My Billionaire Rockstar part 1

Episode 1: Little Black Dress, Big Decisions
Serena’s life feels like a stale rerun. Between her dead-end marketing job and a boyfriend more invested in his video games than her, she’s questioning her every move. But when her wild friend Jenny texts with an invite to the hottest rock concert in town, Serena takes the plunge—leaving behind her mundane life for a little black dress and a night out. What she doesn’t expect? Backstage passes to meet Zack, the impossibly cool lead singer of the world-famous band, Oblivion.

From Gamer Zombieland to Rockstar Fantasy
Trading Mark’s couch for the glittering chaos of a VIP lounge, Serena steps into a world of champagne, leather jackets, and rock gods. Jenny’s got her sights set on Zack, but it’s Serena who catches his eye. What begins as a harmless night out quickly spirals into a whirlwind when Zack invites Serena into his backstage domain. Could this be the jolt her life desperately needs, or is she about to be swallowed by the chaos of the rockstar lifestyle?

A Life-Changing Kiss and an Invitation to the Unknown
As the night wears on, Serena finds herself drawn deeper into Zack’s world, one that’s more seductive and dangerous than she ever imagined. A kiss in a dimly lit corner leaves her wondering if this is the escape she’s been waiting for, or if she’s just traded one form of chaos for another. With her life teetering on the edge of something exciting and unknown, Serena’s choices in this rockstar fantasy might just change everything.

Chapters

• 0:12 Little Black Dress
• 4:18 Backstage Passes
• 9:03 Upgraded
• 14:56 Rockstar Life
• 19:25 On A Boat

Transcript

Serena's Rockstar Recap: A Whirlwind Romance, Helicopters, and Poor Life Choices

So there I was, sitting on the couch, watching my boyfriend Mark save the world one pixel at a time. You know, like a modern-day hero. Only instead of armor and a sword, he’s got Doritos dust on his shirt and the world’s laziest aim with a virtual rifle. I should’ve known right then and there—this was my life. A never-ending loop of Call of Duty and Netflix, while I slowly withered away like an overwatered plant.

And then—oh wait for it—my phone buzzes. It’s Jenny, my best friend and human embodiment of a glitter bomb. She’s got this bright idea: Let’s go see Oblivion. Which, by the way, is not a metaphor for my relationship with Mark, but the name of some rock band Jenny worships like they're the second coming of Freddie Mercury. Naturally, I’m like, “No thanks, I’d rather sit here and watch Mark yell at preteens on the internet.” But, surprise! Something deep inside me snaps, and I decide: Screw it! Let’s go rock out with a bunch of strangers and see if I still know how to feel something other than low-grade apathy.

Now, here's where the plot thickens, people. I somehow manage to pull together a “hot” look in record time—thank you, little black dress I keep for special occasions like existential crises and last-minute rock concerts. I strut out of the bathroom like I’m auditioning for the role of “Woman Who Desperately Needs Validation,” but Mark? Oh, sweet Mark... he's too busy leading a virtual assault on a bunch of pixelated Russian soldiers to even notice. Like, seriously dude, I’m about to leave the house looking like a snack, and you can’t tear yourself away from the TV for five seconds? Great. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Fast forward to me standing in front of this concert venue with Jenny, who looks like she was born for rock and roll. She’s hyped, practically vibrating with excitement, while I’m wondering if I’ve made a terrible life choice. But then, like magic—or Jenny's relentless confidence—she whips out backstage passes. Backstage. Passes. I don’t know how she does it. I’m pretty sure she could talk her way onto a space shuttle if she tried hard enough.

Now, let me paint a picture of this VIP area. Velvet couches, champagne that’s probably older than my childhood traumas, and food so fancy I don’t even know how to pronounce it. I’m used to microwave pizza, so this feels like stepping into a parallel universe where people don’t keep ketchup packets in their glove compartments. I’m awkwardly standing there, pretending like I belong, when Jenny nudges me. “There he is,” she whispers, like we’re in some sort of spy movie. And “he,” of course, is Zack—the lead singer of Oblivion. He’s every rockstar cliché rolled into one: leather jacket, indoor sunglasses, the whole deal. He’s basically walking charisma, and I’m over here holding a gin and tonic, wondering how I’m supposed to act like a functioning adult in the presence of this human disco ball.

Jenny's convinced Zack is going to saunter over and sweep her off her feet. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t. He makes brief eye contact, which Jenny interprets as destiny, but I’m pretty sure he was just checking out the cheese plate behind us. I’m thinking, Welp, that was anticlimactic, but then, plot twist—Zack actually walks over to me. Me. The person who didn’t even know what band we were seeing until twenty minutes ago. Jenny’s jaw practically hits the floor as Zack says, “Hey, I’m Zack,” with a voice so smooth it could sell you insurance.

What do I say? Oh, hey, I’m Serena, and I’m currently experiencing an out-of-body moment while trying to keep my gin and tonic from spilling because my hands are shaking. But, you know, I manage to play it cool (probably not, but in my head I did). We make small talk, and before I know it, Zack’s offering us a backstage tour. Jenny’s screaming internally. Me? I’m trying to remember how to walk without tripping over my own feet.

So, we go backstage, and it's like stepping into another world. Roadies, guitars, people in headsets yelling things like, “We need more fog!” I’m standing there like, Wow, this is so much more exciting than Mark trying to hit level 12 on his stupid game. Zack shows me his collection of guitars like they’re his children. And I’m over here awkwardly petting a cherry-red Gibson, wondering how I ended up in this alternate universe where rockstars take me on personal tours.

Then things get… interesting. After the concert, Zack pulls me aside and kisses me. Like, full-on, I am a rock god and you’re my muse kind of kiss. And yeah, it was hot. But also, am I in a fever dream? I’ve never kissed a rockstar before, so my brain is like, “What do we do with our hands? Do we just… let this happen?” Meanwhile, Jenny is off somewhere with Paul, the bassist, because of course she is. She’s living her best groupie life, and I’m over here making out with Zack, wondering if my life is now a VH1 special.

But wait, it gets better. Zack, not content with just blowing my mind backstage, decides to up the ante. A couple days later, he pulls the classic rockstar move: a helicopter ride. A freaking helicopter. I didn’t even know helicopters were an option in the dating world. Like, should I have been swiping right on guys with their own aircrafts this whole time? Anyway, we land on this yacht—because why not?—and it’s all strawberries and champagne and “let’s watch the sunset on the deck of my super yacht, Serena.”

At this point, I’m half expecting him to pull out a candelabra and start serenading me, but instead, he’s just… normal. We talk, we laugh, and for a second, I forget I’m on a date with a rockstar and not, like, a normal guy who eats microwave popcorn for dinner (no offense to my popcorn brethren). And yeah, things heat up a little. There’s kissing, and dresses falling to the floor, and me silently thanking the universe for my matching lace set. Zack carries me off to his private quarters like we’re in some steamy romance novel, and honestly, I’m just rolling with it.

Because here’s the thing: when a billionaire rockstar takes you on a helicopter date and feeds you strawberries, you don’t overthink it. You just enjoy the ride. So, where does that leave me? Honestly, I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not going back to being Mark’s second-string cheerleader while he yells at teenagers online.

Maybe this is a wild detour in my otherwise mundane life, but damn it, I’m going to see where it goes. Even if it means figuring out how to be a normal human in the face of absurd luxury, even if it means confronting Jenny about her questionable choices with Paul, and even if it means navigating the rollercoaster of rockstar romance. I’m in it for the long haul—or at least until the helicopter fuel runs out.