Heal

Chapter 6

Y/n's POV

The sun was barely cresting over the skyline when I stepped out of my car, the familiar scent of the city greeting me like a challenge. I'd parked just outside Y/ln' downtown satellite office—smaller, leaner, built for quick moves and sharper plays. A space that pulsed with ambition and quiet brilliance, where ideas became strategy and strategy became power.

Today wasn't about boardrooms or media. Today was about preparation. Precision. Outmaneuvering an empire.

Talia was already inside. She met me at the door with two coffees in hand and that sharp, knowing glint in her eye. Always three steps ahead, she thrived in chaos—fed off it even. Her instincts were why I trusted her more than most.

"Morning, boss. You look like you didn't sleep," she said, her voice both teasing and concerned.

"I didn't," I replied, taking the cup and walking past her. "Too much noise in my head."

She followed me through the glass doors and into the glass-and-steel conference room, where a digital board lit up with real-time updates from our analytics team. Graphs. Heat maps. Social sentiment indexes. Internal reports from the PR consultants. Investor reactions. Even fan-driven chatter from Reddit and Twitter—all scrubbed, categorized, and cross-compared.

All of it swirling around one central node of disruption: Me and Shawn Carter now sharing ownership of one of the most high-profile franchises in the NBA.

"Let me guess," Talia said, flipping open her tablet. "He's already trying to make it look like he's the sole visionary of the Nets."

"He's trying," I said, sipping the coffee. "But we've got time to outmaneuver him. Just need to keep the momentum where it belongs—with us."

"And by momentum, you mean total dominance?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there any other kind?"

Talia smirked. "Didn't think so."

She tapped on the screen, pulling up a list of upcoming events. "Media day's in five. You'll be front and center. And there's that league-sponsored gala in two weeks—big investor visibility. You should be seen leading, not reacting."

I nodded slowly. "Line up interviews. Nothing staged. Candid footage. Locker room visits. Mic'd up conversations with players. I want the fans to feel me—not as a figurehead, but as the architect."

Talia's fingers moved fast, logging each directive. "What about branding? He's already ramping up his Brooklyn Roots campaign. His team's pushing visuals heavy on nostalgia and origin stories."

"Let him. I'm not chasing sentiment. I'm selling the future."

She paused, looking up. "You want to drop Titan branding in the mix?"

I sipped the coffee and considered it. "Not yet. Not directly. But let's tie some of our innovation partnerships into team operations. Mental health programs, performance analytics—subtle but disruptive."

"You're threading culture with infrastructure."

"Exactly. Let him sell the story. I'll build the dynasty."

There was a long pause between us. The quiet hum of the room filled with information felt like the pulse of something bigger—something alive. Talia finally broke the silence.

"You're going to war, aren't you?"

"I already did," I said. "Now I'm just winning it."

She smiled. "The players love you already. The staff too. Word's spreading about how hands-on you've been—showing up early, asking real questions, not just throwing around money."