SuperStar!

"Ghh… that hurts," Ethan groaned, his face scrunching up as he slowly woke up, feeling like he'd just been run over by a freight train. His head throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache that made him wince. His throat felt parched, like he'd swallowed sandpaper in his sleep. Everything about him felt off—his body heavy, his limbs sluggish.

He lay there for a good ten minutes, eyes barely open, waiting for the annoying buzz in his skull to fade. His show in Oklahoma was in two days, and he couldn't afford to feel like death warmed over. He needed to get himself together, but his body had other ideas. It clung to the bed like he owed it money, refusing to cooperate.

With a groan of pure suffering, he finally forced himself to sit up, his joints protesting the movement. His clothes from the previous day still clung to his body, sticking to his skin like an uncomfortable second layer. Disgust curled in his stomach as he realized he must have sweated in them overnight. Great. Just great.

"Ugh, what the hell…" he muttered, rubbing his face before peeling off the clothes like they were made of molten lava. The previous day had been incredible, easily one of the best of his life, but damn, it had drained him. He felt like a phone on 2% battery, and right now, the only charger available was a cold shower.

Stumbling toward the bathroom, his vision still slightly hazy, he rubbed his temples, hoping the water would bring him back to life. As he reached the bathroom door, he clumsily yanked down his boxers, desperate to step under the water and wash away the exhaustion.

But the second he stepped inside, something felt…off.

His sluggish brain barely processed it before his instincts kicked in—a black blur moved in the corner of his eye, and suddenly, something came flying straight at his head.

"OH SHIT!" Ethan yelped, diving to the side like he was dodging bullets in an action movie. He hit the doorframe with a thud, his heart slamming against his ribs as something whizzed past his ear and landed with a loud thud behind him.

"What the—"

Before he could even finish, a deep, unmistakable voice boomed through the bathroom.

"YO, WHAT THE FUCK?! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

Ethan's eyes widened as his brain connected the dots, his stomach dropping like an elevator in free fall. No. No way. It couldn't be.

Another projectile came flying at him—this time, another damn shoe. Ethan barely dodged it, stumbling backward.

"GET THE FUCK OUT, DUDE!" the voice barked again, and Ethan, still operating on pure adrenaline, scrambled out of the bathroom like a cartoon character running for his life. His back slammed against the door of his room as he panted, his brain short-circuiting.

A second ago, he had been groggy and half-dead. Now? Wide awake. Alert. Shaken to his core.

"No. No way. That's impossible," he muttered to himself, running a shaky hand through his hair. He scanned the room like he was expecting to wake up from a fever dream, but no—this was real. Very real.

Ethan's heart was still racing as he stood frozen in his room, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. His throat was dry, his headache was worse, and on top of that—he was completely naked.

Shit.

Towel. He needed a towel.

But it was inside the bathroom.

Where he was.

Ethan swallowed hard. He had two options—either risk eternal embarrassment or spend the rest of his life standing here like a lost soul, waiting for the universe to fix this for him.

Yeah, not happening.

Bracing himself, he took a deep breath, cracked the door open just enough to peek inside, and quickly scanned the room. The towel was right there on the rack near the sink. He just had to grab it and get the hell out before—

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING BACK IN HERE?!"

Ethan didn't think. He moved.

Ducking just in time, he narrowly avoided something flying past his head—a bottle? A bar of soap? A damn loofah? He wasn't about to stick around to find out.

"I JUST NEED MY TOWEL!" he yelped, practically lunging for it like his life depended on it.

He snatched it up, yanking it around his waist as he spun back toward the door, hands raised in surrender. "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY—"

Another object was launched his way.

He barely dodged it, bursting out of the bathroom like a man escaping a war zone, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chest heaving, pulse still erratic, Ethan stood there for a second, gripping the towel like it was a lifeline. He needed to sit down. Or lie down. Or evaporate.

But before he could do anything, a voice from inside the bathroom rang out again, sharp and final:

"NIGGA, IF YOU OPEN THIS DOOR AGAIN, I SWEAR TO GOD—"

Ethan didn't wait to hear the rest

He was gone.

Ethan stepped into the hotel parlor, his mind still groggy from the chaos of the morning. But the moment he looked ahead, he froze. His brain short-circuited.

No.Fucking.Way

Before he could even process what he was seeing, a familiar female voice called out.

"Hey, Ethan, is that you?"

He knew that voice.

His head snapped toward the source, and just as he was about to respond, his excitement took over. "Yeah, I'm the one! Wait, did you know that—"

But then—he saw her.

Hailie.

Eminem's daughter.

And she was just standing there, staring at him, eyes wide like she had just seen a ghost.

Ethan, confused by her reaction, frowned. What was she looking at like that?

Then he looked down.

Oh.

Shit.

He was still wearing nothing but a towel.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence stretched between them like an awkward movie freeze-frame. Hailie's face was turning redder by the second, her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but instead, she just blinked rapidly, eyes darting up and down his body.

And that's when Ethan realized—oh, she wasn't just staring. She was checking him out.

His lean, toned muscles from constant performances and gym sessions were on full display, his broad shoulders tensed in sheer embarrassment. His towel hung just low enough on his V-cut abs that it was, frankly, dangerous.

"Uh—SORRY, SORRY, SORRY!" he blurted out, hands flailing as he spun on his heels and dashed back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Outside, Hailie remained frozen in place, her cheeks still burning. Then, almost to herself, she muttered closing her eyes, "I need to call my boyfriend."

Ethan, now fully clothed in the same outfit from yesterday 'why didn't I just put this on in the first place?'. stepped back into the parlor, internally bashing himself.

As soon as he saw Hailie again, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Uh… about earlier—"

Hailie, seemingly having regained her composure, waved him off casually. "Oh, you mean Uncle Curtis? He came in this morning and said he really had to use the bathroom. I was about using mine, and my dad said he can't use his, so he had to use yours. Hope no issue?"

Ethan blinked. His mind processed the information at a painfully slow pace before it finally clicked.

Uncle Curtis…?

Wait.

No way.

No fucking way.

It's really him.

He forced an awkward smile, nodding stiffly. "Yeah, uh… no issue at all."

Just as he was about to speak again, Hailie interrupted. "Oh, before I forget, my dad said you should go see him in his room."

Ethan stood outside Eminem's door and knocked.

"Enter," came the rushed, anxious voice from inside.

Ethan pushed the door open and stepped in—only to immediately stop in his tracks.

The room had been completely transformed into a makeshift recording studio.

Wires ran across the floor, a mic stand was set up in the center, and professional-grade speakers were blasting a beat he had never heard before.

Eminem, headphones on, was at the mic, rapping furiously over the track.

Ethan stared, his mind racing.

'Do all top artists just travel with a recording studio? First Taylor, now Em?'

He shook his head in disbelief as he listened. Wait… I don't think I've ever heard this one before.

Eminem noticed him mid-session and pulled the headphones off. "Hey, hey! Come here. How was your night? And this morning—hope no issues?"

Ethan thought about everything that had happened—the accidental bathroom invasion, the towel incident with his 'friend' that was in his room bathroom to be precise.

"Yeah, about that—"

But before he could say another word, the door suddenly swung open with a loud BANG.

A booming voice filled the room.

"THERE YOU ARE, MOTHERFUCKER!"

Ethan turned slowly, already knowing who it was before he even saw him.

Standing in the doorway, looking ready to throw hands, was none other than Hailie's 'Uncle Curtis'—better known to the world as the one and only legendary rapper 50 Cent

This chapter is dedicated to each and every one of you who has been following this journey. Your time, support, and enthusiasm mean the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this story. Thanks for all your wishes the previous chapter i saw them I'm also feeling better now and once again, thank you so, so much!