CHAPTER 180 – Expanding Pack

The contraband ice cream is already melting on the kitchen island when I walk in. Mint chocolate chip. My favorite, and Kael’s go-to peace offering whenever he’s let the girls buy something that violates the house rules of “no processed sugar after six.”Mireya is mid-clamber onto a barstool, a spoon clutched in her hand like a scepter. Sofie is leaning against the fridge, scrolling on her phone, already half-ignoring her sister’s loud demands for “the big bowl.”Kael is at the sink, rinsing a stray spoon, looking entirely too innocent for a man who just smuggled three pints of dairy past a security gate. “You’re late,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. Kael freezes. He turns, the dishtowel in his hand, a small, sheepish curve to his lips. “Traffic.”“In the driveway?” I ask. Sofie doesn't look up from her screen. “He bought us out, Mom. I got a new set of guitar picks, and Mira got a light-up bubble gun. We’re compromised. Don’t trust any of his statements.”“Traitor,” Kael m

CHAPTER 181 – Public Full Circle

The documentary drops on a Sunday night.No surprise‑release drama. No leaks. No “someone stole the rough cut” chaos. Just a quiet countdown on the streaming platform, a simple thumbnail—my face in soft light, a microphone just out of frame, the Lullaby House logo faint in the corner.Title: **Not Owned: The Lullaby Story.**We watch it at home.Living room.Dim lights.Bowls of popcorn.Kids in various states of pajamas.“That’s a lot of your face,” Sofie says as the opening still lingers.“Thanks,” I reply. “Very helpful feedback.”The documentary starts not with glamour shots or concert footage but with something much uglier.Black and white hotel security footage, timestamped.The hallway.The knock.They got the raw tapes through official channels, with a lot of redactions and even more legal letters. It’s unsettling to see it cut together so cleanly.A door.My old room number.A younger me opens it a crack, chain still on. You can’t see much of my face—just wide eyes, messy hai

CHAPTER 182 – Family Council

The second time Sofie signs with Lullaby House, it feels different.The first contract made her my artist.This one makes her *our* act.“This is excessive,” she mutters, cheeks pink, as Miriam hangs a framed copy of the signature page on the office wall.“It’s historic,” Miriam replies, utterly unfazed. “First in‑house legacy act. First fully second‑generation contract. First Riven‑Cruz child to demand a merch clause on page two.”Sofie squints at the frame.Under the glass, the language is short and blunt:- **Masters:** 100% owned by artist. **Creative control:** 100%, with label as advisory only. - **Touring:** Artist can refuse any date for mental/physical health, no penalties. - **Safety:** No partnerships with entities that conflict with Lullaby House ethics. - **Therapy:** biweekly sessions funded by label mandatory during touring cycles. “Looks good,” Sofie says. “We should start selling prints.”“Over my dead body,” I say.“That’s in bad taste,” Kael comments from

CHAPTER 183 – World Stage

In the end, we choose wings—with roots packed carefully in checked baggage.We say yes to the tour.On three conditions:1. The routes are humane. No six shows in five days, no twelve‑hour overnight drives unless absolutely necessary.2. We travel as a unit. No one is left behind to “keep things simple.”3. Therapy calls are scheduled into the routing like load‑ins and soundchecks.The promoters blink at some of it.Then they sign.Because, as Miriam puts it: “You don’t get the wolf and the siren on your poster without their terms.”—It turns out that touring as a family is…chaos.And perfect.The bus is bigger this time but somehow feels smaller.Eliana Cruz – *Official Artist* is printed neatly on the door of the rear lounge.Underneath, in Sharpie in Sofie’s handwriting: *+ Sofie Riven (actual star) + Mira (drums) + Baby Wolf (vibes).*Kael is, technically, the road manager.He hates the title.He loves the job.He’s the one dealing with routing, per diems, hotel keys, and quiet n

CHAPTER 184 – Torch Secured

We could have ended the night there.Sofie at center, my harmony wrapped around her like a second skin, the crowd roaring, the tour officially “over.”But somewhere along the planning, between setlists and routing notes and late‑night texts with Luna about “how do you say goodbye to a whole era,” someone (probably Sofie, possibly Jace) had a bigger idea.“One last version,” they’d said. “All of it. Everyone. A generational remix.”So when the lights dim again and the crowd is still chanting—names, lyrics, nonsense syllables of joy—I don’t walk off.I walk back.To center stage.Sofie stays beside me.“Okay,” I say into the mic, a little breathless. “One more.”The roar lifts the hair on my arms.The band shifts.The lighting techs switch cues.On the big screens above us, the image changes from the live feed to a split shot: three panels.Left: a grainy, cleaned‑up clip of Kael’s mother, taken from some salvaged home video we found through an old cousin—a dark‑haired woman in a small

CHAPTER 185 – Wings Given (Epilogue – 5 Years Later)The End

Five years after the world tour, the lullaby lives in walls.Not just in one house, or one studio, or one city.In buildings.In bylaws.In laws with clause numbers and footnotes and references to “the Cruz precedent.”The Lullaby House campus stretches over what used to be an old industrial lot on the edge of the city—three brick warehouses gutted and reborn in glass and soundproofing.One is foundation.Lawyers. Counselors. Case workers. A wall of framed “Before & After” contracts—four pages of tiny font on one side, a single, humane page on the other.One is label.A&R rooms. Small stages. Offices with open doors and closed‑door policies against phrases like “we own you now.” A big neon sign over the main entrance that reads: *NO CAGES ALLOWED.*The third is the studio.That’s where I am.Top floor.Control room big enough for two generations’ worth of egos and a third’s worth of noise.Glass wall looking down into the live room where my oldest is on the other side of the mic.Sofi