StarPulse Entertainment's Westfield HQ was a hive of nervous energy. Execs paced, adjusting ties and practicing their "welcome" smiles, all sweating bullets over their new mystery boss, Ethan Black. Claire Hudson, the COO, had the office polished to Beyoncé-halftime-show levels, per her orders . "If this kid's a crypto bro, I'm quitting," she muttered, eyeing the clock.
Half an hour away, Ethan cruised in his $600,000 Ferrari 488 Pista, following GPS to StarPulse's sleek, glass-fronted building. He parked, stepped out, and scanned the place like a kid at a candy store. The five-story structure was part office, part streaming studio, with neon-lit rooms for StarPulse's Twitch and TikTok stars. "Not bad for a $300M side hustle," Ethan grinned, still buzzing from his presidency grab . His net worth was now $500M—chump change compared to the trillions he'd hit, per the game's promises.
As Ethan strolled toward the entrance, a vroom cut the air. A bubblegum-pink Lamborghini Aventador screeched to a stop, nearly clipping his Ferrari. Out stepped Vanessa Steele, a tall, sunglasses-clad influencer with a face screaming "Instagram filter IRL." Her vibe? Think Kardashian, but with more attitude and fewer apologies. She glanced around, nose in the air, then zeroed in on Ethan.
"You with StarPulse?" Vanessa asked, her tone dripping with I'm-better-than-you energy. "Joined yesterday," Ethan said, keeping it vague. Technically true—he'd become president 12 hours ago. "Good. Park my Lambo," she ordered, tossing him her keys like he was the valet at a Vegas club.
Ethan caught the keys, blinked, then laughed. "Nah, you got this." He lobbed them back, keys glinting in the sun. Was he here to run a media empire or play Uber for divas? Hard pass.
Vanessa froze, sunglasses sliding down her nose. "Excuse me?" Her voice hit a pitch that could summon dogs. "Do you know who I am? I'm Vanessa Steele, StarPulse's top influencer—8 million TikTok followers, 3 million on Twitch. One word from me, and you're fired."
"Cool story," Ethan said, unfazed. "Never heard of you." He hadn't. Between dodging black SUVs and romancing Sophia Winters, he didn't have time for TikTok drama.
Vanessa's jaw dropped. Fired? By her? Ethan was the guy who'd bought StarPulse's presidency for pocket change via Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest. Good luck firing the boss. "You're gonna regret this," she hissed, pulling out her phone to call her "guy."
Before she could dial, a voice chimed in. "Vanessa, chill, okay?" A leggy brunette in a white tee jogged over, all college-girl-next-door vibes but with supermodel looks. Avery Brooks, StarPulse's rising streamer, was the kind of natural beauty that made Vanessa's "net-red face" look like a Photoshop fail. Avery turned to Ethan, assuming he was a fresh-faced intern. "She's just… intense. You're new, right? Don't sweat it."
"Thanks, but I'm good," Ethan said, flashing a grin. Avery's kindness was refreshing, but he didn't need a savior. Still, he clocked her vibe—genuine, not like Vanessa's Mean Girls audition.
Avery frowned. "Look, I was you last year—straight outta college, stepping on toes. Got canned from my first gig for mouthing off. Trust me, you don't wanna mess with Vanessa. She's got pull."
"Pull, huh?" Ethan raised a brow, amused. Vanessa was mid-call, whining to her "Uncle Greg" about "some rookie dissing me." Ethan leaned in to Avery. "Lemme guess, she's got a sugar daddy on speed dial?"
Avery stifled a laugh. "Close. Greg's a VP, her dad's golf buddy. She's untouchable—thinks she runs StarPulse."
"Not for long," Ethan muttered, his grin turning wicked.
Vanessa hung up, smirking like she'd just won Survivor. "Greg's coming. You're toast, newbie." She flipped her hair, ready for Ethan to grovel.
Avery tried again. "Vanessa, he's just a kid—" "Zip it, Avery!" Vanessa snapped. "You're not even top-tier. Stay in your lane."
Avery's face fell, but she didn't back down. "He's new. Cut him some slack." She shot Ethan a look—I'm trying here. Ethan gave her a nod, appreciating the effort, but he was done playing.
"Nice try, Avery," he said. "But I got this." He crossed his arms, ready for the show.
Inside StarPulse's boardroom, Claire Hudson was briefing the execs when Greg Thornton, a paunchy VP with a Rolex and a temper, got Vanessa's call. "Some punk's hassling my girl," he growled, hanging up. Claire's eyes narrowed. "Now? Ethan Black's due any minute!"
"Vanessa's at the entrance," Greg said. "Probably some intern mouthing off. I'll handle it." Claire's gut twisted. Vanessa's tantrums were legendary, but with Ethan—the president—arriving? This was a PR nightmare waiting to happen. "We're all going," she barked. "If Vanessa's screwing this up, we shut it down. And we greet Mr. Black."
The execs, sensing a trainwreck, nodded. Led by Claire, the C-suite stormed out, a corporate Avengers squad ready to save their jobs.
Outside, Vanessa gloated. "Greg's gonna roast you. Say bye to your paycheck." Ethan just smirked, which made her madder. Avery sighed, muttering, "This is why I stream solo."
Footsteps echoed. Claire, Greg, and a dozen suits spilled out of StarPulse's entrance, looking like they'd walked off a Succession set. Vanessa lit up, pointing at Ethan. "Uncle Greg! This guy disrespected me! Fire him!"
Greg puffed up, ready to play hero. "You're done, kid. Pack your—" "Hold up," Claire cut in, spotting Ethan. His Ferrari, parked nearby, screamed money. Her CEO senses tingled. "Who are you?"
Ethan stepped forward, calm as a Zen master. "Ethan Black. Your new president."
The air froze. Claire's jaw hit the pavement. Greg choked on his own spit. Vanessa's sunglasses fell off, revealing eyes wider than a TikTok filter. Avery blinked, whispering, "Wait, what?"
"President?" Greg stammered. "But… you're…" "Young? Yeah, get that a lot," Ethan said, pulling out his phone. He flashed the game's acquisition contract, timestamped last night. "Check your inbox, Claire. Signed and sealed."
Claire scrolled her phone, face paling. "It's legit. He owns 30%—$300M stake." The execs gasped, some googling Ethan on the spot. Ferrari guy? NewWest Plaza owner?
Vanessa laughed nervously. "This… this is a prank, right?" "Nope," Ethan said, tossing her Lambo keys again. "Still not parking your car."
The execs stifled laughs. Claire shot Vanessa a look that said, You're so screwed. Greg, sweating, tried to backpedal. "Mr. Black, I didn't know—Vanessa's just passionate—"
"Passionate's one word for it," Ethan cut in. "Claire, what's Vanessa's deal?" "Top influencer," Claire said, voice tight. "8 million followers, but… high maintenance." "Got it," Ethan said. "Vanessa, you're on probation. One more stunt like this, you're out. And Greg? You're her babysitter now. Keep her in line, or you're both gone."
Vanessa gaped, speechless. Greg nodded like a bobblehead, visions of his corner office fading. Avery, hiding a grin, gave Ethan a subtle thumbs-up. The execs parted like the Red Sea as Ethan strode inside, Claire scrambling to keep up. "Welcome, Mr. Black. Tour?"
"Let's do it," Ethan said, but his phone pinged. Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest had a new message:
[Challenge Issued]
Assert Dominance: Impress StarPulse's Team in Your First Meeting]
Reward: AI-Driven Content Engine, $20.00 (Boosts StarPulse Revenue by 300%)]
[Warning: Syndicate's Infiltrated Westfield. Trust No One.]
Ethan's smirk faded. The black SUV hadn't shown, but Maya Quinn's warning echoed: the Syndicate was closing in. StarPulse wasn't just his empire—it was their next target.