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MidReal Story
My Billionaire Daddy
Scenario:this is in new york city and based on the musical drama tv show empire about music and family and drama and fights and guns and concerts and pride strippers and strip clubs and friends and sex and nudity and age difference and murder and suicide and drug and alcohol abuse and use and betrayal and schemes and prison and parties and nightclubs and lgbtqia and homophobia and fame and my name is mohamed abdi i am 18 years old and i am a very talented rapper and i have tattoos and i wear gold and diamond chains and i seems to fancy myself something of a bad boy, and speaking unabashedly to whomever i want and i am spoiled, and carefree. and i am a playboy chasing women and girls and i am disrespectful and drama and a womanizer and cocky and undisciplined and my father abdinur abdi he is 42 years old and he used to be a famous iconic rapper but he retired and he now owns a multi millionaire music company named empire entertaintment and he is arrogant and evil and cruel to others than his family and he loves power and influence and he is dating a biracial black and white woman named anika calhoun and she is 35 years old and she works for empire as artists and repertoire and she is seductive and she loves power and my mother layla abdi she has dark skin and she is 38 years old is in prison for drug dealing thats how my parents got the money for empire and my mother took the fall for my father and she is dangerous and crazy but she loves her family and there is my siblings my sister munira abdi she has dark skin and she is a lesbian and she is a pop and rnb singer and she is 20 years old and my brother mahad abdi he is 22 years old works for our music label empire and he is empires label cfo
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Mohamed Abdi
and selfabsorbed. Mohamed often flaunts his wealth and fame, indulging in women and parties. Despite his father's questionable behavior, he emulates his lifestyle. His father, Abdinur Abdi, is a former rapper turned wealthy music mogul. Mohamed's family owns Empire Entertainment, where he seeks creative control. His mother, Layla, is in prison for drug charges, while his sister Munira and brother Mahad manage the family business.
Abdinur Abdi
and influential. Abdinur was a famous rapper before retiring to focus on his empire. He remains involved in the company despite his lack of expertise. His relationship with his wife Layla's schemes causes tension and financial instability. He dismisses concerns about the company's future but relies on Layla's management skills despite her criminal activities. His past fame affords him power and influence in the industry.
Anika Calhoun
and manipulative. Anika is significantly younger than Abdinur but seeks power through their relationship. She helps lay the groundwork for Layla’s schemes by feigning friendship with her before ultimately being discarded when Abdinur’s interest shifted towards other women including younger women which caused tension within the family.
My name is Mohamed Abdi, I am 18 years old, and I am a very talented young rapper.
I live in New York City, which is the heart of music and entertainment.
I have tattoos, gold, and diamond chains on my neck.
I wear designer clothes and sneakers from Gucci and Louis Vuitton.
I am cocky, disrespectful, self-absorbed, and I always speak my mind to whomever I want.
I am spoiled, carefree, and I do whatever I want with no one telling me what to do or what not to do.
I am a playboy and a womanizer.
I love women, sex, and partying.
I am a very handsome young man with light skin, brown eyes, black hair, and a well-built body.
My father is Abdinur Abdi, a famous iconic rapper who retired from rap years ago but is now the owner of Empire Entertainment, a multi-million dollar music company.
My father is 42 years old and he looks like he is in his late thirties because of his young looks.
He is arrogant, evil, and cruel to people that are not his family members.
He loves power and influence over others.
My mother, Layla Abdi, has dark skin and she is 38 years old.
She is in prison for selling drugs.
I sprawl on my leather couch, scrolling through Instagram when Munira bursts through my penthouse door without knocking.
She is wearing a red long dress with a pair of designer heels.
She starts pacing around the living room, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
She looks like she has lost her mind.
"Munira, what is wrong with you?"
I ask her, but she ignores me and continues to pace around the living room.
I notice that her hands are shaking as she clutches her phone tightly in her hand.
I get up from the couch and walk to my private bar.
I grab two crystal glasses and pour cognac into them.
I hand one of the glasses to Munira, and she gulps it down like it is water.
"Mom's getting out," she says, and her voice cracks as she speaks.
Her words hit me like a punch to my stomach.
I grip the edge of the bar counter to steady myself.
"How do you know?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"She called me," Munira replies, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.
"And what does Dad think about this?" I press, knowing full well the storm that's about to hit.
"I don't know," she admits, her voice trembling.
"He didn't answer my calls."
I slump onto the leather couch, my mind still reeling from the news.
Munira follows, settling into an armchair across from me.
She fidgets with her gold bracelets, her eyes darting around the room.
"So, what's new with your music career?"
I ask, trying to change the subject.
Her face lights up, and she smiles.
"My debut R&B single 'Look at Me' is dropping on Spotify through Empire," she says proudly.
"That's awesome! Congratulations!"
I respond, genuinely happy for her.
"And what about you? What's new with your rap career?"
"Well," I say, leaning back against the couch cushions.
"I'm working on my second single. It should be out soon."
"Maybe we can do a collaboration sometime," she suggests, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"That would be dope," I reply, grinning.
Munira gets up from her chair and walks over to me.
She pulls me into a tight hug and whispers in my ear, "I love you."
"I love you too," I whisper back. Munira releases me from her embrace and walks over to my penthouse door.
She opens the door and turns around to look at me one last time before walking out of my apartment.
As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a long breath, trying to process everything.
Just then, my phone buzzes on the table, and I see Dad's name flashing on the screen.
"Hey, Dad," I answer, trying to sound casual despite the tension in my chest.
I pace around my penthouse as Dad's words hang in the air.
Through the phone, I hear the clinking of ice cubes in what's probably his usual whiskey glass.
"Did Munira tell you?"
I ask, breaking the silence.
There's a sharp exhale on the other end of the line, and then he speaks.
"Meet me at Empire's main office in an hour. No excuses."
With that, he hangs up.
I grab my leather jacket and keys, my hands shaking slightly.
In the elevator down to the parking garage, I check my reflection in the mirrored walls, adjusting my gold chains.
My Bentley chirps as I unlock it, the sound echoing off concrete walls.
I slide into the driver's seat, my mind racing.
As I pull out of the garage, Munira's words replay in my head.
Mom's getting out.
I pull into Empire's parking garage, tires screeching as I park crooked across two spaces.
My hands tremble while riding the elevator to the top floor.
The doors open, and I step out into the sleek lobby.
The receptionist greets me with a nod, her eyes fixed on her computer screen.
I walk past her, heading straight for Dad's office.
Through the glass walls, I see two figures.
Dad sits behind his massive mahogany desk, and beside him stands a woman in an orange jumpsuit.
My stomach drops.
It's her.
She looks exactly like the prison photos Munira showed me, just older and harder.
Rage burns through me as I remember all the childhood photos where she's missing, all the parent-teacher conferences she never attended.
I stand frozen in the doorway, my throat tight.
Mom rises from her chair, her eyes fixed on me.
The orange jumpsuit seems to mock the luxury of Dad's office.
She takes a hesitant step toward me, arms outstretched.
But I back away, my heart pounding.
Seventeen years of birthdays, graduations, and achievements flash through my mind - all without her.
Dad watches silently, his face unreadable.
Mom's eyes fill with tears as she whispers, "Mohamed, my baby."
I snap.
"I'm not your baby," I spit out, turning away from her reaching hands.
"You lost that right when you chose drugs over us."
I lean against the office doorframe, arms crossed.
Dad rises from his leather chair, straightening his expensive suit.
The gold watch on his wrist catches the light - everything bought with Mom's drug money.
The familiar scent of her jasmine perfume hits me as she steps closer.
My jaw clenches when Dad says those words, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Mom reaches for my hand, but I jerk away.
The chains around my neck rattle with the sudden movement.
In that same motion, I knock over a framed photo on the credenza - our last family portrait before her arrest.
I lean against the wall, watching the office door swing open.
Mahad and Munira step in, their eyes wide as they take in the scene before them.
Mom's eyes flicker to Mahad's tailored suit, then settle on Munira's designer dress and short hair.
Mahad's gaze drops to the floor as he says, "Hi, Mom."
Munira steps forward, her voice steady as she adds, "You look...well."
Dad gestures toward the empty chairs, his voice strained as he says, "Please, have a seat."
As we sit, I catch sight of a photo on Dad's desk - an old one.
All of us crammed into our tiny Bronx apartment.
Mom holding baby-me while Mahad and Munira wear secondhand clothes.
The contrast between our past and present makes my stomach turn.
Mom reaches for the photo, but I snatch it first.
I storm out of Dad's office, ignoring Munira's pleas to stay and hear Mom out.
In the hallway, I text my crew to meet at our usual spot - the recording studio downtown.
Chicken arrives first, adjusting her snapback as she sets up the mixing board.
She notices my agitation but stays focused on the equipment.
Jason slouches on the couch, scrolling through his phone and making comments about Empire's latest artists.
When Marcell shows up with his notebook of lyrics, I grab the mic, needing to channel my anger into verses.
Chicken looks up from the mixing board, her voice calm but curious.
"What's got you so worked up today, Mo?"
I hesitate, then finally admit, "My mom's back, and she's trying to act like nothing happened."
Chicken nods, her eyes widening with understanding.
"Let's get this out in the booth."
I step into the recording booth, gripping the mic tightly.
Chicken adjusts the levels while I spit out verses about betrayal and trust issues.
My voice cracks with emotion as I lay down the hook, but Chicken gives me a thumbs-up.
"That take was raw. Let's keep it."
Hours later, we gather around the mixing board to listen to the playback.
The heavy bass and aggressive flow match my anger perfectly.
When Chicken suggests we name it "Can't Trust Them," I immediately text Dad to schedule the release through Empire.
Now, I sit in my home studio with Chicken, watching the streaming numbers climb on my laptop.
The aggressive beat pounds through the speakers as we refresh Spotify repeatedly.
My phone buzzes with congratulatory texts from industry contacts and fans.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings.
I glance at the clock - it's too early for the party, but maybe someone's dropping off a gift.
I open the door to find a delivery guy holding a large package.
"Sign here," he says, handing me a clipboard.
I scribble my name and take the package, tearing it open to reveal a gleaming double platinum plaque.
Chicken snaps photos as I hold it up, the diamond chains glinting around my neck.
I grab two bottles of Hennessy from my private bar while Chicken cranks up the studio speakers to maximum volume.
The bass from our new track rattles the platinum plaques on the walls as we jump around the room, shouting the hook at the top of our lungs.
My chains bounce against my chest with each move.
When Chicken starts breakdancing on the hardwood floor, I join in with my signature spin move, nearly knocking over the expensive recording equipment.
Chicken laughs, catching her breath.
"Alright, Mo, what's the real story behind that plaque?"
I pause, looking at the plaque, then back at her. "It's from Mom. Her way of saying sorry."
Chicken nods, her eyes widening with understanding.
I lounge on my studio couch while Chicken monitors the streaming numbers for our new track on her laptop.
The numbers keep climbing - 8 million, 9 million, then hitting 11 million streams.
My phone buzzes constantly with notifications about the music video views reaching 9 million.
When the payment notification comes through, I show Chicken her producer cut.
She hugs me excitedly, both of us watching as the song climbs to #22 on the rap charts.
"Mo, did you ever think she'd come around like this?" Chicken asks, her voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.
I shake my head, still processing it all. "Nah, I thought I'd have to make it on my own forever."
Chicken leans back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Guess she finally realized what she was missing out on."
I arrive at Empire's Manhattan headquarters, the sleek glass tower reflecting the city lights.
I step into the elevator, and it whisks me up to the top floor.
The doors open to reveal a bustling office space, with employees typing away on their computers.
I make my way to the glass-walled conference room, where everyone is already seated.
Mom sits at the head of the table beside Dad, looking confident in her business suit.
Anika glares at me from the corner, her arms crossed.
Dad clears his throat to get everyone's attention.
"Alright, let's get started. As you all know, I've been considering stepping down as CEO. And I've decided it's time."
He pauses for dramatic effect.
"I'm pleased to announce that your mother will be taking over as co-CEO."
Anika's eyes widen in shock, and she jumps to her feet.
"What? You can't be serious!"
Dad sighs, his expression unyielding.
"Anika, you know this is for the best. Your mother has been working just as hard as I have to build this company."
Anika storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Dad turns his attention to me.
"And Munira, I hear you've been working on some new music."
I nod, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.
"Yeah, I just released a new single. It's doing pretty well."
Dad raises an eyebrow.
"Oh? And what's it called?"
I hesitate for a moment before answering.
"Can't Trust Them." Dad frowns, his expression disapproving.
"That doesn't sound very uplifting. Why would you write a song like that?"
I shrug, trying to come up with an explanation.
"I don't know, it just came to me one day. I was feeling angry and frustrated with everything going on in my life."
Dad shakes his head.
"Well, I hope you can find a way to channel those feelings into something more positive. We need music that inspires people, not brings them down."
I feel a surge of defensiveness, but before I can respond, Dad changes the subject.
"Speaking of music, I have some exciting news. We're opening a new nightclub downtown, and we're going to feature live performances every weekend."
He pulls out a stack of blueprints and begins passing them around the table.
Mom leans forward, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "And Munira, we'd love for you to be the opening act."
I blink in surprise, glancing between them. "Wait, seriously? You want me to perform at the launch?"
I lean back in my leather office chair at Empire, drumming my fingers on the conference table.
The gleaming "Can't Trust Them" platinum plaque on the wall catches my eye, a constant reminder of my recent success.
Mom slides the performance contract across the polished mahogany, her manicured nails tapping impatiently against the surface.
After scanning the terms - two hours, five songs, $50,000 - I grab a pen.
My signature flows across the dotted line as Dad nods his approval.
Everyone files out of the conference room, leaving me alone with my signed contract.
The glass walls reflect the empty hallway outside, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning.
I stare at the contract, my name in bold black ink.
The door creaks open, and Anika slips inside, her heels clicking against the marble floor.
She picks up a copy of my "Can't Trust Them" promotional materials from the table and studies them for a moment.
"Your streaming numbers are impressive," she says, nodding to herself.
She walks closer, her Chanel perfume wafting through the air between us.
Placing her hand on my shoulder, she leans in and whispers, "I'm going to make this song a priority release."
Her words send a shiver down my spine as she pulls me into a hug.
I remain still, her arms wrapped tightly around me.
As she steps back, her eyes meet mine with a newfound resolve, and I realize we're no longer rivals but unexpected allies.
I lounge on my leather couch, flipping through a fashion magazine when the penthouse door bursts open.
Anika stumbles in, mascara running down her cheeks.
She collapses beside me, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I caught them together," she chokes out between sobs.
"Dad and Mom, in his office after hours."
I awkwardly pat her shoulder, remembering how she stood up for my music when others doubted me.
"Anika, I'm so sorry," I say, still processing the news.
She pulls away, her eyes red and swollen.
"I can't believe it. I thought he loved me."
She looks at me, her gaze pleading.
"You have to help me. You have to tell me what to do."
I hesitate, unsure of how to respond.
"I don't know what to say," I admit.
"I'm not exactly an expert on relationships."
Anika sighs, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."
She stands up, smoothing out her dress.
"I'll just go home and figure things out on my own."
But before she can leave, she turns to me and says, "Wait."
She takes a step closer, her eyes locked on mine.
"I need to do something crazy right now. Something that will make me forget everything."
And then, without warning, she leans in and kisses me.
I'm taken aback by her sudden move, but as our lips touch, I feel a rush of excitement.
I kiss her back, my hands wrapping around her waist.
But as the kiss deepens, I remember that she's 25 and I'm 19.
I pull away, breaking the kiss.
"Anika, we can't do this," I say, trying to catch my breath.
She looks at me, confused and hurt.
"Why not? We're both adults."
I shake my head.
"You're my dad's girlfriend. And besides, you're too old for me." She sighs, running her hands through her hair.
"You're right. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
She turns to leave again, but this time I stop her.
"Wait," I say.
"What are you going to do now?"
She turns back to me, a determined look in her eyes.
"I'm going to break up with your dad," she says.
"And then I'm going to confront your mom about what she did."
I nod, feeling a mix of emotions inside me.
"Good luck," I say.
"I hope everything works out for you."
Two days later, Anika returns to Empire's Manhattan headquarters with a fierce determination in her eyes.
She storms into Dad's office and slams the door behind her.
Mom is already there, standing by the window with a smug expression on her face.