Outcast Queen: Her Return from Hell novel Chapter 240

Inside the Diamond VIP suite, the disco ball spun, scattering fragmented lights across the room.

The air was heavy with the intoxicating mix of expensive perfume and the fermented heat of alcohol. The normally well-dressed crowd had completely stripped away their inhibitions, their desires magnifying exponentially in the dim light.

The atmosphere officially hit a boiling point the moment the dozen models Ian had ordered strutted in, acting like gasoline thrown onto an open flame.

Amidst the absolute chaos, Rowena was the only island of sanity. She rubbed her throbbing temple with one hand, trying to fight off a migraine, while her other hand rapidly scrolled through her phone.

Suddenly, a notification popped up, instantly illuminating her exhausted eyes.

"Ian!"

Rowena shouted over the deafening music.

But Ian was hopelessly buried in a pile of women on the couch, an arm wrapped around two of them. His face was flushed, his eyes hazy with alcohol.

Rowena's brows knit together. She shot a lethal glare at the models clinging to him. The girls quickly took the hint, standing up and backing away.

"Hey, don't leave..." Ian reached out, unsatisfied, only to have Rowena seize his wrist and forcefully snap his attention back.

"Wake the hell up! I just got a massive piece of news you need to hear right now."

Ian frowned, looking incredibly annoyed. "Rowena, it's my birthday. What kind of news could be bigger than this? Stop killing the vibe."

"Look for yourself." Rowena didn't waste her breath, shoving her phone screen directly into his face.

Ian squinted his drunken eyes and casually glanced at it. A second later, his glazed look vanished entirely. He shot up, completely rigid. "Maestro Nolan is in the country?!"

"Exactly!" Rowena nodded emphatically, the fires of pure ambition burning in her eyes. "You've been obsessing over breaking into the international market. Isn't this the ultimate golden ticket? If we can secure a collaboration with Maestro Nolan—even just a quick cameo—it's equivalent to an international hall pass."

"Then set it up, Rowena! Hurry!" The alcohol evaporated from Ian's system, replaced entirely by desperate greed.

Rowena rolled her eyes, her tone sharp. "Do you think Maestro Nolan is some rookie idol you can just demand to see? He is a titan in the classical music world. Billionaires throw mountains of cash at him just for a meeting and get rejected."

"So what was the point of getting me excited?" Ian deflated. Frustrated, he grabbed a bottle of wine and chugged a massive mouthful.

"No, there's another way." A confident smirk curled Rowena's lips. "According to my sources, Maestro Nolan highly admires a specific musical prodigy from the internet. If we can get through this person, we might actually get a meeting."

"Who?"

"STAR."

Ian froze. The name STAR was legendary, even in mainstream circles. The enigmatic artist had dominated the internet but vanished completely, leaving zero traces or updates for years.

"From what I've heard, STAR is based here. I'm going to pull every string I have to contact them and see if I can call in a favor to get us an audience with Maestro Nolan."

Listening to Rowena's breakdown, Ian's excitement flared back to life.

"Here's to you, Rowena!" He eagerly grabbed another bottle of wine and handed it to her, his tone dripping with sincerity. "I only made it this far because you were behind the scenes pulling all the strings."

"Sounds good. Thanks, Rowena."

Ian watched Rowena walk out of the room. The second the door clicked shut, he sneered. His obedient act completely vanished as he spun around and dove back onto the couch. "Keep the music playing! Bring the girls back!"

He grabbed two models, instantly throwing himself back into his debauched paradise.

"Ian!!"

A horrified scream violently sliced through the deafening music in the suite.

"Who the hell is screaming? Show some respect!" Ian frowned in deep annoyance, glaring at the door through drunken, squinted eyes.

The moment he recognized the person standing there, he looked as if he had been struck by lightning. Every drop of alcohol left his body.

"J... Jocelyn?!"

"Ian! What are you doing?!"

Standing in the doorway, Jocelyn stared at the horrifying scene in pure shock.

Right behind her, one impeccably dressed woman after another walked in—every single one of them was a top-tier financial backer from his livestream.

Watching Ian lounging half-naked, utterly wasted, and surrounded by women, the gentle, pure, untouchable 'national sweetheart' image they worshipped violently shattered into a million irreparable pieces.