He glanced around and realized several nearby custors were watching—so with smirks, others outright amused. His ego couldn’t take the hit. He had strutted in here like a peacock, and now, backing down would an public humiliation. That was simply unacceptable.
Desperately, his eyes darted around, searching for sothing—anything—that could help him regain the upper hand without losing face.
Then he noticed it.
Rex’s hands.
They were empty.
A triumphant glint flashed in his eyes as a smug grin spread across his face. Gaining a second wind, he straightened his posture, puffed out his chest, and raised his voice with exaggerated confidence.
"Hah! Look at you! All bark and no bite," he scoffed. "Not a single item in your hands. You’ve been parading around here like you belong, but you haven’t bought a damn thing, have you?"
The man pointed proudly at the two clothing sets draped over his arm—designer pieces he had carefully chosen, their price tags still attached like badges of honor.
"This is Luviton, a top-tier brand—not so back-alley dollar store where you can bargain with pocket change. Every single item here starts at a price that’s more than what even you can dream of," he continued pompously, loud enough for others to hear.
He threw Rex a condescending look, as though delivering a fatherly lecture to a reckless child. "People like you don’t shop here. You save for months, maybe years, just to afford one item. That’s the difference between you and soone like —a workplace elite. I can afford anything here without blinking."
With a patronizing smile, he delivered his final blow, as if bestowing wisdom upon the next generation. "Take my advice, boy. Go study hard. Maybe in twenty or thirty years, you’ll be able to afford a single shirt without starving for days."
He smiled smugly, entirely convinced he had reclaid his dignity.
He turned to smirk at the nearby custors, expecting laughter, applause, or at the very least, nods of agreent.
Rex didn’t respond.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t glare, didn’t argue.
Instead, he turned toward the salesgirl who had been hovering nearby and gave her a faint, almost amused smile.
Instead, Rex turned to the salesgirl with a faint, amused smile. "Except for those two or three pieces," he said, pointing toward the clothes she had started packing earlier, "I’ll take everything I tried on today."
A beat of stunned silence followed. Then—uproar.
Gasps and sharp intakes of breath rippled across the store. Murmurs rose in disbelief. Custors turned to one another with widened eyes. Several patrons who had been pretending not to pay attention turned their heads, their composure slipping into open astonishnt.
Even the staff looked shell-shocked.
This wasn’t just arrogance. This was impossible.
You have to understand—this wasn’t so third-rate store tucked in a mall. This was Luviton, one of the most prestigious luxury boutiques in the world. The kind of place where you don’t walk in without at least five figures in your account to spare. Every custor here was either born rich or had climbed the ranks of wealth through sheer force. Every person in this boutique was soone who’d seen the world, who’d sipped champagne with royalty or sumred on private islands. And yet—even they had never seen sothing like this.
Buying everything?
Unimaginable.
Even for them, the usual splurge ant two, maybe three pieces. Four or five if they were feeling bold or if a special event was coming up. But this? Rex had just claid nearly the entire seasonal collection—items that ranged from a few thousand to tens of thousands for each piece.
And that was just for the basics.
The season’s highlighted items—those masterpieces of craftsmanship—carried price tags so high they could make even oil barons blink. But that was the Luviton charm. Unlike those mainstream brands that flaunted gaudy logos and sold nas rather than garnts, Luviton focused on elegance—on quality, comfort, and tiless design.
And Rex had bought all of it.
The staff around him brightened instantly, like stars igniting at night. A young salesgirl clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained joy. "That’s almost the entire season’s collection!"
"Of course it is," Rex replied with a lazy shrug. "They looked good, didn’t they?"
The middle-aged man stiffened, stunned by the sudden shift in montum. Then he noticed Rex’s outfit. Plain. Casual. Modest.
His confidence returned like a tide.
With a mocking grin, he stepped forward. "Boy, don’t bluff. There’s no way soone like you can afford even a single piece here—let alone all of it. I get it, you’re embarrassed and want a coback, but this isn’t a Hollywood movie. Here, power talks." He rubbed his fingers together, mimicking the motion of counting bills. "Power in dollars."
The other custors began murmuring again—this ti casting curious, skeptical looks at Rex. Could it really be a bluff?
Rex only smiled—brighter this ti.
"This may not be a Hollywood movie," he said lightly, pulling a card from his pocket and handing it to the salesgirl, "but I’m undoubtedly the protagonist."
The man craned his neck to look—and nearly burst out laughing. It wasn’t even a platinum or black card. Just a standard, basic-looking bank card.
Even the salesgirl blinked in hesitation. She leaned closer, whispering cautiously, "Sir... are you sure? If you don’t really have the money, it’s okay. We won’t embarrass you. Just ignore him, and everyone will forget this by tomorrow."
Rex smiled at her—a calm, confident smile.
"Don’t worry," he said. "Just do as I said."
She hesitated for a mont, then gave a small nod and fetched the POS machine. As she inserted the card and turned toward Rex, he keyed in his password with steady fingers.
The screen blinked. Processing.
Then—
A long beep.
The girl’s eyes widened. She stared at the screen. Her mouth opened slightly. "Oh my god..."
"What is it?" asked another staff mber, hurrying over. She peeked at the display.
"One... two... three... That’s—ten million! Ten million dollars!" she gasped.
The custors jolted. Even the staff, well-acquainted with wealth, looked shaken. Whispers turned into shocked exclamations.
"No way..."
"Ten million?!"
"He really wasn’t bluffing..."
The middle-aged man panicked. His heart sank. He stumbled forward, elbowing through the crowd to see the screen for himself.
And there it was.
Ten Million Dollars.
His mouth opened. No words ca out. Just a quiet, broken whisper. "Impossible..."
He stood frozen, petrified.
Then—
(End of Chapter)
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