The quiet introspection that had defined Alex's recovery period could only last so long. With the "Echoes of a Generation" tour looming—a massive co-headlining venture with Billie and Khalid—he felt a primal, creative urge to create something loud. Not just loud in volume, but in emotion. The catharsis of his gentler releases had healed him, but the showman in him, the part that knew how to command a crowd of twenty thousand people, was stirring. He needed an anthem, a song that could fill the space between the high rafters of an arena and the beating hearts of the fans in the last row.
He spent hours in his studio, the Codex now a familiar and stable tool he used with a newfound sense of balance. He bypassed the moody, complex ballads and searched its vast library with a specific filter: Genre: Pop-Rock. Emotional Profile: Passionate, Urgent, Anthemic. The system scrolled through dozens of files, but one stood out, its raw energy practically vibrating off the digital page. It was by an artist named Shawn Mendes—a name that meant nothing in this timeline but whose musical DNA Alex instantly recognized as pure, commercial gold. The track was titled "Treat You Better."
Listening to the original demo, Alex heard its potential immediately. It was a pressure cooker of a song, built on a simple acoustic foundation that exploded into a chorus of raw, possessive desperation. This wasn't a love song; it was a passionate, chest-thumping declaration. It was exactly what he was looking for.
The production became his entire focus for the next week. He wanted to maintain the track's raw, acoustic core while building a wall of sound around it that felt both modern and timeless. He started with the opening guitar strum himself, recording it with a sense of barely contained energy, his pick striking the strings with an aggressive snap. Then came the vocals. He stood in the booth and pushed his voice to its edge, channeling the song's frustrated, protective indignation. He wasn't just singing the lyrics; he was living them, imagining a scenario so vividly that real, palpable anger fueled his delivery.
He meticulously layered his own vocals in the chorus, creating a choir of desperate Alexes, all pleading in unison. He then brought in his tour drummer to lay down a pounding, relentless beat that felt like a heart racing. But the final touch was the electric guitar. Alex plugged in his Fender Stratocaster, cranked the gain, and played a searing, distorted riff that soared over the chorus, giving the song the rock-and-roll teeth it needed. It was polished grit, a perfectly engineered storm of emotion.
The release of "Treat You Better" was a sonic boom. It debuted at number one on radio charts across the country before the day was out. It was a brutally effective piece of pop songwriting, perfectly calibrated for maximum emotional impact. The public consumed it ravenously.
In a suburban Chicago high school, 17-year-old Chloe sat in the passenger seat of her boyfriend, Mark's, car in the student parking lot. The windows were fogged up, not from passion, but from the humidity of their recycled argument.
"I just don't like the way he looks at you, that's all," Mark said for the third time, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
"He's my lab partner, Mark. We have to talk about chemistry," Chloe replied, her voice flat with exhaustion.
"Yeah, but there's a difference between 'chemistry' and, you know, chemistry," he muttered, his jealousy a thick, cloying smoke in the small space. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. It's just because I love you so much."
It was the same apology she always heard, the one that tasted like a trap. To break the tense silence, he switched on the radio. Alex Vance's brand new song, "Treat You Better," was just kicking off with its insistent, rhythmic strum.
"I won't lie to you… I know he's just not right for you…"
Chloe stared out the window at the kids laughing and leaving school for the day, their freedom a stark contrast to the suffocation she felt in the car. Alex's voice, an instrument she usually associated with gentle heartbreak, was now filled with a desperate, almost angry conviction.
"And I can see it on your face… When you say that he's the one that you want… And you're spending all your time in this wrong situation… And anything you want, it's right in front of you."
Mark tapped his fingers on the dashboard, oblivious, humming along to the melody. "Catchy," he commented. But Chloe was listening to the words. Every line was a floodlight on the dark, uncomfortable corners of her own relationship. Alex wasn't singing to her; he was singing for her, giving a voice to the exhausted part of her that knew this wasn't love. Love wasn't supposed to feel like a cage.
Then the chorus hit, a tidal wave of sound and emotion.
"I know I can treat you better than he can… And any girl like you deserves a gentleman… Tell me why are we wasting time on all your wasted cryin'… When you should be with me instead."
In that moment, something in her snapped. It was the clarity of hearing her own deepest, unspoken thoughts screamed back at her through the car speakers. She deserved a gentleman. She deserved not to cry after every party. She deserved better.
The song ended. The DJ's cheerful voice filled the car.
"I can't do this anymore," Chloe said, her voice quiet but unshakeable.
Mark looked over, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What? The song? It's over."
"No," she said, finally turning to look at him, her eyes clear. "This." She gestured between them. "Us."
She opened the car door and got out without looking back, leaving him sitting in stunned silence. As she walked across the parking lot towards her friends, Alex's voice still ringing in her head, she felt sad, scared, and for the first time in a long, long time, incredibly free.
The song didn't just resonate with teenagers in parked cars. The critics, who had lauded his mature, introspective work, were equally impressed by his mastery of pure pop power. Rolling Stone called it "a brilliant, muscular piece of pop-rock that proves Vance can command a stadium as easily as he can break your heart with a piano." Billboard praised the "flawless production and a vocal performance brimming with a believable, raw-edged desperation." The track became a global phenomenon, further solidifying Alex's reputation as an artist who could not be pigeonholed. And more importantly, it secured him his fourth nomination for the upcoming 60th Annual Grammy Awards, setting the stage for what would be the most important night of his career.
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