Tycoon Actor C473

The controversy surrounding La La Land continued to fade as January wore on. By the time the 60th Annual Grammy Awards arrived on January 28, the spotlight had firmly shifted.

The red carpet outside New York’s Madison Square Garden was a spectacle in itself. A parade of music’s biggest names walked under the blinding flashes of cameras—Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Childish Gambino, Kesha, Elton John with Miley Cyrus, and rising stars like SZA and Alessia Cara. Industry giants like Jay-Z, Logic, and Bruno Mars kept the energy buzzing.

Bruno, in particular, sent the crowd into a frenzy. He grinned, waved, posed effortlessly, and responded to red carpet interviews with the ease of a veteran. His charisma lit up the press lines.

But among the crowd of fans packed behind the barricades, some were growing restless.

“I came all the way from Vermont just to see Taylor Swift,” one girl said, peering over a handmade sign.

“I really hope she shows,” another chimed in. “It’d make everything worth it.”

Then a nearby voice cut in, sharp with cynicism. “Are you guys serious? Taylor’s not coming. Her album Reputation dropped in November—she’s not eligible this year.”

A brief silence fell. Someone pulled out their phone and confirmed it. The album’s release date meant she’d be eligible for next year’s Grammys—not this one.

The disappointment was immediate. A few lowered their signs. One girl groaned, “You’re telling me I took the train down here for nothing?”

But before the mood could sink further, another fan nearby offered, “If I were you, I’d wait for Lucas Knight instead. He’s confirmed to be coming.”

That got their attention.

“Lucas is coming tonight?” one girl asked, eyes lighting up.

Another nodded, already scrolling through TMZ. “Yeah, says right here. He’s nominated at the Oscars this year too—but he's also performing Despacito with Luis Fonsi tonight.”

Just like that, their spirits lifted. Some weren’t even major fans, but Lucas’s music had quietly embedded itself into their playlists. And of course, many knew he and Taylor had a close friendship.

“He better show up,” someone whispered with a grin, tightening her grip on her phone. “This might actually be better than seeing Taylor.”

And so the crowd shifted. What started as quiet disappointment turned into excited anticipation—this time, for the unexpected star of the evening.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Just minutes later, Lucas Knight finally emerged onto the red carpet—flanked by Luis Fonsi. The crowd erupted. If Bruno Mars caused a stir, this was a full-on eruption. Screams echoed through the barricades, some fans even jumping over one another for a glimpse.

Even Luis, who was no stranger to global fame thanks to Despacito, looked rattled by the frenzy.

Lucas gave him a light pat on the back. “Breathe. Smile. Walk like you own the place.”

Luis chuckled nervously. “Easy for you to say.”

They stepped forward. Lucas waved with practiced ease, smiling at both cameras and fans. But the moment they crossed the main barricade, hands reached for him—tugging on his sleeve, brushing at his suit. One fan nearly grabbed hold of his arm.

Lucas didn’t flinch. With a steady step, he passed through, smiling the entire time. Luis followed, visibly impressed.

“That was… intense,” Luis muttered once they passed the crush of fans. “Does that happen to you all the time?”

Lucas gave a half-shrug, half-smile. “Often enough that I don’t get surprised anymore.”

The two reached the photo line and posed together, standing shoulder to shoulder as the flashes snapped. Then came the press line.

They soon reached the photo area. Cameras flashed as they struck a few simple poses, then moved to a short red carpet interview.

“Luis Fonsi,” the reporter greeted, “your first Grammy red carpet—how are you feeling?”

“Nervous,” Luis admitted with a soft laugh, his accent faint but charming.

The reporter turned slightly. “There’s been chatter about Despacito—about how unusual it is for a bilingual song, mostly in English but partially in Spanish, to be nominated at the Grammys. Some say it wouldn’t have happened without Lucas’s involvement. Any thoughts on that?”

Luis hesitated, visibly uncomfortable.

Lucas stepped in smoothly, voice steady. “Actually, Despacito happened because two artists collaborated with respect for each other’s vision. Luis brought the soul and rhythm. I helped shape some verses, but this song wouldn’t exist without his voice—or his language.”

The reporter blinked, slightly caught off guard.

Lucas gave a polite smile. “So I’d suggest we stop pretending he doesn’t belong here.”

There was a short, stunned silence. Then the interviewer, flustered, moved on to softer questions.

As they finally stepped inside, Luis exhaled in relief. “Gracias… seriously. That could’ve gone weird.”

Lucas shrugged. “You earned your place here. They’re just late to realizing it.”

Luis smiled faintly, warmth stirring in his chest. In a world full of ego and politics, it was rare to meet someone like Lucas Knight—a Hollywood superstar with no airs.

As for Lucas, he couldn’t help but think back to his previous life. Despacito had won big at the Latin Grammys, but when it came to the U.S. Grammy stage, it was snubbed. Partly because most of the lyrics weren’t in English. But also because the Recording Academy had a history of undervaluing international or non-English hits, especially in the main categories.

This time, though, Lucas had deliberately shaped the song differently—still rooted in Latin soul, but with more English verses woven in through his contribution.

‘I wonder if it’ll be different this time... or if the system’s still the same underneath the glitter.’

When they entered the venue, they were greeted by a blur of handshakes, photo flashes, and glitzy chatter. The seats filled gradually with familiar and unfamiliar faces—artists, producers, composers, executives.

Near their row sat Bruno Mars, who perked up the moment he noticed them. “Ayo! Look who finally made it,” Bruno grinned, standing and approaching.

Lucas stood with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

Bruno gave him a quick bro-hug and turned to Luis, eyes gleaming. “And you! You’re the guy who got me singing Despacito in the shower for two months straight.”

Luis laughed, a little flustered. “You really know the song?”

“Man, everyone knows the song,” Bruno said. “Catchy as hell. I lose sleep over that chorus, it’s so good.”

Luis smirked and jabbed, “Hope you don’t cry when we take the award tonight.”

Bruno clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, I will cry. But at least I’ll be crying to Despacito. That’s a win in my book.”

Luis blinked, genuinely surprised by how humble and sincere Bruno was. It threw him off—in a good way.

They chatted briefly, trading light jokes and stories. Then Bruno gave a casual salute. “Alright, fellas. See you out there. And Lucas—next time, I’m flying on your jet.”

Lucas laughed, “Only if you bring the hook.”

Bruno winked and disappeared into the crowd.

Luis leaned back, still processing. “I’ve admired that guy for years… Didn’t expect him to be that chill.”

Lucas smiled, watching the sea of artists in front of them. “Same here. That’s the good thing about music—it breaks the armor off people.”

Before they could settle in further, the house lights dimmed.

Kendrick Lamar, joined by U2 and Dave Chappelle, opened the show with a searing medley of “XXX,” “DNA,” “King’s Dead,” and “New Freezer.” The stadium exploded with applause.

After Kendrick Lamar’s electrifying performance, his song, LOYALTY. with Rihanna took home Best Rap/Sung Performance, earning thunderous applause. The show moved on without pause—Lady Gaga followed with a raw, emotional piano set, her voice soaring through Joanne and Million Reasons.

Then came the Best New Artist announcement—Alessia Cara’s name drew cheers, and shortly after, Sam Smith filled the room with Pray, backed by a gospel choir that shook the walls.

Lucas listened quietly. The next act was Better Man, a country ballad penned by Taylor. As the melody rolled in, his thoughts drifted. ‘I wonder what she’s doing… She’s not here. Her album missed the cut-off, didn’t it?’

He slipped his phone from his pocket and sent her a quick message. He wasn’t expecting a reply. But one came.

«I’m actually shooting a movie.»

Lucas blinked. ‘Shooting a movie?’ His brows furrowed. A film? This time of year?

Then a thought struck him. ‘Don’t tell me…’ His mind flashed to Cats—the infamous musical-turned-meme. His face tightened, then he shook his head. ‘Well, if she’s signed the contract, it’s not like I can stop it.’

Before he could spiral further, a staff member waved him down. “Mr. Knight. You and Luis—backstage.”

Backstage was a brief blur—handshakes, nods, short greetings with other artists also waiting their turn. Then the stage manager gave the signal.

The crowd erupted when their names were called. It was louder than before—like the whole arena had been holding its breath for this moment.

Even outside, fans gathered around the billboards screamed as their faces lit up across screens.

“THAT’S THEM!”

“Lucas Knight! Luis!”

“They’re doing Despacito! Oh my God—”

Social media exploded—Grammy livestreams on YouTube and Twitch flooded with comments, emojis, and rapid-fire messages. Despacito had taken the world by storm, and tonight, it was about to crash into the Grammys.

Lucas and Luis exchanged a quick look at the foot of the stage.

“You ready?” Lucas asked.

Luis exhaled. “Let’s burn it down.”

The beat dropped.

From the first note, the crowd was hooked. Cheers, squeals, rhythmic claps—it was deafening.

In his seat, Bruno Mars chuckled to himself, watching the performance unfold.

‘I’m up against this?’ he thought with a wry grin. ‘Yeah... I’m losing tonight.’

He didn’t sound bitter. If anything, it amused him. Because when a song like Despacito hit, even legends had to take a step back.