Jason stood at the head of the PulseCast conference table. The walls of the new Soho office were still raw brick and exposed steel—unfinished, just like the company.
On the screen behind him, the latest user metrics climbed like a rocket launch. Over 300,000 new sign-ups in a week. The first batch of creators had already earned five figures from ad splits. The buzz was turning into loyalty.
But Jason's expression was tight.
Because momentum attracts more than opportunity.
It attracts opposition.
"We've confirmed Bellamy's lawyers filed for a patent challenge," Amy said, flipping through a legal folder. "They're claiming we're infringing on a live-content delivery method they developed last year."
Victor frowned. "It's nonsense. We built everything in-house."
Jason nodded. "Doesn't matter if we're right. They want to bury us in red tape and fees until we bleed out or sell."
Across the table, Leo added, "They've also been poaching. Two engineers got offers last night—double salary, equity, and a non-disparagement clause. They're trying to gut us from the inside."
Jason's fingers tapped the table. "Then we tighten security, upgrade everyone's packages this week, and make it clear—this is a ship worth staying on."
He stood.
"No more playing defense. I want content partnerships, PR strikes, and a counter-lawsuit ready. We show them they're not the only ones who know how to throw a punch."
Amy hesitated. "You're sure we want to escalate?"
Jason looked her dead in the eye.
"They started this war. I'm just making sure they regret it."
---
That evening, Jason met Naomi again.
She was shooting a small photo series in Brooklyn—local musicians, unreleased tracks, raw emotion.
He watched her direct a young guitarist as golden light bathed the rooftop in fire. Everything about her was composed chaos. And she made him feel more real than any number ever did.
When they were alone, she turned to him.
"You're burning hot again."
Jason gave a dry laugh. "Business is war, Naomi. I have to stay sharp."
She studied him. "And what happens when the war ends? Who will you be then?"
Jason didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know I don't want to be alone at the end of it."
Naomi stepped closer, touching his chest lightly.
"Then don't wait till the end to be human."
He kissed her.
This time, it wasn't polite or distant. It was real. The kind of kiss that made time stop. That tasted like truth.
And for a moment, in that Brooklyn dusk, Jason Nash wasn't a CEO or a genius reborn from the future.
He was just a man holding onto something—someone—he didn't want to lose.