207-209

Chapter 207 – Elusive 

Ahmet Ertegun, the executive president of Atlantic Records, looked nothing like a high-powered music mogul standing in front of Ronan. Instead, he resembled a small business owner from down the block, carrying a square black lambskin briefcase like he was out collecting rent. His warm and easygoing demeanor might’ve masked the sharp instincts of a seasoned businessman. 

But a true talent scout? 

He didn’t really give off that vibe—he was even more low-key than Scooter Braun. Was this what they meant by “empty vessels make the most noise, while full ones remain quiet”? 

Ahmet and Allen clearly knew each other well. He ignored Allen’s flattery and offered Ronan a humble smile. “He’s always like that—exaggerating my accomplishments to make himself look more impressive. But honestly, I’m just an old guy who loves music.” 

His thick, unkempt eyebrows looked like two hibernating caterpillars. They didn’t need to move to catch attention, adding an unexpected touch of humor to his words. 

“I never had much talent for singing myself, so I ended up digging up the ones who do. You know how it is—us Jews can buy the whole world with money.” 

That self-deprecating jab lit up the conversation just right, making both Ronan and Allen laugh out loud. 

Ahmet took a sip of his whiskey and shook his head slightly. “If I had any talent, I wouldn’t be here telling others what to do.” 

“Talent is a blessing,” Ronan chimed in, “but it can also be a curse. What’s even rarer is finding a lifestyle that genuinely makes you happy...” He tapped his temple. “Clarity—it’s not about smarts. It’s about wisdom. That’s the real treasure.” 

The unspoken message was clear—whether it was Ronan or Ahmet, they were both doing what they loved. The form it took didn’t matter. Whether on stage or behind the scenes, they were happy because of their love for music. In that sense, they were equals. 

Ronan’s words were meant to reassure Ahmet after his earlier comment—whether Ahmet had been sincere or just being polite, Ronan’s response was thoughtful and distinct. 

Ahmet paused for a moment with his glass, his expression unreadable—though, in the shifting lights of the party, it was hard to catch any micro-expressions anyway. Still, he turned to Ronan and asked aloud, “So that’s what inspired you to write Chasing the Light?” 

“Even standing on the edge of a cliff, even lost in darkness, we should never give up chasing the light. That’s the promise we make to ourselves,” Ronan replied with a soft smile. 

Ahmet didn’t react much—no expression, no clear emotion—he just looked at Ronan for a brief moment, then turned to Allen. “What do you think?” 

“Absolutely,” Allen nodded. “Pursuing innovation and breakthroughs in art is one form. Resonating with the public in the market is another. But really, both come from the artist’s understanding of life—they’re not separate.” 

Allen then looked at Ronan. “And you?” 

“This is all a bit over my head,” Ronan admitted honestly. “Whether it’s one form or the other, I’m still figuring things out. I don’t know much about artistic creation, and I know even less about what the public likes. So for me, music is just an emotional flow from the heart. Whether it fits into one category or the other… well, that’s beyond me.” 

His honesty seemed to take Ahmet by surprise, who glanced at Allen and saw that Allen wasn’t shocked at all. 

“Maybe five or ten years from now, I’ll feel differently. But for now, I think I should just focus on creating. Let the audience decide about the art and the market. Maybe they’ll guide me on my journey as an artist.” 

It was straightforward and sincere, but carried a quiet kind of wisdom. Allen nodded slightly in appreciation. Ahmet, on the other hand, remained unreadable, his face giving nothing away in the flickering party lights. His true thoughts were impossible to discern. 

The discussion didn’t last much longer. 

Soon, both Allen and Ahmet were pulled away by other friends, but they graciously introduced Ronan to a few people before leaving him on his own. 

Ronan stayed where he was, a bit perplexed— 

What exactly was Ahmet’s attitude? 

From Bruno’s introduction, to Allen’s involvement, to the brief conversation they had, Ahmet never once revealed what he really thought. 

Ronan had no doubt that Allen introduced Ahmet in hopes that One Day King would land a record deal like Bruno. But Ahmet was impossible to read. Ronan couldn’t even tell whether the brief chat was a good sign or a bad one, whether Ahmet was interested or indifferent. 

Was it the chaotic party atmosphere clouding his judgment? Or was Ahmet just incredibly good at hiding his emotions? Maybe both. 

Ronan let out a long breath and decided not to dwell on it. Instead, he looked around for Ollie—he still wasn’t completely at ease leaving him alone. 

In the crowded party, he spotted Ollie over by the sofas, chatting happily with Janelle Monáe. The colorful lights danced across Ollie’s face, and the smile on his lips, the sparkle in his eyes—it was all easy to see. He wasn’t nervous or uncomfortable in the slightest. 

patreon:belamy20 

Ronan finally relaxed a little. But now he was starting to feel out of place at the party. 

His hearing was too sensitive. Every little noise came through clearly. After being in such a high-energy environment for a long time, the overlapping sounds piled on top of one another, like someone had placed a speaker right next to his ear and cranked up the volume. His brain began to ache. The noise was suffocating, pounding in rhythm with the music, making it hard to breathe. 

So, he stepped out of the dance floor and headed toward the outdoor pool area to get some fresh air. 

Splash! 

The moment he stepped outside, the world opened up. Cold, crisp air rushed into his lungs, clearing his head in an instant. 

“Whew…” Ronan let out a long exhale. His tense nerves and sore muscles finally began to relax. He looked up and saw a small patch of sky overhead. 

Chapter 208: A Quiet Corner 

The sky stretched high and vast above, boundless and infinite. Yet here in New York, the steel jungle of the city sliced it into a patchwork of uneven, palm-sized fragments. A hazy glow drifted between the buildings, forming a light mist that diffused along sharp architectural lines. The sky overhead grew faint and distant, as if one had stumbled into Atlantis itself—severed from the world and suspended in another realm. 

The pounding rhythm of electronic music still throbbed faintly behind, like a relentless hammer striking the chest, each beat drumming against the skull and urging the feet away from the pool’s bustling center. Drifting toward the edge of the rooftop terrace, the winds on either side began to surge, blowing away the noisy music in an instant. The world fell into a hush, and the scene before him subtly changed. 

“...No way... Hahaha... No no no... Haha, I think...” 

The booming music thundered behind the floor-to-ceiling glass, while the chatter out on the terrace gradually became clearer. Laughter and banter broke through the veil of noise. A group of teens were fooling around near the pool—not as wild as the crowd inside, but still infused with the carefree energy and dazzling spirit of a party. 

“Haha.” 

“Hahahahaha!” 

Suddenly, a burst of laughter exploded, the charged air vibrating against the eardrums. Ronan instinctively turned his head toward the sound. There, in the crystal-clear blue pool, a crowd of young people splashed about. A few leaned against the pool’s edge, facing the deck and egging someone on. 

Following their gaze, Ronan spotted a girl in a flowing white dress sitting on a lounge chair. Her expression was cold and distant, like an ice queen untouched by the revelry. Her presence clashed starkly with the chaos around her—serene and composed, surrounded by the soft sheen of her silk gown cascading like white rose petals onto the ground. The colorful lights shimmered against the fabric, creating gentle ripples of light. 

Despite the taunts, the girl paid them no mind. Her head remained slightly bowed. Loose, wavy black hair flowed like a waterfall, glossy and soft. Moonlight flickered along the strands as they swayed in the breeze, casting a faint, silvery glow. Her face was mostly obscured by her hair, but there was a calm, focused energy in her silence. 

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” 

One of the teens in the pool seemed drunk—or perhaps not drunk, just obnoxious and looking for attention. His jeering voice cut through the air again. 

“So, are you going to bless us with a little violin tonight? Bach? Or maybe Chopin?” 

The rest of the group burst out laughing, their mocking tone sharp and unfiltered. 

“Hahahaha!” 

The pool crowd laughed wildly, their jeers now clearly meant to provoke, aimed straight at the girl with full force. 

It was only then that Ronan noticed the violin by her feet. 

The case was a plain, deep brown, giving away nothing about the instrument’s value, but it certainly looked out of place here. At a party like this—full of pounding bass and flashing lights—no one brought a violin. It just didn’t belong. 

In the world of pop music, classical music was often seen as haughty, aloof, arrogant, and self-important—just like this girl seemed now, appearing at Bruno Mars’ victory party like a stranger from another realm. 

But none of that justified attacking her. 

Ronan took a step forward, wondering how best to defuse the situation, but before he could act, the mood shifted. 

The girl raised her head. 

Round eyes, a soft chin, and rosy cheeks gave her the look of a doll—sweet and innocent. But the sharp eyebrows slicing like twin swords betrayed a deeper strength. Her delicate features radiated a proud, unapproachable resolve. Even with a faint smile at her lips, she carried an unmistakable air of pride. 

It was a pride rooted deep in her bones. Clad in white as pure as snow, she gazed calmly at the poolside hecklers. Her cool, emotionless eyes radiated clear contempt, piercing them with silent disdain. 

“So, you can actually tell the difference between Chopin and Bach? That means you know something, at least.” 

She smiled. 

It was a polite, gentle smile as she responded to the group. Her voice, instead of being sugary sweet, was laced with a crisp, melodic edge—cool and subtly magnetic, with a trace of resonance in her final syllables. 

One sentence. That was all it took to shut them up. Even without a genius-level IQ, anyone could hear the sarcasm. The problem was—they really couldn’t tell the difference between Chopin and Bach. They’d just thrown out the only two classical names they knew. 

“Pfft.” Ronan couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips—until he felt a sharp glance like an arrow shoot his way. 

He quickly straightened his expression and met the girl’s gaze head-on, unflinching. Their eyes met—just for a moment—and maybe she saw the sincerity there. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Her gaze lingered for a second, then moved on. 

But that brief moment of silence gave the pool group time to recover. Their spirits hadn’t been crushed so easily. After catching their breath, they regrouped for a new round of mockery. Maybe this was just how they partied—loud, brash, and drunk on attention. 

“What happened, princess? Did your parents force you into some arranged marriage and you fled like Cinderella, only to wander into our party like Alice in Wonderland? Newsflash: this isn’t your world. Maybe you should take your little violin and your peas and go back to being the proud little princess.” 

The teasing words came fast and sharp, filled with ridicule and mock drama. Ronan had hoped for peace out here, but clearly he was too naïve. Without the music and dancing to drown things out, alcohol was now steering the night in a different direction. 

Ronan opened his mouth, ready to tell them off. 

But before he could speak, the girl cast a sidelong glance at him—sharp and commanding—effectively halting his "knight in shining armor" moment. 

Chapter 209 – Not a Princess 

The girl was clearly not the kind of princess you’d find in a Disney movie waiting around for a hero to save her. With a single look, she stopped Ronan from stepping in. Her gaze then calmly turned toward the bustling crowd of teens in the swimming pool. From Ronan’s perspective, it was a curious and striking scene— 

In the water, the teens clustered together like prairie dogs, their wet heads bunched up in a tight group. What should have been a carefree and relaxing posture instead looked awkward and flustered. Their fake bravado, laced with jeering and taunts, only made their behavior seem even more pathetic. 

On the poolside, the girl stood like a night-blooming cereus in full bloom. Her evening gown was entirely out of place at a raucous party like this, but she wore it like a badge of individuality, calm and composed as she faced the petty provocations with quiet dignity. 

“This is a party. There’s no dress code. If your definition of a party means people should show up half-naked, then maybe you’ve been watching too many Hollywood movies—because everything they teach you is completely wrong.” 

Her tone was casual, but her words hit hard. Most importantly, she said it all with a smile. 

She stood her ground, facing those jabs head-on like a rose with thorns. If it weren’t for the undeniable steel in her words that hit like punches, no one would have guessed she was fighting back at all—her expression and gaze remained calm and collected. 

That made Ronan smile. 

A young woman in a bikini, showing off her curves, struck an elegant backstroke and called out, “Next time you come to a party, remember rule number one—leave the violin at home.” 

The girl’s eyes landed on her, and her lips curved into a sweet smile. “Thanks for the tip. Next time, I’ll bring a cello.” 

Pfft. This time Ronan couldn’t hold it back—he laughed out loud. The amusement in his eyes was impossible to hide. 

Not just Ronan—others around the pool cracked up too, some even calling out their approval. “That was a good one!” 

The bikini girl was clearly furious. She choked on water mid-backstroke, flipped over, and switched to a fast freestyle, splashing away in frustration. 

But the girl didn’t follow up with more jabs, nor did she pay the other girl any further attention. Instead, she smiled at a boy who’d whistled at her from the pool as a form of compliment. “Thanks,” she said—though the empty smile clearly dripped with sarcasm. 

The boy couldn’t take it. He slapped the surface of the water, splashing it onto the girl’s gown. 

“You probably think you’re so smart. That you’re better than us, right? But to us, you’re just another self-righteous piece of trash. No different from those wolves in suits on Wall Street. Actually, you’re even more disgusting.” 

That crossed the line into personal attack. But the girl still didn’t flinch. She looked him in the eye, calm as ever, and said, “You must be really upset about your intelligence. I can’t relate, but I can offer my sympathy.” 

If there’s ever been a perfect example of an insult without a single curse word, this was it. 

The boy exploded. “Get lost!” he yelled, hurling out a stream of expletives as he slammed the water and swam off in a flurry of aggressive butterfly strokes, leaving behind waves of splashes and noise. 

One by one, the others in the pool seemed to realize they were just embarrassing themselves. They drifted off, and peace returned to the girl’s side of the pool. 

Ronan hesitated a little before finally walking over. He stopped a respectful distance away and carefully chose his words. 

“Do you need a hand?” 

The girl was gently wiping down her violin case, ignoring her soaked dress completely. She glanced up at him, her sweet smile gone. Without the cheerful mask, her expression turned cooler—but her sharp edges softened too. 

“I’m not Medusa,” she said lightly, her voice teasing. “I don’t turn everyone who gets close to stone.” 

Ronan scratched his head. “Sorry, I was just thinking—if I were in your shoes earlier, I’m not sure I’d have handled it any better. So I figured I’d play it safe. I mean, I don’t exactly want to jump into the pool and make a scene, especially since this outfit is sponsored. I can’t afford to replace it.” 

A soft smile played in the girl’s eyes. “So what you're saying is—you’d make bad jokes at random girls just like they did?” 

Ronan opened his mouth, paused, and said, “I’m not defending them. I’m just saying… sometimes guys act out like that, thinking it’ll get a girl’s attention. They don’t know what else to do.” 

“Ha.” The girl chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “They could just walk up and introduce themselves. Or give her a rose. Even a handwritten letter would be a decent start. I’m not saying those exact things—but the point is, they have options…” 

“They’re just not that smart,” Ronan cut in. 

That one line echoed the conversation she’d had with those pool kids. The girl didn’t reply. She simply looked at Ronan, eyes steady. A silent exchange passed between them, and both of them chuckled softly. Their debate ended there. 

After a slight pause, Ronan spoke again. “It’s just a party. No need to take it so seriously. Everyone’s losing their minds tonight—it’s not just about you. Honestly, if it wasn’t you, it might’ve been me.” 

“The difference is,” the girl replied, “you’re a man. You can always protect yourself. But I’m a woman. I’m always expected to wait for a knight or a prince to rescue me. I’m just tired of waiting, that’s all.” 

She raised her head. Her wavy black hair slipped past her cheeks, revealing a pair of brilliant eyes that shone like zircon under the night sky. 

Then she smiled at Ronan—a wide, dazzling smile that lit up her entire face. 

Like a rare flower blooming in the courtyard at night, as if a goddess had come to visit. 

She blinked playfully and said with a teasing glint, “Sorry for ruining your chance at a heroic rescue.”