The soft morning light filtered through the massive bay windows of the villa. Dylan, seated in his office, was going over the latest figures from his recent concert. His fingers slid absentmindedly across the smooth surface of the desk when he heard a knock.
— "Come in," he said without looking up.
Diego entered with his usual calm, dressed in a black blazer and cream-colored pants. He held a tablet in his hand.
— "I have an idea," he announced with an enigmatic smile.
Dylan finally looked up. — "I'm listening."
— "I've booked a concert for Ryder, Daniella, and Andrea. In Kinshasa. It's going to be huge. I've planned everything: hotel, security, rehearsal spaces. We leave in five days."
Dylan slowly nodded, then narrowed his eyes. — "And what about me?"
Diego stepped closer. — "You'll be there too. But you won't perform with them. You'll be a solo act. Your performance will be separate. They must not share the stage with you. It's better that way."
Dylan crossed his arms. — "Fine. But remember what we agreed on: no one can know we're related."
Diego nodded. — "I promise. Your secret is safe."
In the days that followed, the villa turned into a real beehive. Tech crews came and went, stylists presented outfits, and agents spoke in multiple languages. Dylan mostly stayed on the sidelines, watching without interfering.
In another wing of the villa, Daniella held a dress in her hands.
— "I'm not sure this blue suits me," she said, turning to Ryder.
— "You look like a star in any color," he replied with a smirk.
Andrea came running in. — "Have you seen the tickets? First class, five-star hotels… This feels like a dream."
— "It's thanks to Diego," Daniella said. "Honestly, he's an amazing producer."
Ryder looked out the window, thoughtful. — "Yeah… but I feel like Dylan's avoiding us. He barely speaks to us."
— "Maybe he's just focused," Andrea said. "He's changed, but maybe he's still hurting from everything that happened."
Daniella lowered her eyes. — "I want to talk to him before we leave."
That evening, Dylan was training alone in the dance studio. He repeated his choreography to perfection. When he stopped, sweaty and exhausted, he saw Diego sitting on a couch.
— "I thought you'd be in bed already," Dylan said, grabbing a towel.
— "I wanted to talk. We fly out in four days. Everything's ready. But I saw Daniella today. She wants to speak to you."
— "I have nothing to say to her," Dylan replied sharply. "They betrayed me. I haven't forgotten."
Diego stood up slowly. — "Very well. But if you want to become a legend, you need to learn to manage your emotions. Your art must always come before your wounds."
Dylan remained silent.
The next day, the team began loading the luggage into the vehicles. Ryder, Daniella, and Andrea were excited. They had just received their detailed schedule.
— "Two shows in Kinshasa, three interviews, and a photoshoot," Andrea read aloud. "This is unreal."
— "What about Dylan?" Ryder asked.
— "He's performing solo. He's arriving separately," Diego said while handing out access badges.
Daniella frowned. — "Why is he always apart?"
Diego gave a polite smile. — "That's his choice."
In his room, Dylan stared at his reflection in the mirror. He had put on a crisp white shirt and fitted black pants. Behind him, his assistant entered.
— "Sir, the plane is ready."
— "Very well. Tell Diego I'm on my way."
He walked down the stairs slowly. A black Mercedes was waiting outside. Before getting in, he looked one last time at the villa. He whispered to himself:
— "Kinshasa, get ready. Dylan Lenoir is coming."
In the air, everyone was lost in thought. Daniella gazed out the window, Ryder was listening to music, and Andrea flipped through a fashion magazine.
— "Do you think we'll have time to explore a little?" Andrea asked.
— "I hope so," Daniella replied. "But mostly, I hope things go well with Dylan."
Ryder nodded. — "We'll do our part. The rest is up to him."
At the same time, Dylan was flying aboard a private jet, alone with his manager. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene: the crowd's cheers, the lights, the emotion.
He was ready. Ready to show everyone who he had become. Ready to shine, even far from those he once loved. But deep down, a voice lingered: What if they regret it? What if they want you back?
Dylan shook his head. There was no room for the past now.
Kinshasa was waiting for him.