Investing In Overlooked Women: I Get Cashback On Every Glow-Up

The highway toward the stadium complex was backed up for blocks, packed with thousands of fans, news vans, and security escorts.

I sat behind the wheel of the SUV with Chloe in the passenger seat, smoothly navigating through the heavy traffic. To our left sat Quin Records’ massive stadium, fully illuminated by blinding floodlights and towering digital billboards showcasing ColdZon and their star lineup.

Chloe glanced down at her tablet, running real-time ticket analytics, before looking out the window at the packed lines wrapping around Quin’s venue.

”Quin Records completely sold out their stadium,” Chloe reported, turning her screen toward me. ”Fastine’s team worked overtime after the scandal. They slashed ticket prices, brought in massive guest performers, and flooded local media to fill every single seat. Quin isn’t some small indie label, Ethan. A single PR controversy isn’t going to dismantle a billion-dollar machine overnight.”

”I never expected them to collapse in an afternoon, babe,” I said calmly, resting one hand on the steering wheel while looking over at the towering billboard of ColdZon. ”They’re a massive giant. But we don’t need to completely erase them tonight. We just need to completely steal their moment and make sure everyone knows who really owns the music.”

Chloe let out a low, appreciative laugh, her eyes sparkling with sharp admiration. ”Steal their win right from their own front door.”

”Precisely.”

We pulled into the private underground VIP parking bay of our arena—situated directly across the plaza from Quin’s stadium. After passing through double security checkpoints, Chloe and I walked straight backstage, where the entire production team was moving like a clockwork machine.

Inside the green room, Ruby was standing in front of the full-length vanity mirror, completely transformed.

She wore a stunning, high-concept performance outfit that shimmered under the warm vanity lights, her hair and makeup done to absolute perfection. Gone was the tearful, stressed girl from the tour bus—standing there was a confident, radiant pop superstar ready for war.

”Look who finally showed up,” Ruby said, turning around with a brilliant, electric smile as her violet eyes met mine. ”How do I look?”

”Like you’re about to make history,” I replied smoothly, stepping over to give her a quick, reassuring embrace.

Before we could take a breath, Ruby’s manager came rushing into the dressing room, wiping sweat from his forehead. He held up a specialized, heavy-duty black equipment case, looking at me with a mix of awe and total confusion.

”Ethan, the private engineering team you contracted just finished installing the backup system,” he said, breathlessly tapping the case. ”They set up an independent, high-grade auxiliary power system—a completely separate generator circuit linked exclusively to Ruby’s custom vocal microphone and main soundboard output.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow, looking from her manager over to me. ”Wait... an independent backup power line? Just for my mic?”

Chloe turned to me, her dark eyes narrowing with realization. ”Ethan... why did you set up a isolated generator for her vocal rig?”

I leaned back against the edge of the vanity table, a cold, calculating smirk settling on my face.

”Because Fastine Hope isn’t the type to take a loss lying down,” I said softly, my voice laced with absolute certainty. ”Quin Records knows we’re right across the street, drawing their crowd and stealing their headlines. If they get desperate enough to try a cheap sabotage trick—like triggering a venue blackout or cutting the main stage grid—I’m making sure of one thing.”

I reached over, picked up the custom sleek silver microphone, and placed it firmly in Ruby’s hands.

”No matter what happens to the lights, no matter what happens to this arena... your voice is going to carry across that entire plaza uninterrupted.”

Ruby held the heavy microphone, looking up at me with wide, fiercely determined eyes, a thrill running down her spine. ”You really think of everything, don’t you?”

”I don’t leave winning to chance,” I murmured.

A crew member knocked hard on the dressing room door, sticking his head in. ”Five minutes to showtime! Soundcheck verified, main soundboard is live, and stage grid is at 100%!”

”Mic check complete,” her manager confirmed, locking the auxiliary case. ”Everything is ready.”

Outside, the roar of tens of thousands of fans packed inside our arena echoed through the heavy concrete walls, building into a deafening wall of sound. The battle was officially on.

I watched from the wings as the house lights slammed down and a wave of absolute euphoria ripped through the packed arena. The floor shook beneath my tailored shoes—tens of thousands of screaming fans holding up lightsticks, turning the dark stadium into a swirling sea of violet and gold.

The stage production was breathtaking. Heavy fog rolled across the black platform as towering LED pillars flared to life, pulsing like a gigantic heartbeat. Ruby made her legendary entrance, rising from beneath the center stage on a hydraulic lift, surrounded by sparks and blinding laser arrays. She looked like an absolute goddess.

I pulled out my phone, standing beside Chloe as she rapidly cross-referenced our real-time analytics with Quin Records’ official broadcast.

”Quin started twenty minutes ago,” Chloe said quietly, her eyes darting over the metrics on her screen. ”They pulled out all the stops for ColdZon. Their official livestream is currently sitting at three million concurrent viewers—about a million higher than ours right now. They’re leveraging their entire global network to drown us out.”

”Let them enjoy their head start,” I said smoothly, a dark, expectant smirk playing on my lips. ”Number of streams doesn’t matter if the performance is dead on arrival. Watch what happens the second Ruby open her mouth.”

On stage, Ruby casually picked up her custom silver microphone, stepping to the edge of the catwalk. She threw her hand into the air, hyping up the crowd, sending a fresh shockwave of deafening cheers through the roof. The live band kicked in with a thunderous drum beat and a soaring bass line, building up to the split-second drop where Ruby was about to land her massive opening vocal run.

She drew in a deep breath, raising the mic to her lips—

SNAP.

In a single, terrifying instant, every single light in the stadium slammed off.

The massive LED walls died. The laser arrays vanished. The stage monitors cut out, and the thunderous roar of the live band was instantly swallowed whole by a sickening, absolute silence. The entire venue went completely pitch-black.

A collective gasp echoed from tens of thousands of fans in the dark, followed by a rising tide of confused, panicked whispers.

Chloe’s breath hitched beside me, her phone screen illuminating her shocked face. ”Ethan! The main power grid—”

”I knew it,” I said quietly, my voice icy, calm, and utterly undisturbed.

Fastine Hope had played her final, desperate card. Sabotage.

Across the street, Quin Records was likely celebrating, thinking they had just plunged our entire multi-million-dollar production into total darkness and humiliated us on a global broadcast. But as the crowd sat in pitch-black confusion, waiting for the venue to panic...

A single, soft blue indicator light flickered to life right in the center of the dark stage—the independent auxiliary power line on Ruby’s microphone.