"Let's fucking do this."
That's all Jayden whispered to himself as he stepped closer to the Porsche Manhattan building—heart pounding like it was trying to beat its way out of his damn ribcage.
His poise was low but laced with that electric buzz of soone walking the fine line between disbelief and god-tier confidence. He wasn't just stepping into any place. This was Porsche Manhattan. The kind of place that slled like money, testosterone, and generational wealth—and here he was, seventeen, heart thudding like a war drum under his shirt, ready to buy a car that could pay soone's rent for the next decade.
"Shit like this never gets old," he muttered under his breath, biting back a cocky smile. No matter how cool he acted, monts like these?
Yeah, they punched right through the act. Straight-up excitent overdose.
No matter how many tis life will decide to throw him curveballs or sugar-daddy blessings from the universe later, this feeling? This was cocaine. Pure, uncut excitent straight to the bloodstream.
He was about to buy a car. A fucking car. Not just any busted secondhand ride off Craigslist—but a Porsche. His own.
"I'm a damn street rat who leveled up overnight. From street rat to stockholder. From sharing socks to possibly owning half of goddamn New York soday."
He should get that printed on a T-shirt or sothing: 'From street to skyscraper—Jayden's autobiography.' Bestseller already." he thought.
His sneakers made a subtle squeak as they kissed the polished floor of the building's front, announcing his presence like a king's trumpet.
Jayden didn't bother adjusting his shirt. The sleeves were rolled, the black pants slim-fit, and the vibes? Immaculate. Not overdressed, not underdressed—just enough to blur the lines between "spoiled rich second gen" and "trust fund rebellion project."
His hair was ssy in that intentional kind of way, the kind that made you wonder if he just got out of bed or out of soone's heart
Seventeen on paper. In reality? He walked like a young god freshly carved out of divine marble and dropped into the city for shits and giggles. His presence? Untouchable. His eyes? Said "back the fuck up" without moving his lips. His vibe? Effortlessly pas de rde—zero fucks given.
The doors swung open with a whisper, the motion sensors lighting him up like so slow-motion fashion show entrance. The breeze from inside hit him like luxury perfu mixed with air that had never known poverty. If air had classism, this one scread old money only.
He pocketed his hands just to make a statent, chin raised a little higher than necessary, like he was silently daring anyone to ask if he belonged here.
Spoiler alert: he did.
Click. Click. Click.
A sales consultant made his way over, all shiny shoes and forced smiles. You could hear the commission calculations pinging in his brain. The man had that polite yet clinical smile plastered on—sa one you give to CEOs, oil princes, and indecisive celebrities who pretend they care about mileage.
"Good afternoon, sir. Welco to Porsche Manhattan."
Jayden didn't bother returning the smile. He gave the guy a nod that said: Yeah, I see you, but more importantly, you see . And he did—the stares from behind the glass office, the silent glances from the other staff, the way everyone clocked his age but couldn't wrap their heads around the weight he carried in his posture. He wasn't tall just physically.
There was sothing towering in how he moved—like the room was an accessory to him, not the other way around.
The more he walked past the glossy displays, the harder it was to hide the giddy flickers sparking behind his eyes.
The cars. Mon dieu.
They were all here. Models he'd drooled over during broke nights on YouTube. Engines he could recite better than the Ten Commandnts. Paint jobs that looked like lted diamonds. All lined up like they were waiting for him.
He stopped near a guntal grey 911 Turbo S, whistled low under his breath, then turned to the consultant, who was still smiling like a man who didn't want to offend the underaged demigod in front of him.
"I will be your guide if you allow sir,"
Jayden nodded. Didn't even look at him for a second. The stares? He felt 'em from the staff, from the custors, from the damn showroom floor. He just didn't give a damn.
His eyes were too busy drinking in the candy-colored lineup of horsepower dreams. Every model he used to scroll past online when Wi-Fi wasn't acting up back in the slums? Right here. Right fucking here.
It hit him then. The kind of hit you feel in your soul. That 'I made it' type high. No system prompt could capture that.
He took a slow, cocky step forward, then another. Looked over at the consultant, who was still trying to play it cool despite Jayden oozing main character energy.
"Be honest with , mon frère," Jayden said, flashing a devilish half-smirk. "If I told you I wanted the best Porsche in this cathedral of wet dreams, would you show ... or are you just the guy who offers mints and fake smiles?"
The consultant blinked—thrown off, but trained enough not to show it. "Of course, sir. Right this way."
"If you don't mind, monsieur," Jayden said, feigning mock politeness, his voice smooth with that signature blend of arrogance and charm.
"I'd like to see your best. And don't show the brochure nonsense you throw at dentists having a midlife crisis. I want the car you only whisper about at wine-tasting events and hedge fund etings. The one they hide in the back for the emotionally unstable rich kids with no spending limit. That one."
The man blinked—his professionalism cracked just a fraction. Just a breath. Just enough for Jayden to smirk wider.
"rci." Jayden added, leaning slightly forward like a devil making a deal, "And take your ti. I enjoy watching grown n try to figure out who the hell I am."
The consultant let out a nervous chuckle and gestured for him to follow. Jayden stuffed his hands back into his pockets, eyes gleaming.
Jayden followed, tossing a final glance over the showroom. "Let's see if your best can make feel sothing. I'm dangerously close to being bored already."
He let the words hang there like perfu.
And as they walked deeper into the holy land of wheels and lust...Jayden whispered to himself, "El Diablo est arrivé."
Ti to find his damn chariot.
Reviews
All reviews (0)