Jason sat with indifference, his fingers dancing across his phone screen while chaos erupted around him like a poorly choreographed dance.
Across the room, Christopher Blackwell—all six feet of him with his meticulously styled undercut—had finally reached his breaking point. The heir to Blackwell Industries wasn't accustomed to being disrespected, especially not in front of the girl he'd been pursuing for months.
"Keep your filthy hands to yourself!" Chris's voice cracked like a whip as he shoved Manager Williams backward.
The middle-aged man stumbled, expensive wine cascading down his wrinkled dress shirt like crimson tears. His face contorted with the kind of rage that came from wounded pride and alcohol.
"You arrogant brat!" Williams snarled, steadying himself against the wall. "She's been playing games all evening—those bedroom eyes, that sweet smile, conveniently forgetting to charge full price. And now she wants to act like some untouchable princess?"
Williams was a predator of the nightlife scene, the kind who'd spent years reading between the lines of polite society. His instincts rarely failed him when it came to reading people's intentions.
But Christopher wasn't listening to reason. His hand shot out, gripping Williams' collar with the desperation of someone whose entire worldview was being challenged.
"Apologize to Megan. Right now."
Williams laughed—a harsh, grating sound that echoed off the soundproofed walls. With ease, he slapped Chris's hand away.
"Apologize? To her?" His voice dripped with contempt. "She accepted my discount, which means she plays by my rules. Either she sits down and drinks a few rounds with me like a good girl, or you pay the full tab and get out of my establishment."
"We booked the premium package," Chris ground out through clenched teeth. "Two and a half hours."
The wedding cake sat half-forgotten on the table, its pristine white frosting a stark contrast to the ugliness unfolding around it.
Williams gestured mockingly at the neon price board. "Two hours. That's the standard package. The extra thirty minutes? That was my gift to your pretty little friend here." His smile turned predatory. "No contract, no guarantee. Don't like it? Call your daddy's lawyers."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
Christopher's eyes narrowed to slits. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"
"Oh, I can guess," Williams chuckled, crossing his arms with theatrical bravado. "Rich daddy, nice house in the hills, maybe a BMW in the driveway. But money without power? That's just expensive toilet paper, kid."
That's when Cole Morrison stepped forward—two hundred pounds of barely contained fury wrapped in a designer suit. His fists clenched at his sides like loaded weapons.
"Say that again, you piece of trash. I dare you."
Williams stepped closer, inviting the confrontation with the confidence of someone who'd played this game before.
"Go ahead, hit me. I won't even defend myself." His grin widened. "But tomorrow morning, you'll be explaining assault charges to your university's disciplinary committee. Let's see how tough you feel in handcuffs."
Miller, ever the strategist, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and deployed his ace card. "I'm vice president of the student council. Push this any further, and I'll make sure every student on campus knows what kind of establishment you're running."
Williams' laughter filled the room like poisonous gas. "Oh no, the student council! What's next, are you going to tattle to the dean?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "I've got friends in your little government too, kid. You want to play politics? I'll bury you so deep you'll need a GPS to find your dignity."
His expression turned cruel. "Besides, when word gets out about your girlfriend's... extracurricular activities, who do you think the campus will blame? The respected businessman or the girl who trades smiles for discounts?"
Williams checked his Rolex with theatrical precision. "Time's up, children. Pay for another package or get out before I call security."
It was a masterclass in manipulation—every option designed to maximize humiliation. Walk away and look weak in front of Megan, or pay extortion money and validate Williams' power play.
Christopher, Miller, and Cole stood frozen in impotent rage, their privileged upbringings having never prepared them for this level of raw, calculating cruelty. This was their moment to prove themselves, to demonstrate the strength and influence they'd inherited.
Meanwhile, Jason continued his digital ballet, fingers moving across his phone with the fluid grace of a concert pianist. To the casual observer, he appeared completely detached from the unfolding drama.
But Jason saw everything with crystalline clarity.
Williams was scum—that much was obvious. But Megan wasn't the innocent victim everyone pretended she was. Those peach-blossom eyes weren't just naturally alluring; they were weapons she'd learned to wield with surgical precision. A glance here, a smile there, a conveniently forgotten charge. She'd probably run this exact routine dozens of times.
Most men would simply accept the game and move on. But Williams wasn't most men—he was the type who kept score and demanded payment in full.
To Jason, the entire spectacle resembled nothing more than a pack of dogs fighting over scraps. Christopher, Miller, and Cole were stumbling over themselves to play knight in shining armor, completely missing the larger game at play.
Fighting for Megan's honor wasn't just pointless—it was counterproductive.
Instead, Jason allowed himself a small smile, his fingers accelerating across the touchscreen. This was the perfect opportunity to gain favor points—not by jumping into the melee like some testosterone-driven fool, but by playing three-dimensional chess while everyone else struggled with checkers.
Across the table, Megan watched her would-be protectors flail helplessly against Williams' calculated cruelty. Part of her appreciated their efforts—it was flattering to have three handsome, wealthy men competing for her attention.
But another part of her felt... disappointed.
They weren't strong enough. They couldn't actually solve the problem.
Her gaze drifted toward Jason, hoping to see something different. Instead, she found him lounging with casual indifference, more interested in his phone than her predicament.
Maybe I misjudged him yesterday, she thought, her heart sinking. When it really matters, he's just another useless pretty boy.
[System Alert: Megan's Affection -10]
Jason paused for a microsecond, mildly surprised by the notification. Megan's affection was proving more volatile than he'd anticipated. But this was actually perfect—if her opinion was dropping now, it would be that much more dramatic when he orchestrated its rise.
He returned to his digital machinations, maintaining his facade of disinterest. A few minutes later, another chime echoed in his consciousness.
[System Alert: Megan's Affection -10]
[Total Affection Growth: 101 points. Cannot drop further.]
Jason's lips curved in satisfaction. "Perfect timing," he murmured, setting his phone aside. "Time to make my entrance."
His fingers flew across the spending interface with efficiency. As his designated target, Megan was automatically linked to his expenditures. Within minutes, the remaining million dissolved like sugar in rain.
[Congratulations! Main Quest 2 Complete.][Rewards: $200,000 credited, plus 2 Lucky Draw opportunities.]
Jason dismissed the lottery notifications—there would be time for that later. Right now, he had bigger fish to fry. The system refreshed with clockwork precision:
[Third simp money: $30,000,000]
[Main Quest 3: Expend all money within seven days. Increase at least one beauty's (8.0+ rating) affection by 200 points.]
[Success Reward: $3,000,000 + 3 Lucky Draws][Failure Penalty: Permanent freezing of all simp money]
Jason's eyes glittered with anticipation. thirty million dollars. The real game was about to begin.
He rose from his seat with fluid grace, extending one hand toward the sweating manager.
"You. Come here."
The command wasn't loud, but it cut through the room's tension like a blade through silk. As Jason raised his arm, the sleeve of his tailored shirt shifted slightly, revealing the Philippe Nautilus adorning his wrist. He'd never been one for ostentatious displays—nouveau riche behavior made him nauseous.
But sometimes, subtle power played better than overt threats.
Williams froze mid-sentence, his instincts immediately cataloging the watch's significance. Two hundred thousand dollars of Swiss precision engineering didn't end up on the wrists of broke college students.
His chest tightened as he reassessed the young man who'd been silently observing the chaos. The perfectly tailored clothes, the quiet confidence, the air of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
Williams' cocky smirk evaporated like morning dew, replaced by the nervous grin of a man who'd suddenly realized he'd been barking at the wrong tree.
"Sir," he stammered, practically jogging over with his head slightly bowed, "I apologize for any inconvenience you might have. Please, allow me to make amends. What can I do for you?"
The nearby students turned in collective surprise.
Even Megan's luminous eyes widened with curiosity, her attention finally—completely—focused on Jason.
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