The morning after the concert, sunlight poured through the sheer curtains of Julien Moreau's apartment, casting golden patterns across the wooden floor.
He awoke slowly, the echoes of last night's applause still lingering in his dreams.
For a few precious moments, he let himself lie still, breathing in the quiet.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just the strange, intoxicating peace that came after a battle well fought—and won.
Then his phone vibrated.
[56 new messages]
[9 missed calls]
Reality came crashing in.
Julien groaned softly.
"I suppose the quiet was too good to last."
The first call came from Jacques Chevalier.
"I hope you've had your coffee because you're going to need it," Jacques said without preamble. "We've had inquiries from La Voix Française, Radio Europe, and Le Monde. They all want interviews."
"I expected some attention," Julien replied, "but this sounds like a full media assault."
"That's because it is," Jacques said, sounding almost giddy. "Your performance wasn't just a success, Julien. It was a phenomenon. You're the most talked-about composer in France today."
Julien ran a hand through his hair, still half-asleep.
"And that's not all," Jacques continued. "We've had calls from three different European record labels. One from London. Two from Berlin. They want to negotiate collaboration deals."
Julien sat up.
International interest? Already?
In his previous life, it had taken him a decade to even get noticed outside of France—and that had been under the Maison SY brand, not his own name.
Now, offers were pouring in just hours after his first major public performance.
He should have felt thrilled.
Instead, he felt cautious.
He knew fame could be a double-edged sword.
But this time, he held the blade.
At the TW headquarters later that morning, the building buzzed like a hive.
Staff members paused to congratulate him as he walked through the halls.
Even employees he had never met offered smiles and nods of respect.
Luc Morel intercepted him at the elevator.
"Jacques said you'd be coming in. There's a meeting scheduled at ten."
Julien nodded.
"I heard about the offers."
Luc smiled faintly.
"There's more. Some streaming platforms want to feature you in exclusive content. Even Spotify France is interested."
Julien's eyebrows lifted.
"Spotify? They barely covered French composers last year."
"Things change quickly when you become the centerpiece of a cultural moment," Luc said, handing him a folder.
Inside were details of all the offers received since the concert.
Collaboration proposals from British singer-songwriter Elena Hughes and German pop sensation Lukas Reiter.
A request from the Berlin Philharmonic's contemporary ensemble for a commissioned piece.
An invitation to headline the Paris Music Week's composer spotlight.
Julien's head spun slightly as he scanned the list.
"This is... more than I expected."
Luc nodded.
"And it's just the beginning."
The meeting room was filled with TW's core team—Jacques, Luc, Michel Rousseau, and several department heads.
Jacques leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"We can't—and won't—accept everything. That's not how you want to build your career. But it's important to think carefully about your next steps."
Julien agreed.
"I'd like to prioritize projects that allow creative freedom. Not just commercial gains."
Luc smiled approvingly.
"That aligns with the public image you've already established. Authenticity. Integrity."
Jacques tapped a sheet of paper.
"There's one proposal I think you should seriously consider. The Berlin Philharmonic commission."
Julien frowned thoughtfully.
"Contemporary ensemble?"
Jacques nodded.
"They're known for pushing boundaries. You'd retain full creative control. And it would position you not just as a pop composer—but as an artist."
That word carried weight.
An artist.
Not just someone who wrote hits for radio play.
Someone who shaped culture.
Julien's pulse quickened.
"I'll do it."
After the meeting, Julien found Claire waiting in the lounge.
She stood by the window, the winter sunlight catching in her hair.
When she turned and smiled, the tension in his shoulders melted away.
"Busy day already?" she asked.
Julien nodded.
"You wouldn't believe it."
"Try me."
He chuckled and relayed the whirlwind of offers and the decision to accept the Berlin commission.
Claire's eyes widened.
"That's incredible, Julien. Truly."
She hesitated, then added softly, "But don't forget to rest. Fame can be... exhausting."
Her words held the weight of personal experience.
As a classical musician, she had seen many rise and fall, consumed by the very success they sought.
Julien reached out, taking her hand.
"I won't forget. Not this time."
Claire squeezed his fingers gently.
"I believe you."
The days that followed were a blur of meetings, contract negotiations, and creative brainstorming.
Julien spent hours at his studio, sketching out themes for the Berlin piece.
He wanted it to reflect not just his personal journey—but something universal.
Resilience. Rebirth. Hope.
Music that could speak to anyone who had ever fallen and dared to rise again.
Claire joined him often, offering insights and experimenting with violin motifs.
Their collaboration deepened—not just professionally, but personally.
Late one evening, as they reviewed a particularly challenging passage, Claire paused.
"You know," she said, setting down her bow, "it's rare to find someone who values both excellence and empathy."
Julien looked up.
"I've learned the hard way that you can't have one without the other."
Claire smiled.
"That's why I trust you."
The unspoken understanding between them grew stronger with each shared note.
By the end of the week, Julien finalized the main composition draft.
It was bold, blending classical instrumentation with modern harmonies and rhythms.
A reflection of past and present.
Old and new.
He titled it "Phoenix".
It felt right.
On Friday, Jacques called another meeting.
"This time, it's about your next domestic project," he announced.
Julien raised an eyebrow.
"Already?"
Jacques grinned.
"The public isn't patient. They want more."
Luc added, "Several of TW's artists are requesting to work with you."
Julien considered this.
"I'll collaborate—but I'd like to mentor some of the newer songwriters too. Help them find their voice."
Silence fell.
Then Jacques leaned back, smiling broadly.
"I knew you'd say that."
Luc nodded in agreement.
"That's the kind of leadership that will set you apart."
Julien felt a swell of pride.
Not for the recognition—but for the opportunity to give back.
He remembered his past life—the isolation, the lack of guidance.
He wouldn't let others face the same.
That evening, Julien and Claire attended a small gathering organized by TW to celebrate the success of Snowman and the concert.
It was an intimate affair—just the core team and a few close collaborators.
As they mingled, Julien noticed a familiar face approaching.
Pierre Lemoine.
"Julien," Pierre greeted warmly. "Congratulations again."
"Thank you, Pierre. Your performance made the concert unforgettable."
Pierre waved off the compliment.
"Your composition made it easy."
He paused, then added, "I was wondering... would you be interested in co-producing my next album?"
Julien blinked.
"That's a big step."
Pierre smiled.
"I trust you. And I think together, we could create something truly special."
Julien felt the weight of the offer—and the possibilities it opened.
"I'd be honored."
As the night wound down, Julien and Claire slipped away to the terrace.
The Paris skyline stretched before them, glittering under the winter sky.
Claire leaned against the railing, breath visible in the cold air.
"You've come so far," she said softly.
Julien joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"And I'm just getting started."
They stood in comfortable silence, watching the city that had once seemed so indifferent now embrace them both.
A city of lights.
A city of second chances.
A city where new horizons stretched endlessly before them.