Aubrey tossed his phone onto the console and ran a hand through his hair, trying to settle the storm of adrenaline still pulsing in his veins. The studio was quiet now, the hum of the equipment almost meditative. He grabbed his jacket and stepped out of the booth, where Jas Prince raised an eyebrow.
"You're really going?" Jas asked, picking up the thread of the conversation after Aubrey finished talking with Robyn, a mix of amusement and concern coloring his voice.
"Yeah," Aubrey said, slinging the strap of his backpack over one shoulder. "LA. Tonight."
Jas shook his head but smiled. "Man, you're moving too fast. But hey… when opportunity knocks—"
Aubrey didn't finish the sentence. He had someone else he needed to call first.
He picked up his cell and dialed the number he knew by heart. The line clicked, and then a familiar, gruff voice answered.
"Aubrey," Lil Wayne said. His tone was warm but cautious, like a father checking in on a son stepping onto a dangerous street. "Where you at right now?"
"In Houston. Just finished a session," Aubrey replied, keeping his voice steady. "Wayne… I need to tell you something. Robyn called me. She wants me in LA. Tonight."
There was a pause on the other end. Wayne exhaled slowly, almost like he was weighing the words.
"LA, huh?" he said finally. "That girl… she's trouble, you know that? Or she's fire. Either way, you gonna need to stay sharp."
"I know," Aubrey said. "I just… I wanted to be straight with you first."
Wayne chuckled softly. "I like that. Loyalty, kid. Loyalty while you're away—that's all I ask. You stay sharp, you stay humble, and you stay true to the family. You understand me?"
"Always," Aubrey said.
Wayne's tone shifted, practical now. "Listen. I been watching you work. Hell, everyone's watching. I like what I hear. You got the chops, the mind… you got that star power. If you keep this up, there's no reason we can't talk about your contract, make it official. Young Money wants you. You want Young Money?"
Aubrey's chest tightened. He had dreamed of this moment, of hearing the man who built empires acknowledge his worth.
"Yeah," he said, voice low but steady. "I want it."
Wayne laughed, this time a full, booming sound. "I like that. I'll put my word in. You keep killing it, and we'll make it happen. But for now, you go to LA. Make that session count. You go, you shine, you come back—you'll have leverage. You got me?"
"I got you," Aubrey repeated.
Wayne chuckled again, almost fatherly now. "Good. Now… you need someone to get you there? Flights, ride, whatever. Jay-Z might drop you off himself. Or someone in the circle will handle it. Just make sure you're taken care of. You fly safe, and remember: always watch your back, kid. Music's a war, and LA… LA's the front lines."
Aubrey smiled, the weight of everything finally pressing down—not heavy, but grounding. "Understood."
Wayne's voice softened. "Alright. Go handle your business, make the hits, and when you come back, we talk contracts. You stay true, stay smart… stay Aubrey."
The call ended, leaving a hum of authority in the line. Aubrey looked around the Houston studio one last time—the equipment, the sticky floors, the lingering smoke—and felt a strange gratitude. He had started in the basement, had almost been burned by betrayal, and now… he had Wayne in his corner, and a one-way ticket to LA.
He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder again. Jas Prince walked up, clapping him on the back.
"Man, you're really doing this," Jas said. "This is it."
Aubrey nodded, eyes steady. "Yeah. This is it."