Page 87 of Discordant Cultivation

“You posted footage of my artist without my explicit permission. You made editorial decisions about content that wasn’t yours to make and you exposed a private moment that could have had serious consequences.”

“But—the response was incredible,” Eliza protested. “Four million views. The way people connected with it, the narrative it created—I thought you’d want that kind of visibility for him. It’s exactly the kind of authentic moment that builds careers.”

“I don’t care what you thought I’d want.” Vale’s voice remained soft, but his posture shifted—predatory, threatening. “You work for me. You follow my direction. You don’t make decisions about what gets released without clearing it with me first.”

Eliza’s jaw set stubbornly. “With all due respect, I know viral content when I see it. That video was perfect. The mystery caregiver angle, the intimacy, the way it positioned Thorn as someone worth protecting—it was good content.”

“Content that could have destroyed everything if it had gone wrong.” Vale took a step closer, and Eliza instinctively backedup until her shoulders hit the wall. “Do you know what kind of exposure that created? What kind of scrutiny? People are debating online if he faked it. Thorn is sensitive and sweet, those comments have caused him genuine distress.”

“It keeps people talking about him.”

“Tell me, Eliza—do you want to be an assistant forever?”

Eliza’s eyes widened slightly.

“Because I have connections. Real connections. Major labels, established producers, artists who could transform your career from promising to significant. I could open doors for you that would take years to access on your own.” He let that sink in, watching her do the calculations in her head.

“Or I could ensure that every important person in this industry knows you can’t be trusted with sensitive material. That you make unauthorized decisions. That you prioritize your own instincts over client direction. That conversation would take about three phone calls. Your career would plateau exactly where it is now—a competent assistant who never quite makes the jump to respected professional.”

Eliza’s face was pale. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Vale’s laugh was soft and barbed. “This industry isn’t fair. It’s about reputation and trust. And right now, I’m deciding which reputation you get to carry forward.”

The silence stretched between them while she glared at him.

“I understand,” Eliza finally said, her lips barely moving. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t. Because you’re going to remember that everything you see here, everything you observe between me and Thorn, everything you witness during these sessions—it all stays private unless I explicitly clear it for release. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Vale’s smile returned, warm and professional as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. “Because you really aretalented, Eliza. Your eye for composition is exceptional. The way you captured that seizure—the framing, the ambient sound, the raw intimacy—it was genuinely brilliant work. I want to keep collaborating with you. I want to help you build the career you deserve. But that only works if you understand the boundaries.”

Eliza nodded slowly, and Vale could see her vulture instincts reasserting themselves—calculating, adapting, moving forward because the opportunity was too valuable to lose over wounded pride.

“The NDA you signed covers everything. Not just the content we produce, but anything you observe about how we work together. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Excellent.” Vale opened the parlor room door, gesturing for her to enter first. “Now let’s make something incredible.”

They returned to find Kieran exactly where they’d left him, staring at nothing with that strange distant focus, rage still radiating from every line of his body. He looked up as they entered, and Vale caught the way his gaze snapped into fear before sliding away again—present and absent simultaneously.

Still holding it together. Still channeling everything into fury instead of letting yourself feel what else happened down there.

“Having the microphone visible adds to the aesthetic,” Vale said to Kieran as if nothing had interrupted the flow of conversation. “Raw documentation rather than polished production.”

Eliza nodded enthusiastically, all traces of their confrontation hidden behind professional excitement. “Exactly! Like we’re witnessing something private being made public.”

Vale pulled up his hood and pulled the mask over his face, rendering his face unrecognizable while allowing him to still see.

“Thorn,” he called softly. “Show Eliza your blocking.”

Vale watched as Kieran walked Eliza through his choreographed movements—the precise placement of books, the timing of their fall, the way his path would weave around the room.

“Incredible,” Eliza breathed, adjusting her Steadicam rig. “The percussion element, the spatial awareness—you’re not just performing a song, you’re inhabiting it.”

Vale settled at the piano bench as anticipation thrummed through his chest. Everything aligned—Kieran’s rage barely contained in his shaking body, Eliza reminded of her boundaries, the perfect acoustic environment he’d spent years perfecting.