The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gray—New York in February didn't believe in dramatic sunrises. Amias had been awake for maybe ten minutes, just lying there, feeling Zara's warmth against his side, her steady breathing a counterpoint to the city sounds bleeding through the windows.
His laptop sat closed on the nightstand. The charts would have updated twenty minutes ago—UK at 7 AM, Billboard coming at 8. But he wasn't rushing to check. Cole's words from last night kept echoing: when had he last just... existed? Not racing toward the next milestone, not optimizing every moment, just being present.
Still, curiosity won eventually. He reached for the laptop carefully, trying not to disturb Zara, who made a small protesting sound and burrowed deeper into his shoulder.
The UK Official Charts site loaded slowly on the hotel wifi. He found himself holding his breath without meaning to, then laughing quietly at himself. Whatever the numbers were, they were. His obsessing wouldn't change—
"Holy shit."
The words escaped before he could stop them. There on the screen, clear as day:
#4 - Redemption - Amias Mars
His eyes scanned down, disbelieving.
#6 - Poland - Amias Mars
#11 - Daily Duppy Freestyle - Amias Mars
#14 - 8AM - Amias Mars
#21 - I'm Tryna - Amias Mars
#39 - That Guy - Amias Mars
Six songs. Six different entries in the UK Top 60. His hands were actually shaking slightly as he refreshed the page, sure it was some kind of error.
The numbers didn't change.
"Mmm, what's wrong?" Zara's voice was thick with sleep, but she was starting to wake up, probably feeling the tension in his body.
"Nothing's wrong," he managed, still staring at the screen.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, blinking. "Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
Instead of answering, he turned the laptop toward her. She squinted at the screen, and he watched her expression change as the numbers registered—confusion to understanding to pure, unfiltered joy.
"OH MY GOD!"
The scream was right in his ear, making him wince and laugh at the same time. She was fully awake now, grabbing the laptop to look closer.
"AMIAS! Number FOUR! Redemption is number FOUR!"
"I know—"
"And Poland—SIX! How is Poland at six? It's literally about taking cough syrup to Poland!" She was bouncing on the bed now, making the laptop screen shake. "This is insane. This is actually insane."
He caught the laptop before it could fall. "Careful—"
"Careful? CAREFUL?" She grabbed his face in both hands. "Amias Mars, you have SIX SONGS CHARTING. This is not a careful moment!"
Her joy was infectious. He found himself grinning despite the surreal feeling of it all. "Billboard updates in—" he checked his phone "—forty minutes."
"You think you'll chart there too?"
"I don't know. Maybe? Poland's been doing numbers on TikTok US, but Billboard's different. Harder for UK artists to—"
"Stop." She put a finger on his lips. "No analytics right now. Just feel this."
So they sat there, cross-legged on the bed, laptop between them, watching the numbers like they might change if they looked away. Zara kept refreshing his social media, calling out follower counts that climbed by the hundreds every few minutes.
"Oh shit, Santan Dave texted," she said, reading from his phone. "He says 'YKTV 🔥🔥🔥' and then like seventeen more fire emojis."
"Sounds about right."
"Your mum called twice."
"I'll call her after Billboard updates."
"Oakley says—" she laughed. "He says 'About f'ing time, wasteman.'"
"Also sounds right."
The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of notifications and half-eaten food that Zara insisted on ordering.
"We need champagne!" "It's 7:30 AM." "So?"
She made him take a photo with the laptop showing the charts, then immediately regretted it.
"Your hair looks mad," she said, trying to fix it. "Can't have your first charting photo looking like you just woke up."
"I did just wake up."
"Irrelevant."
At 7:55, they both fell silent. Amias had the Billboard site open, finger hovering over refresh. Zara was pressed against his side, one hand gripping his arm.
"Whatever happens—" she started.
"Shh. Don't jinx it."
"I'm not jinxing! I'm being supportive!"
"Supportively quiet, please."
8:00 AM.
He refreshed.
The page loaded in chunks—header, navigation, then the chart itself, numbers appearing like a countdown. His eyes scanned from 100 downward, heart sinking as he passed 95...
"There!" Zara's finger stabbed at the screen.
#90 - Redemption - Amias Mars
#89 - That Guy - Amias Mars
He kept scanning.
#86 - Poland - Amias Mars
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hotel room was perfectly quiet except for their breathing. Then Zara turned to look at him, eyes wide, and he saw his own disbelief reflected there.
"Billboard," she whispered. "You're on the actual Billboard Hot 100."
"Three songs," he said, voice strange to his own ears.
"THREE SONGS!"
This time when she screamed, he was ready for it, but it didn't make his ears ring any less. She was up on her knees now, bouncing on the bed like a kid, grabbing his shoulders to shake him.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?"
"I'm trying to—"
"No! No trying! Just—AMIAS!" She pulled him into a fierce hug, and he felt her tears against his neck. "I'm so proud of you. So proud."
He held her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, grounding himself in the moment. But even as he did, that familiar blue shimmer appeared in his peripheral vision—the System interface materializing with more fanfare than usual.
MILESTONE ACHIEVEMENT
The text pulsed gold, then purple, then something beyond color—like looking at light through a prism.
COMBINED ACHIEVEMENTS:
First UK Top 5 Entry ✓
First UK Top 10 Entry (x2) ✓
First UK Top 25 Entry (x4) ✓
First UK Top 50 Entry (x6) ✓
First US Billboard Hot 100 Entry (x3) ✓
EXTRAORDINARY ACHIEVEMENT PROTOCOL INITIATED
"Babe?" Zara pulled back, studying his face. "You okay? You have that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're seeing something I can't." She'd gotten good at recognizing when his attention split between her and the System. "What's happening?"
"Just... processing," he said, which wasn't a lie.
The System's interface expanded, filling his vision with a roulette wheel.
The wheel began to spin, colors blurring together like mixed paint. It slowed gradually, clicking past options that made his mind reel, before landing on:
SYSTEM CATEGORY: EPIC INFRASTRUCTURE
"Amias?" Zara's voice seemed distant.
A second wheel appeared, smaller but no less impressive. This one showed categories of infrastructure—Recording Complex, Distribution Network, Media Empire Seed—before landing on:
RESIDENTIAL INFRASTRUCTURE: OPTIMAL LOCATION CALCULATING...
A third wheel materialized, this one marked with UK regions. It spun rapidly before stopping on:
SURREY - WEYBRIDGE
Then the details flooded in, too fast to process fully:
GRANVILLE ROAD ACQUISITION COMPLETEProperty Details Loading...
Images flashed through his mind—aerial views of a massive estate, modern architecture that somehow looked both imposing and inviting, grounds that seemed to go on forever. The numbers appeared like afterthoughts: £19,950,000 value, 15,332 square feet, 2.3 acres...
"Amias!" Zara was shaking him now, genuine concern in her voice. "What's wrong?"
He blinked, the System interface fading but the information remaining. A twenty-million-pound house. Just... his now. Because he'd charted some songs.
"Nothing's wrong," he said slowly, still processing. "Just... hey, random question."
"Random question?" She looked skeptical. "Now?"
"What do you think about Surrey?"
Her nose wrinkled. "Surrey? Like, the county?"
"Yeah."
"It's... posh? Lots of private schools and people who pronounce bath like 'bahth.'" She studied his face. "Why are you asking about Surrey right now? We just found out you're on Billboard and you're thinking about counties?"
"Just thinking about the future," he said carefully. "Maybe somewhere with more space than London."
"More space for what?" Then her eyes widened. "Oh my god, are you trying to move me to the countryside? Amias Mars—"
"It's not—" He laughed despite himself.
"To Surrey." She said it flat, like she was testing the word. "You want to move to Surrey."
"Maybe. Would that be so bad?"
She considered this, head tilted. "I suppose if the wifi's good... and there's a train to London... and you're there..." A smile tugged at her lips. "Are we really having this conversation right now? You just charted on Billboard!"
"You're right." He pulled her back into his arms. "Surrey can wait."
"It better. We haven't even—" Her phone rang, cutting her off. She checked the screen. "It's your mum."
"Tell her I'll call back in—"
But Zara had already answered, putting it on speaker. "Hi Mrs. Mars! Yes, he's right here. We just saw!"
"AMIAS!" His mother's voice filled the room, joy radiating through the phone. "My baby! Billboard! The actual Billboard!"
"Hi Mum," he said, smiling despite himself.
"Don't you 'hi Mum' me! Six songs! SIX! Your uncle nearly fainted when I told him."
"Mum—"
"And Billboard! In America! Do you know what this means?"
"I'm starting to understand—"
"It means God is working! All those nights you stayed up, all that work, and look!" He could hear her getting emotional. "My baby is on Billboard."
"Mum, don't cry—"
"I'm not crying! I'm rejoicing! There's a difference!"
Zara was trying not to laugh, hand over her mouth. Amias shot her a look that just made it worse.
"Have you eaten?" his mother continued, switching gears instantly. "You need to eat. Success doesn't mean skipping meals."
"We just ordered room service—"
"Good. Proper food, not that American fast food. And you're drinking water? Staying hydrated?"
"Yes, Mum."
"And you're being careful? All this attention, people will try to—"
"I'm being careful," he assured her. "I promise."
"Good." She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was softer. "I'm proud of you, Amias. Your father would—" She stopped herself. "I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Mum. I love you."
"I love you too. Now go eat! And call me later with details!"
She hung up before he could respond. Zara was fully laughing now.
"Your mum is incredible," she managed. "From Billboard to hydration in thirty seconds."
"That's how she shows love," Amias said, but he was smiling too.
His phone immediately started ringing again—managers, labels, producers, people he'd never heard of suddenly desperate to connect. He put it on silent, tossing it aside.
"So," Zara said, settling back against his chest. "What happens now?"
"Now?" He checked the time. 8:47 AM. "Now I need to get ready. Spotify meeting at noon."
"The big one?"
"The big one."
She sat up, suddenly serious. "You nervous?"
He thought about it. "Honestly? After this morning, I feel like I could negotiate with God."
"Careful," she warned, but she was smiling. "That's when they get you."
—
The car moved through Manhattan traffic like water finding its path, Anthony's driving smooth despite the chaos around them. Adrian sat beside Amias in the back, reviewing documents on his tablet with that particular Swiss focus that made everything seem more serious than it was.
"You're adjusting your collar again," Adrian noted without looking up.
Amias forced his hand back to his lap. "I'm not nervous."
"I didn't say you were nervous. I said you were adjusting your collar." Adrian finally looked at him over his glasses. "Though now that you mention it..."
"I'm fine."
"Of course. That's why you've checked your phone seventeen times since we left."
"I haven't—" Amias paused. "Have I really?"
"Eighteen now." Adrian returned to his tablet. "It's understandable. You're about to walk into a room with people who control how millions consume music. But they're just people."
"Just people with billions in revenue."
"Money doesn't make them special. Vision does. And you have something they need." Adrian pulled up a specific document. "LinkUp's growth trajectory is unprecedented. 150,000 users in under a month, with organic growth accelerating daily."
"The AI is the key," Amias said, falling into the familiar rhythm of discussing his creation. "It's not just connection—it's curation, creation assistance, rights management..."
"Save the passion for them," Adrian advised as they pulled up to the building. "Though don't lose it entirely. Enthusiasm can be persuasive when properly channeled."
The building stretched up until it disappeared into low clouds, glass and steel and ambition made manifest. This wasn't Spotify's main headquarters, but rather their New York satellite office—Daniel was in town for a conference, which had made this meeting possible.
"I'll be circling," Anthony said. "Call when you're ready."
The lobby was that particular Manhattan blend—old bones dressed in new money. Marble floors that had probably been there since the 1920s, but with modern art that looked expensive because it was confusing. The security guard checked their names against a list with the efficiency of someone who'd sized them up before they'd even reached the desk.
"Forty-fifth floor," he said, handing over visitor badges. "Executive elevator on your right."
Adrian fell into step beside Amias as they crossed the lobby. The sound of their footsteps echoed slightly, making the space feel larger than it was.
"Remember," Adrian said quietly as they waited for the elevator, "you're not asking for favors. You're offering solutions to problems they've been hemorrhaging money over for years."
"I know."
"And if they push on percentage—"
"I hold firm." Amias had run through this a dozen times. "Twenty-five is already generous for what we're bringing."
"Good." The elevator arrived with a soft chime. "Also, your posture."
"What about my posture?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to see if you'd automatically straighten up." Adrian smiled slightly as Amias realized he had, indeed, straightened. "You're overthinking. Be the person who built LinkUp, not the person worried about impressing Daniel Ek."
The elevator rose smoothly, floor numbers ticking by like a countdown. Amias watched the city fall away through the glass panel, Manhattan spreading out like a circuit board. Somewhere out there, 150,000 people were using his app. Somewhere, his songs were playing on radios and phones and speakers he'd never see.
"Breathe," Adrian said quietly.
Amias realized he'd been holding his breath. "Thanks."
"That's what you pay me for. Well, that and making sure you don't accidentally give away your company."
The forty-fifth floor opened to a space that felt more like a high-end hotel than a corporate office. Exposed brick that had been carefully restored, furniture that managed to look both comfortable and impossible to stain, plants that were definitely real and definitely expensive to maintain.
"Mr. Mars?" A woman in her twenties approached, wearing the tech uniform of designer jeans and a company t-shirt. "I'm Emma. They're ready for you in the collaboration lounge."
She led them through an open-plan office that challenged every stereotype of corporate America. People worked at standing desks, in small groups on couches, one person literally lying on the floor with a laptop balanced on their stomach. The dress code seemed to be "whatever helps you think."
The collaboration lounge was a corner room, all glass walls and natural light. Instead of a conference table, there were low couches arranged around coffee tables—designed to make billion-dollar deals feel like casual conversations between friends.
Four men sat talking, their body language relaxed but alert. Amias recognized Daniel Ek immediately—photos didn't capture the energy he radiated, that sense of always thinking three moves ahead while making it look effortless.
"Amias!" Daniel stood, extending a hand. His Swedish accent was subtle, just enough to add character. "Perfect timing. We were just discussing how badly the industry needs disruption."
The handshake was firm but not aggressive—a data point disguised as a greeting.
"Thank you for making time," Amias replied. "I know the conference has you booked solid."
"The conference can wait when someone proposes solving our biggest headache." Daniel gestured to the others. "This is Alex Norström, our Chief Business Officer, Gustav Söderström, our Chief R&D Officer, and Paul Vogel, our CFO."
More handshakes, each man studying him with the kind of focus that had evaluated thousands of pitches and found most wanting.
"Please, sit," Daniel said, gesturing to the couches. "Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water? We have this machine that makes nineteen different types of coffee, which feels excessive but our engineers insisted it was necessary for 'optimal productivity.'"
"Did it work?" Amias asked, choosing a seat that put him at equal height with the others.
"Productivity went up 3%," Gustav said with a completely straight face. "Though that might have been because people spent less time leaving the office for coffee."
"Correlation versus causation," Paul added. "The eternal question."
It was a test, Amias realized. Small talk that wasn't small at all—seeing if he could hang with their rhythm, their humor, their way of thinking.
"Maybe the real productivity boost was the friendships made while arguing about coffee," Amias suggested.
Daniel laughed—genuine, not performative. "I like that. Very Swedish of you. We should put it on a poster."
"Right next to 'Move Fast and Break Things'?" Alex suggested dryly.
"God no," Daniel said. "We've seen what that philosophy leads to. These days we prefer 'Move Thoughtfully and Fix Things.'"
"Less catchy," Paul noted.
"Most true things are," Daniel replied, then shifted his attention fully to Amias. "Speaking of true things—your email was fascinating. LinkUp could 'fundamentally reshape music rights management.' That's a significant claim."
"It's a significant problem," Amias replied, matching his energy. "How much does Spotify lose annually to misallocated royalties?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. Paul and Alex exchanged glances.
"That's... a very specific question," Paul said carefully.
"With a very specific answer, I'd imagine." Amias kept his tone conversational. "Publishers who can't locate rights holders. Incorrect split sheets. Disputes over contribution percentages. Money sitting in escrow or distributed by market share rather than actual ownership."
"You've done your homework," Gustav observed.
"I'm in the life of it," Amias corrected. "Every artisthas experienced this. They create something beautiful in the studio, multiple people contribute, and six months later they're arguing about who did what. Meanwhile, the money's tied up in a system designed for a different era."
Adrian smoothly produced a folder, sliding it across the coffee table. The Spotify executives leaned in, and Amias watched their expressions shift as they absorbed the numbers.
"In less than a month," Amias continued, "LinkUp has captured 150,000 users. But user count isn't the real story. We've facilitated over 50,000 documented collaborations. Real-time attribution. Verified contributions. Immutable records."
"The AI component," Gustav said, looking up from the documents. "It actually analyzes the audio?"
"Watch this." Amias pulled out his phone, opening LinkUp. "Let's say I'm in the studio with a producer. They play a beat. The AI is already listening, creating a fingerprint. I add vocals—that's logged. Someone adds a harmony—tracked. End of the session..."
He showed them the interface, clean and intuitive. "Everyone gets a notification. 'Here's what you contributed. Here's the suggested split based on industry standards and actual creative input. Agree?' Everyone signs off digitally. No arguments six months later."
"But the legal framework—" Alex started.
"Is complex, yes." Amias had anticipated this. "Which is why we need a partner with your infrastructure. Your legal team, your industry relationships, your scale. Together, we solve a problem that's plagued the industry since its inception."
"Walk me through the business model," Paul said, already calculating.
"For Spotify? Direct payment to verified rights holders. No more sending billions to publishers who take their cut and maybe find the right people. Artists get paid faster and more accurately. You reduce processing costs and legal disputes."
"And LinkUp's take?"
"One percent of all royalties processed through the system."
Paul's fingers moved across his phone calculator. "At our scale..."
"Hundreds of millions annually," Amias confirmed. "For solving a problem that currently costs you billions."
"The technical implementation would be significant," Gustav mused, but he was nodding. "APIs, security protocols, scale considerations..."
"Integration was in mind from day one," Amias said. "The architecture can handle Spotify-level volume. We could run pilots within weeks."
Daniel had been quiet, watching the interplay between his team and Amias. Now he leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"Let's talk about what you're not saying," he said. "This isn't just about LinkUp, is it?"
Amias met his gaze steadily. "What makes you say that?"
"Because someone with your momentum doesn't need our validation for a tech platform. You could go to any VC, raise fifty million by next week." Daniel's smile was knowing. "So what do you really want?"
This was the moment. Amias had rehearsed it, but now he let instinct guide him.
"I want to prove that artists don't need traditional labels," he said simply. "I want Spotify to help me do it."
The temperature in the room shifted. Alex actually laughed.
"You want us to be your label?" he asked.
"I want you to help me show that the traditional label model is obsolete," Amias corrected. "I'm not asking for advances or ownership. I'm asking for amplification. Playlist support, marketing features, the kind of backing that proves new models work."
"You have six songs charting," Paul pointed out. "Today, specifically. We saw the announcements. Labels must be throwing themselves at you."
"They are," Amias confirmed. "Offering contracts that would own everything I create for the next decade. I'd rather partner with a platform that's already disrupting the industry."
"It's an interesting proposition," Daniel said slowly. "But we can't be seen as competing directly with labels. They're still our partners, technically."
"Of course not," Amias agreed. "Which is why it would be unofficial. No press releases, no public announcements. Just... strategic support. Playlist placement, maybe some Spotify Sessions, featured artist opportunities."
"And in return?"
"I'm the proof of concept. The artist who charted without a label, who built a tech platform, who's changing how music gets made and monetized. Your success story."
"Our success story," Alex repeated, testing the words.
"Plus," Amias added, timing it perfectly, "I bring my cousin. Central Cee. Same arrangement."
"The one who's also charting?" Gustav pulled up something on his phone.
"Same DNA, different lane," Amias said with a slight smile. "If we're proving new models work, multiple data points help."
More Swedish discussion between Daniel and Alex. Amias caught maybe one word in ten, but the tone was thoughtful rather than dismissive.
"Let's talk numbers," Daniel said finally. "If we're doing this—both LinkUp and the unofficial artist support—we need real participation. We can't just be a service provider."
"I'm open to discussion," Amias said carefully.
"Forty percent of LinkUp," Alex stated.
Adrian actually coughed. Amias kept his expression neutral while his mind raced.
"That's... significant."
"It's proportional to what we bring," Daniel explained. "Legal support alone will cost millions. Technical integration, industry relationships, the risk we're taking by essentially circumventing traditional structures..."
"I understand the value," Amias said. "But forty percent changes the entire dynamic. I need to maintain control to execute the vision."
"We're not asking for control," Paul clarified. "Just participation proportional to risk."
"Twenty percent," Amias countered.
"Forty," Daniel repeated, but his eyes showed he expected negotiation.
"Let me explain why that doesn't work," Amias said, leaning forward. "I plan to cap any single label's ownership at fifteen percent of my remaining stake. If we do forty percent, fine. But we can forget the cap."
"Meaning there would be a lack of influence from any major," Paul translated.
"Meaning we stay aligned on the mission," Amias corrected. "Twenty-five percent. You get significant upside, I maintain control, and we both stay focused on disruption rather than exit strategies."
"Thirty-five," Alex offered. "And we cap labels at five percent."
"Twenty-five," Amias held firm. "Nine percent cap. At seventy five million valuation. But—" He paused, making sure he had their attention. "You get exclusive rights to the collaboration data for analytics. Not personal information, but patterns. Which producers work best with which artists. What collaboration styles yield commercial success."
Gustav's eyes lit up. "That data would be..."
"Invaluable," Daniel finished. "We could predict hit potential before songs even release."
"Among other applications," Amias agreed.
More discussion in Swedish, longer this time. Amias waited, keeping his breathing steady. Beside him, Adrian was perfectly still—a good sign.
Finally, Daniel stood and extended his hand.
"Twenty-five percent at seventy-five million valuation. Nine percent label cap. Exclusive analytics rights. Unofficial artist support for you and Central Cee."
Amias stood and shook his hand firmly. "Deal."
The energy in the room shifted immediately from evaluation to collaboration. The other executives stood as well, handshakes all around again, but warmer now.
"We'll need documentation," Paul said, but he was smiling. "Legal will want to review everything."
"Adrian has preliminary agreements ready," Amias said.
"Good." Daniel checked his watch—simple but expensive. "I have to head to the conference soon, but you should come tomorrow. As my guest. See how these things work from the inside."
"I'd be honored."
"It's not all honor," Daniel warned, but his tone was warm. "Mostly boring panels and forced networking. But you'll learn things. Meet people. Understand the machine you're disrupting."
"Sounds perfect."
"Ten AM. I'll have passes sent to your hotel." Daniel paused. "Where are you staying?"
"We're at a house in—"
"Doesn't matter," Daniel waved. "My assistant will figure it out. She's basically omniscient. Oh, and Amias?"
"Yeah?"
Daniel put a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment the boyish exterior showed the steel underneath.
"We're about to upset a lot of very powerful people. Labels who've controlled this industry for decades. Publishers who've made billions as middlemen. They won't go just stand by and let this be. Are you prepared for that?"
Amias thought about the morning's charts, about Zara's faith in him, about his mother's prayers, about the path stretching ahead like an uncharted map.
"The question is," he said, meeting Daniel's gaze, "are you?"
Daniel's laugh was bright and genuine. "Oh, I think we're going to have fun together. Tomorrow then."