Sept 2008
A week after the release of 'Unstoppable'
"I'm no longer in California," Troy began slowly, his tone calm but deliberate. "My security team tells me that there have been three more attempts to break into my estate there, probably with the intention to harm me. All three suspects have been arrested and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. They have to know that if someone tries to break into my home, there will be consequences.
"To all my haters out there, I don't really give a fuck anymore. Get a life," Troy deadpanned, staring directly into the camera, his eyes hard and unblinking.
Then his expression softened. "To my fans, thank you for all your continued support when it feels like half the world is against me. I am an artist first and foremost, and my art will always come before anything else. I have heard the concerns people have expressed about me not making music anymore, but that is not happening. In fact, my next album, titled [Troy 2.0], will be released on September 30, 2008. Mark the date. All profits from it will go directly into the same homeless shelter fund where I have donated three billion dollars to kickstart it. Anyone else is also free to donate; the link is in the description.
"In the days leading up to the release of the album, I will be releasing multiple singles, besides the two I have released already. Three of them will be released today back-to-back very shortly, so keep a close eye on my channel."
The video cut to black.
"Oh my God!" Patty jumped in her seat, clutching her phone. "That's barely two weeks away. How can Troy release an album on such short notice? It's unfair! He's always sold out. How will he do the publicity and all?"
Claire nodded thoughtfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It is a bit rushed, but if you think about it, it makes sense."
Patty raised an eyebrow. "How?"
"The Grammys' cut-off date is September 30th every year," Claire explained. "And if you were following Taylor Swift as well, you'll realize that her second album is scheduled to be released in October. This was probably done so that Troy and Taylor don't clash with each other during the award season."
Patty scoffed. "Oh, please. As if Taylor Swift will be a competition for Troy. Not to mention, she's a country singer, while he sings pop."
"True," Claire agreed with a small nod. "It was probably Troy's decision to give her some room so she has a chance to win something neutral as well, like Song or Album of the Year. Moreover, if this one is as big a banger as the first two, he may even become the first artist in history to get three back-to-back Album of the Year Awards."
Patty hummed noncommittally before refreshing Troy's YouTube page again.
As soon as she did, a new upload appeared at the top of the feed, already showing over three thousand views.
Troy Armitage, Scarlett Johansson – Die With A Smile
"Isn't it the song he sang for Scarlett at his concert?" Claire asked, leaning closer as Patty clicked the play button.
The video opened with a soft acoustic guitar riff, the notes warm and unhurried. Troy's voice began to hum along, low and intimate. He was not lip-syncing. Instead, the camera showed him lying on a bed beside Scarlett. Morning light spilled in from a nearby window, casting golden shadows across the rumpled sheets. Troy was shirtless, his hair tousled as though he had just woken up. Scarlett wore a simple tank top, her breathing slow and peaceful as she slept, her face turned toward him. Troy's gaze lingered on her with quiet affection, the music wrapping around the scene like a confession.
~Ooh, ohh
I, I just woke up from a dream
Where you and I had to say goodbye
And I don't know what it all means
But since I survived, I realized~
Scarlett stirred during the opening notes of the song, stretching languidly on the bed as Troy's gaze lingered on her with open affection. He watched her as if the rest of the world had disappeared.
"That's so unfair," Patty muttered, folding her arms. "No one has ever looked at me like that. Not even my boyfriend."
"Because you're not Scarlett Johansson," Claire replied dryly. "Now be quiet and let me hear the song."
Scarlett slipped out of bed, padding across the room in bare feet. The sunlight streaming through the window painted her in a soft glow. Troy followed almost immediately, closing the distance between them.
~Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow
So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night~
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her close before spinning her gently and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss melted seamlessly into a slow, intimate dance just as the chorus swelled.
The moment felt almost too personal to be shared with the world online, yet neither seemed to care. Troy's hand rested possessively on her waist, while her palms spread across his bare chest. Scarlett's smaller frame contrasted with Troy's height, but together, their chemistry was electric.
Then, to Patty's surprise, Scarlett began to sing.
~Ooh, lost, lost in the words that we scream
I don't even wanna do this anymore
'Cause you already know what you mean to me
And our love's the only war worth fighting for
Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow
So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you~
In the video, the couple moved through their living room as the song built in intensity. Their gentle swaying evolved into an intricate, high-speed waltz that was as mesmerizing to watch as it must have been to perform. Troy, dressed only in loose pyjama bottoms, looked leaner than he had in [The Night Of], but every muscle was sharply defined, especially his abs, which could have doubled as a cheese grater.
Scarlett wore a simple tank top and shorts, her toned figure on full display. She glided across the room with natural grace, matching Troy step for step.
"Holy shit!" Patty exclaimed. "That was actually good! I had no idea Scarlett could sing."
"Me neither," Claire admitted. "It's just like Troy to end up with a triple threat. Great actress, singer, and dancer. Not to mention, drop dead gorgeous. Simple girls like us never really had a chance against her."
Patty barely acknowledged the comment, too busy refreshing Troy's YouTube channel. He had promised two back-to-back uploads, and she was determined not to miss the next one.
A new video appeared instantly. Without even reading the title, Patty clicked.
The screen opened in a stark, dimly lit room. Troy sat tied to a chair opposite a man in a black balaclava. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly, and a strip of tape covered his mouth. Scrawled in black ink across his forehead were the words 'Old Troy'.
The thug stood, his boots echoing against the floor, and crossed the space between them with slow, deliberate steps. Without hesitation, he pulled a plastic bag over Troy's head, tightening it until Troy's struggles ceased.
The body slumped forward. The thug peeled the bag away, tossed it aside, and turned toward the camera. His walk was unhurried, almost cocky, as the beat dropped and the music surged to life. He removed his balaclava, to reveal that he was also played by Troy. A double role. Maybe that's why the album was named 'Troy 2.0'.
[Starboy - The Weekend]
~I'm tryna put you in the worst mood, ah
P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah
Milli point two just to hurt you, ah
All red Lamb' just to tease you, ah
None of these toys on lease too, ah
Made your whole year in my sleep too, yah
Main bitch outta your league too, ah
Side bitch outta your league too, ah~
As the beat drove forward, the video followed Troy through the sprawling halls of what could only be his mansion. The camera panned slowly over priceless art pieces, rare sculptures, and gleaming décor that spoke of wealth and taste. The lighting was moody, with spotlights catching glimmers of gold and silver as Troy strode past.
~(Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)
Look what you've done
(Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy~
His gaze stopped on a glowing red cross displayed prominently on a mantle. He picked it up, studying it for a brief moment, before swinging it violently into a glass display case filled with delicate knick-knacks. Shards exploded outward in every direction. Without pause, he turned to the next target, smashing vases, frames, and ornaments with calculated ferocity.
When the destruction was done, Troy simply stood amidst the wreckage and began dancing in place. In slow motion, jagged pieces of glass whirled around him like frozen rain, catching the light and turning the scene into something both dangerous and beautiful. This was a silent message from Troy to his haters that he could afford breaking all this expensive stuff. They couldn't.
The camera cut to the garage. One by one, sleek, high-end sports cars came into view—Lamborghinis, Aston Martins, and other rare models lined up like trophies. Troy slid into the driver's seat of a red Lamborghini, its license plate reading Starboy. A striking husky sat beside him, secured with a seatbelt, its icy blue eyes staring ahead.
I'm a motherfuckin' starboy~
The car roared to life, and they sped off into the night, neon lights reflecting off the polished hood.
As the music faded, Claire and Patty exchanged knowing looks.
"He is not exactly shy about showing off his wealth, is he?" Claire asked with a half-smile.
Patty laughed and scrolled through the lyrics in the description box. "Not even close. He's basically saying he earns more in his sleep than they make in a year, and that he doesn't care if someone tries to 'end him'. His words, not mine. Then there's the mansion, the cars, the dog—he's living the dream and not shy about letting everyone know."
Claire nodded. "I guess he really doesn't care anymore about what people think of him. That was a bold choice for a song, though."
Patty had to agree. Even so, she refreshed Troy's channel, ready for the promised third release of the day. If Starboy flaunted his wealth, the next video took it to another level.
The opening shot revealed the interior of a private jet, champagne flutes sparkling in the overhead light. Troy lounged in a plush leather seat, still wearing his signature smirk. The scene transitioned to a sprawling mansion where everything in sight gleamed with gold—walls, chandeliers, even the railings of the grand staircase.
Troy, dressed in a bathrobe, multiple gold chains, and sunglasses, danced through the rooms with easy confidence. Around him, multiple women in swimsuits moved in sync with the beat, their laughter and energy filling the frame.
[24k Magic – Bruno Mars]
~24k magic in the aaaiiiiir
Head to toe, so player
Look out!~
By the time the song ended, a few of the dancers had sidled closer to Troy, clearly inviting him to stay. He seemed tempted, stepping forward—until Scarlett appeared suddenly, grabbing him firmly by the arm.
"Not happening, Romeo."
Troy's shoulders slumped, his face falling into an exaggerated pout as the women waved at him from behind.
Patty and Claire burst out laughing.
"Man, I found my new jam!" Patty announced.
"Which one?" Claire asked.
"I don't know yet," Patty admitted with a grin. "But with these three songs, plus 'Unstoppable' and 'Beautiful Things', this album is already stacked. I'm calling it now: Troy's winning his third Album of the Year this February. There's no way he can lose."
(Break)
October 2008, Golf Course, London, U.K.
"Troy?" Richard asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You okay?"
I jolted back to the present upon hearing that and forced a polite smile. "Sorry. I thought I had seen you somewhere. Have we met before?"
Richard shook his head. "I think I'd remember meeting a legend like you." Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "By any chance, would you like to share any tips with me about some future trades of yours?"
The audacity of the man. It took every ounce of restraint not to let my eye twitch, or worse, punch him in the jaw.
"That's a secret, I'm afraid." I managed to keep my tone calm and casual, relying on my acting skills to mask the irritation bubbling under the surface. I could not let this smug bastard ruin my day, especially since this version of him had not wronged me yet. The fact that he was standing here instead of being on the run meant that things had played out differently for him this time around.
"It's such a shame I couldn't trade on the CDO market in time like you," Richard said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Anyway, my wife and daughter are huge fans of yours, and not for your financial genius."
"You have a daughter?" I asked, feigning mild surprise.
"Yeah, Ava. She just turned fourteen." He grinned. "Calls herself your biggest fan. She'd be furious if she knew she missed meeting you today."
That was… different. In the original timeline, they never had a girl. If they had decided to adopt at the same time as before, she must have been taken in as an infant. Either that, or she was their biological child, though knowing the two as well as I did, that seemed unlikely.
"What's the size of your hedge fund?" I asked conversationally.
He gave a small shrug, pretending to be modest. "Nothing as big as yours. Just about to touch two hundred million pounds."
Damn. In the original timeline, he had fled with eighty-seven million. Now, they had more than doubled that.
"Richard here is one of the best," Howard Stringer said with a note of pride. "In the last five years alone, he's delivered an average of twenty percent returns annually. And although you have Troy to invest your money," he said, turning to Dad, "if you want to diversify, you can park some money with him. I personally have invested a solid five million pounds, and it has more than doubled since."
"That's impressive," Dad hummed thoughtfully before shifting gears. "As much as I'd love to discuss money with you guys, I was promised a golf match today." He turned to me with a smirk. "Or is this some strategy of yours to distract us so you don't have to play? Chickened out already?"
I scoffed. "In your dreams, Dad." I reached behind me in the golf cart and grabbed my set of clubs.
We got into position on the course, the sun warm on the rolling green, and my mind drifted back to the so-called hedge fund manager standing beside me. I needed to get to the bottom of whatever was going on here and soon.
The following hours passed quickly, during which the three men made it abundantly clear just how badly I sucked at golf.
"I can't believe I finally found something the Troy Armitage is not good at," Stringer laughed as we stepped into the parking lot. "The way your ball got stuck in the bunker was priceless."
"I hope you can keep my secret, then," I replied with mock seriousness. "It wouldn't look good for my image. I'm a Starboy, after all."
Stringer chuckled, patting my back. "No, you're a motherfucking Starboy. Man, I love that song. Warner Bros must be incredibly lenient when it comes to your image. I heard they signed a long-term image contract with you."
Truth be told, some people at Warner were not thrilled with my latest album, but I did not care anymore. What could they do? Sue me? Part of me wanted to provoke them. Go back to my old profession, film a full-fledged porno, and drop it online a week before the release of the final [Harry Potter] just to watch them squirm.
Of course, I could never do that. Dad was a producer on the film, and I would never hurt him like that. And then there was Scarlett. I couldn't do it with her or without her for obvious reasons.
"Would you, as the CEO of Sony, have stopped me from doing whatever I wanted, given my position?" I asked Stringer instead.
He considered the question, then shook his head. "True. For someone in your position, I'd do anything to keep you happy."
And Warner could not even manage that.
"So, will I be happy after you go back to Tokyo?" I asked.
He studied me for a moment before nodding. "I strongly believe so. You'll have at least my vote."
"Thank you," I said with a nod. He headed for his car, giving me a final wave. I turned back and spotted two of my adoptive fathers deep in conversation.
"I'm telling you, right now is the perfect time to invest in the market," Richard was saying. "I understand why you might want to diversify away from Troy, and it is better to keep family out of finances. I can guarantee—"
"What're you guys talking about?" I asked, feigning innocence.
Dad glanced at me. "Richard here was trying to convince me to invest in his hedge fund."
"Oh?" I said with casual interest. "Listen, I have a retirement fund for my employees. Do you think you could manage that for me?"
Richard's eyes widened before he masked his excitement. "Of course. How much are we talking about?"
"It would start at around fifty million dollars for my employees here in Britain," I said. "If you do well, I could expand it to include all my employees. That amount could exceed a hundred million—possibly more."
Richard was practically salivating. "When can I begin?"
"Soon," I told him. "I'll send my team to do some due diligence, and if everything checks out, we can start in a month."
"That's perfect," he beamed.
What I did not tell him was that my version of due diligence would be a full-scale forensic audit of his financial activities. It was long past time this asshole went down.
When Dad and I got in the car, I turned to him with a no-nonsense tone. "No matter what happens, don't invest with Richard. At all."
Dad frowned slightly. "Why? And that pension fund you talked about?"
"I can't say for sure, but I have a bad feeling about him. Let me run the due diligence on him. He was right about one thing though, it the best time to invest in the markets. But if you really want to invest long-term, I can handle it for you far better than he can."
Dad studied me for a moment before finally nodding. "Alright."