on—and nothing was going to distract him from it.

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