fishing [Olivia Route Start]

Scene 11 C: The After Party Voyeur

The after-party was a triumph of acoustics over atmosphere. Held in a cavernous, sound-proofed ballroom, the air hummed with the precise, thumping bass of Joey's album, played at a volume that was more of a physical pressure than a sound. The industry’s elite moved through the blue-lit haze, their conversations muted, their faces a mixture of adulation and fear. This wasn't a celebration; it was a coronation.

At the center of it all, on a raised platform, sat five golden gramophones. But their winner was gone.

Olivia Rodrigo felt like a ghost at her own funeral. Every thumping beat of Joey’s music was a hammer blow to her ego. She had been the critical darling, the authentic voice, the chosen one. And she had been swept. Annihilated. By a girl who, a year ago, was famous for a teen rom-com. It didn't make sense. It was a flaw in the universe, a bug in the code, and she had to understand it.

Driven by a toxic cocktail of professional jealousy and morbid curiosity, she watched as Joey, after an hour of serene, smiling emptiness, was escorted from the room by Leo Vance. Olivia slipped away from her consoling managers and followed, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the steady, oppressive beat from the ballroom. She tracked them to the top floor, to the Presidential Suite. She saw them disappear inside. She waited five minutes, then found a service corridor, her mind racing. She had to know. She had to see. She found a heavy door marked STAFF ONLY and cracked it open a silent inch.

The scene inside stole the air from her lungs.

The suite was vast and silent. The five Grammy awards were lined up on a low marble table like golden gods. And kneeling before them was Joey King, the victor, the queen of the music world. She was still in her stunning, silver couture gown, but she was on her knees, a soft cloth in her hand, meticulously polishing the Best Pop Vocal Album award. Her movements were slow, reverent, and utterly subservient. She wasn't celebrating her victory; she was serving it.

Before Olivia could process the sheer wrongness of the image, a voice, calm and cold, spoke directly behind her. “Lost?”