Useless Thread MMI: Millerade Appreciation Thread

[John Price]

 

[SoupNazi]

Chapter 63: The Clink of Legends​

Juan had never been one for caution. Despite Hargrave’s insistence that they all lay low, he got bored after about an hour.

“I need some fresh air,” he announced, standing up and stretching. “Also, I just had an incredible idea for a new plushie: Plushie Putin. It’s like a regular plushie, but shirtless and riding a tiny stuffed horse.”

Hargrave groaned. “For the love of—Juan, you can’t just wander around Moscow right now. Putin just had Trump and Clinton dragged off. Do you think he’s gonna be thrilled to see you?”

Juan scoffed. “I’ll be in and out. Just a quick stroll. Maybe sell a few plushies to some high-ranking oligarchs.”

Brenda waved him off. “Eh, let him go. If he gets arrested, at least we’ll have some peace and quiet.”

And so, with no further argument, Juan waddled his way out of the safe house and into the Moscow streets.

It didn’t take long for things to go wrong.

Juan had barely made it two blocks before he was hawking plushies to a couple of guys in dark suits.

“You gentlemen look like men of class. Ever considered a Supreme Leader Snuggle Buddy? Limited edition. Just like democracy in Russia.”

The two men immediately grabbed him.

“Oh,” Juan said, realizing his mistake. “KGB? FSB? Please tell me you’re just dedicated plushie collectors.”

One of the men sighed. “You’re coming with us.”

Juan, still not quite understanding the gravity of his situation, beamed. “Wait—are you taking me to see Putin? Because I’ve got some great ideas for his brand.”

Instead, they threw him into the back of a van.

Moscow Prison – Cell Block VIP​

When Juan was shoved into his new accommodations, he took a moment to admire his surroundings: cold cement, dim lighting, the faint scent of borscht and regret. But what really caught his attention was his cellmates.

“Holy crap,” Juan whispered. “Am I hallucinating?”

Sitting on the bunk, looking unimpressed, was Julian Assange. Across from him, arms folded, was none other than Nicolas Cage.

“Ah, crap,” Juan muttered. “This is one of those dreams where I end up in jail with famous people, isn’t it?”

“I wish,” Assange grumbled. “But no, you’re actually here. And judging by your gut, you’re real.”

“Hey!” Juan snapped. “I prefer the term ‘plushie-built.’”

Nicolas Cage, who had been staring at the ceiling, suddenly sat up and pointed at Juan. “Who are you?”

Juan puffed out his chest. “I am General Freedom, former North Korean Ambassador to Japan, plushie mogul, and international fugitive.”

Assange sighed. “You’re an idiot.”

“I prefer ‘visionary,’” Juan replied.

Before anyone could argue, the fourth occupant of the cell spoke. “You got any snacks?”

Juan turned to see a disheveled but unmistakable figure sitting in the corner. His heart nearly stopped.

“Hunter Biden?” Juan gasped.

Hunter rubbed his temples. “Yeah, yeah. Look, man, you wouldn’t happen to have any lasagna on you, would you?”

Juan blinked. “No, but I do have a plushie of a lasagna.”

Hunter groaned. “That’s useless to me.”

Juan sat down on the cold bench. “So, uh, what are you guys in for?”

Assange rolled his eyes. “Take a wild guess.”

“Right, right, leaking government secrets. Classic.” Juan turned to Nicolas Cage. “And you?”

Cage smirked. “Grand theft dinosaur skull.”

Juan blinked. “I have no follow-up questions.”

Finally, he turned to Hunter.

“Tax stuff,” Hunter muttered.

Juan nodded. “Figures.”

Just as he was about to launch into his life story, the prison guard banged on the bars.

“New orders from the Kremlin,” the guard announced. “One of you is being taken to meet President Putin.”

Juan gasped. “Oh my God, it’s me, isn’t it? He wants to invest in the plushie empire! I knew this would happen!”

The guard squinted at the clipboard. “No, it’s… Nicolas Cage.”

Cage stood up, adjusted his tattered prison jumpsuit, and muttered, “Time to steal the Declaration of Independence again.”

As the guards led Cage away, Juan slumped against the wall.

“This is so unfair,” he grumbled. “Why does he get to meet Putin? I have so many good ideas.”

Assange rolled onto his side. “Yeah? Well, I have an idea—shut up.”

Juan crossed his arms. “Well, that’s just rude.”

Hunter sat up. “Okay, but seriously—do you have any snacks?”

Juan sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

TO BE CONTINUED…​

 

[John Price]

**Chapter 32: Sealing the Deal**

The tension in the **back room of the penthouse** was thick as **Brooke Logan and Ridge Forrester** stared at each other over the sleek glass table. The decision had been made—they were bringing in **Will and Electra**—but now came the hard part: figuring out how to do it *without* igniting a civil war within **Forrester Creations.**

Brooke sighed, setting down her glass. “You *know* Hope is going to hate this, Ridge. She built Hope for the Future with her own hands. She’s not going to want Will and Electra coming in and changing everything.”

Ridge leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. “Hope is *passionate*, but she’s not a CEO. She’s a designer. And sometimes, designers need to be protected *from themselves.*”

Brooke shot him a sharp look. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s also running a line that isn’t sustainable,” Ridge countered. “If we don’t do something now, we’ll be having this conversation in six months about **shutting it down completely.**”

Brooke pinched the bridge of her nose. She hated when Ridge was *right.*

“What exactly are you proposing?” she asked.

Ridge exhaled, shifting forward. “We don’t go to Hope with this *yet.* First, we bring in Will and Electra on a **consulting basis.** They evaluate the line, come up with a strategy to turn it into *something elite*—limited drops, luxury collaborations, exclusivity deals.”

Brooke nodded slowly. “And then we tell Hope?”

Ridge smirked. “No. Then we **show** Hope. Once she sees the numbers and realizes this is the *only* way forward, she’ll have to accept it.”

Brooke frowned. “That’s a dangerous game.”

Ridge took another sip of his scotch. “It’s called *business.*”

Before Brooke could respond, the door creaked open, and **Will and Electra stepped inside.**

Will, ever the calculated strategist, scanned the room before smoothly closing the door behind him. Electra, draped in emerald silk, took a seat with effortless poise.

“We figured you’d call us in sooner or later,” Will said, smirking.

Ridge smirked right back. “You two have a habit of showing up exactly when you’re needed.”

Electra crossed her legs, tilting her head slightly. “So, let’s hear it. You want us to save Hope for the Future?”

Brooke cleared her throat. “We want you to *elevate* it. Make it *exclusive*. Make it something that doesn’t just appeal to idealists, but to people willing to *pay for it.*”

Will leaned back, running a hand along the armrest of his chair. “Hope’s not going to like this.”

“She doesn’t have to—*yet*,” Ridge replied. “She’ll come around when she sees the results.”

Electra raised an eyebrow. “And what about Steffy? She’s already made it clear that Hope for the Future is *not* her priority. If she sees us getting involved, she might want to kill it off completely.”

Brooke and Ridge exchanged a look. That *was* a concern.

“We’ll handle Steffy,” Brooke said firmly.

Will smirked. “Well, that’s promising.”

Electra tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the glass table. “We don’t work for free, Ridge. If we come in, we want *real* influence. No hand-holding. No restrictions.”

Brooke hesitated. “Hope still has to have a say in the final product—”

“No,” Will cut in. “She can **design**. But the *business* decisions? That’s *our* department.”

Silence filled the room. Brooke knew this was dangerous—Hope would feel *betrayed* if she found out that the brand she built was being manipulated behind the scenes.

But at the same time… she also knew that **Hope for the Future wouldn’t survive without them.**

Ridge finally broke the silence. “Fine. You’re in.”

Will and Electra exchanged a look, then **shook hands with Ridge and Brooke.** The deal was sealed.

Now, they just had to make sure **Hope never saw it coming.**

**To be continued…**

 

[John Price]

 

[John Price]

**Chapter 33: Hope Logan’s Frustration**

Hope Logan had spent the last hour mingling at the **Forrester Creations private party**, entertaining endless conversations about fashion, branding, and, to her mild annoyance, the **state of her own line, Hope for the Future.** She had been feeling uneasy ever since her discussion with **Sami Brady and Lisa Vanderpump** a few nights ago, and now, as she scrolled through her phone, her mood only **darkened further.**

She had **just discovered the decision.**

With an irritated sigh, Hope locked her phone and turned toward **Carter Walton**, who was enjoying yet another glass of Pinot Noir. He looked **far too relaxed** for her liking.

“You won’t believe this,” she grumbled, sliding into the seat next to him.

Carter arched an eyebrow. “Judging by your tone, I’m guessing it’s not good news.”

Hope scoffed. “Not unless you consider *completely undermining my vision* good news.” She gestured toward her phone. “Apparently, they’re already shifting Hope for the Future toward **exclusivity.** Limited drops. A *rebrand*.”

Carter, unfazed, took a slow sip of his wine. “Isn’t that what Lisa and Sami were talking about the other night?”

Hope narrowed her eyes. “Yes, and I *specifically* said I needed time to think about it. But apparently, decisions are being made *without* me.”

Carter smirked. “Fashion moves fast.”

Hope shot him a look. “Carter, this is *my* line. Hope for the Future was built on accessibility and ethical fashion. Not just catering to people who want to spend **five figures** on a handbag because it’s ‘rare.’”

Carter exhaled, setting his glass down. “I get that. But let’s be real—Forrester Creations has always been about **high fashion.** And exclusivity sells. You saw what happened with the last collection—it got great reviews, but sales were *lukewarm.*”

Hope crossed her arms, fuming. “So, what, we just abandon everything it stands for?”

Carter shook his head. “Not abandon—*evolve.*”

Hope sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I just don’t want to lose control of my own brand.”

Carter gave her a knowing look. “Then maybe it’s time you start *taking* control.”

Hope stared at him for a long moment, contemplating his words. Maybe he was right—maybe the only way to protect Hope for the Future was to **fight for it.**

**To be continued…**

 

[PanthersPens62]

Song of the Day:



#LetsGoChEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFS

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

Skip it entirely it sucks

It has some funny moments, but it's notably more dumb/goofy than the rest of the series

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

Clark is an idiot in Vacation, but his character and actions are somewhat believable.

He's just an outright moron in Vegas Vacation, everything is a joke because he's unfathomably stupid.

Christmas Vacation has a little bit of both. There are scenes where they try to make Clark genuine, then there's scenes where he's a cartoonish idiot.

 

[John Price]

 

[John Price]

she got that million dollar

 

[John Price]

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

Who tf wakes up and goes mmm punch bowl of yogurt with chocolate chips and sprinkles

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

Yet another guy "injured" for the 4 Nations tournament.

But keep saying it's best-on-best, assholes

 

[John Price]

four nations break

 

[John Price]

kris Letang being booed at the game

how is Pittsburgh last place lol

 

[SoupNazi]

Chapter 64: The Great Russian Jailbreak​

Juan had been in jail for approximately four hours, and he was already over it.

His cellmates—Julian Assange, Hunter Biden, and Nicolas Cage (until he got taken away to meet Putin)—were some of the strangest people he had ever been locked up with. And that was saying something, considering he once got detained in Pyongyang with a man who insisted he was the lost heir to the Mongolian Empire.

“This is unacceptable,” Juan announced, standing up. “I am General Freedom, plushie mogul, and international businessman! I can’t just sit here and rot like some common criminal.”

Assange groaned and covered his ears. “God, you never shut up.”

Hunter rummaged through his pockets, pulling out lint, a crumpled dollar bill, and what looked suspiciously like a broken vape pen. “Yeah, man, I hear you, but unless you have an escape plan, we’re stuck.”

Juan grinned. “Oh, my sweet summer children. You’re talking to the king of escapes. I once got out of a North Korean labor camp using only a stuffed bear and a fake mustache.”

Assange squinted at him. “That’s… objectively false.”

Juan ignored him. “We just need a distraction. Something big. Something loud. Something stupid.”

Before anyone could respond, there was a loud explosion from outside the prison. The walls shook, the lights flickered, and the guards started yelling in Russian.

Hunter jumped up. “Oh, hell no. What was that?”

Juan gasped. “Brenda.”

Meanwhile, Outside the Prison…​

Brenda stood in the middle of a smoking street, holding a homemade flamethrower that looked suspiciously like a repurposed lasagna torch. Hargrave stood beside her, looking as defeated as ever.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” Hargrave muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Brenda grinned. “Oh, don’t be such a whinger, mate! This plan’s a real banger of a kicked dingo.”

Hargrave sighed. “That’s not even a phrase.”

Brenda didn’t care. She cranked up the flamethrower again and shot another blast of fire at the prison’s outer fence, sending more guards scrambling.

“Right,” Brenda said. “Now, let’s get Johnny Boy outta there before the Russians figure out what’s going on.”

Back in the Cell…​

The explosion had sent the guards into a frenzy, and Juan wasted no time.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, puffing out his chest. “Follow me if you want freedom.”

Hunter and Assange looked at each other, then at Juan.

Assange sighed. “We are so going to regret this.”

Juan charged at the cell door and slammed his body against it. Nothing happened.

“Damn,” he muttered. “That usually works.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Move.” He pulled a bent paperclip from his pocket, jiggled the lock for all of three seconds, and popped the door open.

Juan’s jaw dropped. “HOW DID YOU—”

Hunter shrugged. “Tax problems don’t teach you nothing.”

The trio sprinted out of the cell and into the chaos of the prison. Sirens blared, guards shouted, and other inmates were already taking advantage of the situation.

“We need a weapon!” Juan said, ducking behind a corner.

Assange groaned. “We don’t need a weapon, we need an exit.”

Juan ignored him and rummaged through his pockets until he pulled out his one remaining plushie—a tiny, stuffed bald eagle he called Mr. Freedom.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

Hunter blinked. “You’re gonna fight off armed Russian guards with a plushie?”

Juan nodded. “With style.”

Before Hunter could argue, Juan ran out into the hallway, chucked the plushie at the nearest guard’s head, and screamed, “FOR LIBERTY!”

The plushie bounced harmlessly off the guard’s helmet. The guard, who had been distracted by the general chaos, now locked eyes with Juan.

“Uh-oh,” Juan muttered.

The guard raised his gun—just as Assange tackled him from behind. The two went down in a heap, and Hunter grabbed the keys from the guard’s belt.

“Come on, man!” Hunter yelled. “We gotta move!”

Juan scrambled to his feet, scooped up Mr. Freedom, and bolted after them.

Escape Into the Night​

Brenda and Hargrave were waiting in a stolen van outside the burning wreckage of the prison gates when the trio came barreling out.

“Move, move, move!” Hargrave shouted.

Juan dove into the backseat, landing in a pile of stolen Russian military coats.

Hunter and Assange tumbled in after him, slamming the van doors shut.

Brenda gunned the engine. “Right! Where to, boys?”

Hargrave glared at her. “We need to leave Russia.”

Juan, still catching his breath, sat up. “Then we go somewhere safe.”

Brenda frowned. “Yeah? Where’s that?”

Juan grinned.

“North Korea.”

Everyone in the van collectively groaned.

Hargrave muttered, “I should have let them keep you in prison.”

But Brenda was already nodding. “Ooh, I like it! Back to where it all began, eh? This is gonna be a real dingo of a banger.”

“That’s not a real phrase!” Hargrave yelled.

And with that, the van roared into the night, heading toward yet another international disaster.

TO BE CONTINUED…​

 

[SoupNazi]

Chapter 65: Welcome to the DPRK, Idiots​

I had exactly ten minutes of peace before my phone buzzed with a text that shattered what little sanity I had left.

Brenda: Oi, ya silly galah! Get to Vladivostok. We’re off to North Korea!

I stared at my phone. North Korea. North. Korea.

I should have ignored the message. I should have thrown my phone into the nearest body of water and disappeared into Siberia. But against my better judgment, I found myself booking a train ticket to Vladivostok, muttering curses under my breath the entire way.

By the time I arrived, Brenda, Juan, Hunter Biden, and Julian Assange were already waiting for me near the docks, standing next to what could only be described as the most suspicious-looking fishing boat in history.

Brenda grinned and waved. “Good on ya, mate! Thought you mighta bailed on us!”

“I should have,” I said, staring at the rust bucket they were calling a boat. “What is this?”

Juan puffed out his chest. “This, my friend, is the USS Freedom Plush. Our noble steed to Pyongyang.”

“It’s a boat, Juan.”

“Correction—a fishing trawler repurposed for diplomatic purposes.”

Hargrave stood off to the side, rubbing his temples. “I can’t believe I’m part of this.”

I sighed. “And why are we going to North Korea?”

Brenda threw an arm around Juan. “Johnny Boy here has decided he’s gonna reclaim his title as General Freedom, North Korean Ambassador to Japan.”

I blinked. “That’s…not a real thing.”

Juan scoffed. “That’s what you think.”

A Not-So-Diplomatic Arrival​

Against every instinct in my body, I got on that boat. And, against all odds, we made it across the East Sea without sinking.

Unfortunately, when we arrived on the shores of North Korea, we were greeted by a full platoon of armed soldiers.

Brenda stepped off the boat first and threw up her arms. “G’day, comrades! We come in peace and plushies!”

The soldiers did not look impressed.

Juan strutted forward in a cheap military uniform he had somehow acquired. “Fear not, fellow warriors of the glorious DPRK! I am General Freedom, returning to my rightful post as North Korean Ambassador to Japan!”

Silence.

Then, the highest-ranking officer stepped forward, looked Juan up and down, and said something in Korean.

Juan nodded sagely. “Yes, yes. You recognize me, I see. Please, take me to your leader.”

The officer turned to his men, muttered something, and within seconds, Juan was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

Hunter snorted. “Yeah, saw that coming.”

Assange winced. “This is worse than the Ecuadorian embassy.”

Hargrave sighed. “I swear to God, I’m not bailing you out again.”

Juan, face pressed into the dirt, wheezed, “Tell Mr. Freedom to take care of my affairs.”

Brenda folded her arms. “Bugger me, that didn’t last long.”

Meeting the Supreme Leader (Sort Of)​

We were all detained for several hours in what I could only describe as the Plushie Embassy Incident.

Despite Juan’s utter failure at diplomacy, Brenda managed to talk her way into a meeting with a lower-ranking government official. We were led into a dimly lit office, where a humorless man in a gray suit sat behind an enormous desk.

“State your business,” he said, expression unreadable.

Brenda placed a single plushie on the desk—a tiny, stuffed version of Kim Jong-un. “Right, listen ‘ere, mate. We wanna open a plushie and lasagna empire right here in Pyongyang. You’ve heard of global soft power? This is global soft plush.”

The official stared at the plushie. Then at Brenda. Then back at the plushie.

“You are aware,” he said slowly, “that capitalism is forbidden here?”

Brenda waved a hand. “Bah, details, details.”

Juan, who had somehow wriggled out of his restraints, leaned in. “We’re talking a plushie revolution, my friend.”

The official stood up. “Guards.”

Hargrave groaned. “Here we go again.”

The Grand Escape (Again)​

We didn’t make it past the lobby before we realized we were, once again, being very politely escorted to what I assumed was a labor camp.

Juan whispered, “Time for Plan B.”

I frowned. “Do I want to know what Plan B is?”

Brenda pulled out a lasagna pan.

“Brenda, no—”

Brenda yes’d.

She launched a steaming tray of lasagna straight at the guards. The moment the cheesy, saucy chaos exploded in their faces, we bolted.

Juan, surprisingly fast for a man shaped like an overstuffed plushie himself, led the charge through the building. “RUN, YOU FOOLS! FOR FREEDOM!”

I was too busy dodging armed men to argue.

We crashed through a side door and sprinted toward our boat, guards shouting behind us.

Brenda cackled. “That was a bloody ripper of a distraction!”

Hargrave, completely out of breath, wheezed, “I hate you all.”

Somehow, somehow, we made it back to the USS Freedom Plush, jumped aboard, and sped off into the night.

As we put distance between ourselves and North Korea, Juan collapsed onto the deck, panting. “Okay. Maybe they weren’t ready for my brand of diplomacy.”

Brenda stretched. “Ah well, no worries! We’ll find another country.”

I groaned. “No. No more countries.”

Juan sat up, eyes gleaming.

“I hear Mongolia is lovely this time of year.”

Everyone groaned.

Hargrave shook his head. “I should have left you in Russian prison.”

And with that, we sailed blindly into yet another disaster.

TO BE CONTINUED…​

 

[End of Line]

kris Letang being booed at the game

how is Pittsburgh last place lol

Man could imagine having 13 million in dead cap bc Oshie Backstrom are bitches?

They must have a case of the Marian Hossa’s

 

[John Price]

Chapter 34: Tension in the Room

John Price, Brenda Prissen, and Juan Gomes had met their fair share of interesting people at this Forrester Creations event, but when they suddenly found themselves face-to-face with Luna Nozawa, Juan couldn’t help but blurt out—

“Wait a minute—shouldn’t you be in jail?”

Brenda’s eyes widened as she elbowed Juan in the ribs. “Juan!” she hissed, horrified.

Luna, to her credit, didn’t seem offended—just exasperated. She let out a sigh, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “That whole situation was a misunderstanding, okay?”

Juan crossed his arms, unconvinced. “That’s what they all say.”

John, amused by the sudden shift in conversation, sipped his drink and leaned in. “Alright, I gotta hear this—what exactly was misunderstood?”

Luna rolled her eyes. “It was blown way out of proportion. Some people love drama.”

At that moment, Brenda noticed something across the room and nudged John. “Speaking of drama—look who’s actively avoiding Luna.”

They all turned their heads toward Steffy Forrester, who stood near the bar, clearly pretending not to see Luna.

Steffy’s posture was stiff, and every time Luna so much as moved in her direction, Steffy subtly shifted, keeping distance between them. It was obvious—there was unresolved tension in the air.

Luna noticed too. She sighed, shaking her head. “Yeah… things between me and Steffy are a little, um… complicated right now.”

Juan smirked. “Oh, I can sense that. She’s acting like you’re an active crime scene.”

Luna groaned. “It’s a long story.”

Brenda raised an eyebrow. “Does it involve another ‘misunderstanding’?”

Luna gave her a look. “You know what? I don’t need this energy.”

John chuckled, watching as Steffy continued to act like Luna didn’t even exist. He took another sip of his drink and shook his head. “Gotta love fashion industry drama.”

Juan leaned in, still watching Steffy’s cold behavior. “So, who exactly is gonna break the ice here?”

Luna scoffed. “Not me.”

Brenda smirked. “Then this is gonna be an awkward night.”

And just like that, the tension in the
room only thickened.

To be continued…

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

It's amazing when players can just decide they don't want to play through the pain anymore and it just so happens to massively benefit their team.

Surely your team has absolutely no input in your decision to get paid for not playing during the lowest-paid years of your contract.

The whole cap circumvention during the playoffs has a simple and obvious fix, make the cap apply during the playoffs.

There's no fix to a player purposely signing a front-loaded contract with no intent of playing during the final years that were only there to lower the cap hit.

But let's punish New Jersey for merely submitting a contract that the league shot down, while all of the other obvious bullshit contracts just get to exist with no penalty.

 

[John Price]

Chapter 35: Steffy’s Warning

Steffy Forrester had been strategically avoiding Luna Nozawa all night, but when she turned and spotted Hope Logan, her mood soured even further.

Hope stood near the lounge area, deep in thought, likely still reeling from the recent decision about Hope for the Future. But Steffy wasn’t about to let that stop her from making her presence felt.

With her signature confidence, Steffy strode over, arms crossed, and let out a pointed sigh.

“Well, well,” Steffy said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Look at you, Hope. Sitting here like you own the place.”

Hope exhaled, already knowing where this was going. She turned to face Steffy, putting on her best diplomatic expression. “Steffy.”

Steffy smirked, tilting her head. “You know, for someone who spent years claiming she wasn’t trying to take over Forrester Creations, you sure seem pretty comfortable calling the shots now.”

Hope’s patience was wearing thin. “I didn’t ‘take over’ anything, Steffy. I’m doing what I always do—working hard to make sure Hope for the Future succeeds. If that somehow offends you, that’s not my problem.”

Steffy leaned in slightly. “You sure about that? Because last time I checked, my family built this company. And yet, here you are, acting like you belong at the top.”

Hope squared her shoulders. “I’m not here to compete with you, Steffy. I’m here to make my line the best it can be. If you have a problem with that, then maybe you should take it up with the people making the real decisions.”

Steffy narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed that Hope wasn’t taking the bait. But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted.

Her smirk returned, but this time, it was laced with something more personal.

“Fine,” Steffy said smoothly. “Do whatever you want with the company. Just stay away from Liam.”

Hope blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, after a brief pause, she let out a quiet chuckle—one that was not at all amused.

“Oh, Steffy,” Hope said, shaking her head. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Steffy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hope gave a pointed smile. “I’m with Carter now. You know, running your company.”

Steffy’s expression faltered for just a second—just enough for Hope to notice.

Without another word, Steffy straightened her posture and walked away quietly, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Hope simply watched her go, shaking her head.

Some things never changed.

To be continued…

 

[John Price]

Chapter 36: New Beginnings and Old Wounds

The Forrester Creations party was in full swing, and amid the clinking glasses and murmured business deals, Tom Sandoval leaned against the bar, swirling a glass of Pinot Grigio in his hand. The chilled wine wasn’t his usual go-to, but tonight, he was feeling… reflective.

Tom exhaled slowly, staring at the golden liquid in his glass. TomTom was gone. A venture he had once poured his heart and soul into, dissolved into the past. It stung, but in a way, it was also freeing.

New beginnings, he thought.

And he had a plan—something bigger, something bolder. He wasn’t done with the hospitality scene. Not by a long shot. He imagined a new space, something more elevated than the bars he had done before. No more partnerships where I’m not in full control, he mused.

As he took another sip, he glanced across the room and spotted Ariana Madix—his ex. She looked stunning in a fitted black dress, laughing as she spoke to Hope Logan and Brooke Logan.

Tom frowned slightly. That was a conversation he didn’t want to insert himself into. Instead, he focused on his drink and let his mind drift back to his future.


---

Ariana, Hope, and Brooke: Conversations Over Champagne

Across the room, Ariana Madix was deep in conversation with Hope and Brooke Logan.

“I have to say,” Brooke mused, “you’re handling everything with so much grace. If I were in your shoes, I’d be a lot less… composed.”

Ariana smirked. “Oh, trust me, Brooke—I had my moments. But at the end of the day, I realized that I have so much going for me outside of all that drama. Why waste time being bitter?”

Hope nodded. “That’s honestly inspiring. It’s easy to get caught up in things and let them define you.”

Ariana sipped her champagne. “Exactly. And besides, my career is in the best place it’s ever been. I’ve got projects lined up, new opportunities—why would I waste time worrying about the past?”

Brooke gave her an approving nod. “I like you, Ariana. You know how to move forward.”

Ariana smirked. “You have no idea.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Tom finished his Pinot Grigio and signaled for another. The past was the past, and the future?

He had big plans.

To be continued…

 

[John Price]

Chapter 37: The Big Announcement

As the night wound down, the energy in the Forrester Creations party remained electric. Glasses clinked, whispered business deals continued, and the elite of fashion, entertainment, and nightlife buzzed about the evening’s events.

At the front of the room, standing on a sleek, modern stage beneath a chandelier shimmering with gold light, Hope Logan and Carter Walton took center stage. Hope tapped a microphone, signaling for attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began with a warm smile, “thank you all for being here tonight. This has been an incredible evening celebrating the future of Forrester Creations. And, as always, our future is shaped by the people who make this company what it is.”

She turned toward the audience, her eyes landing on Luna Nozawa, who had been standing off to the side.

“Before we get to the biggest news of the evening, I want to take a moment to acknowledge someone who has faced challenges, but has come out stronger on the other side. Tonight, we celebrate Luna Nozawa, who has officially received her pardon for what was nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

The room erupted in applause.

Luna, caught off guard, put a hand over her heart, clearly touched by the gesture. Steffy Forrester, still lingering at the bar, clapped stiffly but said nothing.

Carter took over the mic, flashing his signature confident grin. “And now, for the biggest news of the night—Forrester Creations isn’t just about fashion. We believe in innovation, expansion, and supporting visionaries who push boundaries. That’s why we’re proud to announce that Forrester Creations will be an official partner in an exciting new venture.”

Hope smiled. “A project that brings together luxury, exclusivity, and top-tier hospitality. Introducing ‘Sando’—a brand-new bar concept, led by none other than Tom Sandoval!”

The crowd gasped, then broke into excited murmurs.

Tom, standing near the back with his second Pinot Grigio, looked stunned—even though he had been working on this for weeks, he hadn’t expected the announcement to land this well.

The room erupted in applause as Sandoval raised his glass, nodding at Carter and Hope in appreciation. Sando at Harrah’s Las Vegas was officially real.

Chapter 38: The Opportunist Moves In

As the crowd dispersed into celebratory chatter, John Price had his eyes on the prize. He had been quietly observing all night—taking in the big players, the power moves, and most importantly, the opportunities.

And right now? Tom Sandoval was the biggest opportunity in the room.

With the precision of a seasoned networker, John made his way through the crowd, arriving at Sandoval’s side just as he took another sip of his wine.

“Tom,” John greeted smoothly, flashing a confident smile. “Hell of an announcement.”

Sandoval smirked. “Yeah, man. Pretty surreal.”

John nodded, feigning casual interest. “I know a goldmine when I see one, and Sando? That’s it. You need the right people around you to make sure it’s not just a great idea but a profitable reality.”

Sandoval raised an eyebrow. “And I assume you think you’re one of those people?”

John chuckled. “I don’t think—I know.”

Tom swirled his wine, intrigued but skeptical. “What exactly are you pitching here?”

John leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to sound confidential.

“Every great bar needs a killer management team. Someone who understands the business side while also keeping the vibe right. That’s what I do. I’ve worked in hospitality, I know nightlife, and most importantly? I know how to make things work.”

Sandoval studied him for a moment, considering. “Huh.”

John grinned. “Look, I get it. You don’t just hand out jobs at an event like this. But all I’m saying is—when you’re assembling your team? Keep me in mind.”

Sandoval exhaled, nodding slightly. “Alright, John. I respect the hustle. Let’s talk soon.”

John extended his hand, and Sandoval shook it.

That was all John needed.

Tonight wasn’t just about celebration—it was about positioning. And John Price had just positioned himself right where he wanted to be.

To be continued…

 

[Sega Dreamcast]

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[John Price]

Sando