The reunion was in full swing, the lavish banquet hall a hub of energy as groups of former classmates gathered in tight clusters, their laughter echoing against the high ceilings. Waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes and delicate hors d'oeuvres, their steps light and practiced. Every corner of the room seemed to sparkle, from the crystal chandeliers overhead to the sequined dresses and tailored suits of the attendees.At one table near the center of the room, a particularly boisterous group had gathered. They were seated in a loose circle of plush chairs, the centerpieces of their table gleaming with silver and gold. It was impossible not to notice them; their voices rose above the crowd, drawing the attention of anyone within earshot.This was the clique—the untouchable group of wealthy, entitled students who had ruled the university’s social hierarchy with iron fists wrapped in velvet gloves. Even now, years after graduation, they carried themselves with t

The sun cast sharp beams across the polished glass façade of Scaffs dealership, each ray reflecting the world-class automobiles displayed within. Cars sat gleaming like trophies, their metallic finishes flawless, their designs a testament to human ingenuity. The faint hum of conversation and muted clicks of polished heels echoed softly within the showroom.Inside, the air was thick with affluence, scented with a mix of fresh leather and a faint hint of the cologne worn by wealthy patrons. The sales representatives, dressed in sharp, tailored suits, flitted between clients, their smiles wide and professional. Here, status wasn’t earned—it was flaunted, celebrated, and soaked into every surface of the space.Through the glass doors, a man entered with a measured stride.Simon’s presence wasn’t immediately commanding. He wore a navy blazer over a crisp white shirt, paired with understated chinos and leather loafers. The outfit was clearly expensive if one had the eye for it, but it lacke

The Aurum Elite Sports Club wasn’t just a gym—it was a sanctuary for the ultra-wealthy. It was where CEOs, celebrities, and heirs to billion-dollar fortunes came to sculpt their bodies while subtly reminding everyone else that they belonged to a different world.Even the air smelled expensive—a blend of fresh eucalyptus, imported leather, and the faintest trace of arrogance.In the private lounge, a group of young men lounged in plush chairs, dressed in custom club robes embroidered with their initials. They weren’t here to train. They were here to be seen.At the center of the group was Kingston, one of Ash’s friends when she was still rich, a trust-fund golden boy with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass and an ego even sharper. He leaned back, swirling a protein shake like it was a glass of aged whiskey."Man," Jordan sighed, stretching lazily. "I love this place. You don’t even have to lift a weight, and people still respect you."Kingston smirked. "That’s because they know we be

Kingston refused to believe it.Simon might have gotten lucky—a sponsorship, an inheritance, a favor from someone powerful.That was the only explanation.And Kingston was going to prove it.He forced a smirk and called out, “You’ve really stepped it up, huh, Simon?”Simon finished his last rep, then turned to face them.His face was calm. Measured. Like he already knew what Kingston was trying to do.“I have.”His voice was even. Unshaken.Kingston crossed his arms, raising a brow. “What, finally got some extra cash? Who’s funding this little glow-up?”Derek and Jordan exchanged glances, sensing the tension.Simon, however, just tilted his head slightly. “And why does that matter to you?”Kingston felt his smirk falter for a split second.Simon’s response wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t angry.It was genuinely indifferent.Like he couldn’t care less what Kingston thought.That—that was new.Jordan cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. “Man, we’re just surprised. Last time we sa

Ash leaned back in her leather chair, the glow of her laptop screen illuminating the smirk playing on her lips. Outside, the cityscape of their new home stretched endlessly, a world away from the place where Simon had humiliated her. But distance wasn’t enough—she wanted more. She wanted revenge.The tabloid's editor sat across from her, sweating under the weight of the offer she had just presented. He was a wiry man with sunken eyes, his desperation barely concealed beneath a thin layer of professionalism. The publication he ran was on its last legs—circulation had plummeted, lawsuits were stacking up, and advertisers were fleeing.But now? Now, he had a lifeline. A golden opportunity.“You’re telling me,” he said, voice low, calculating, “you want us to run an exposé on Simon Heathrow?”Ash swirled the wine in her glass, enjoying his hesitation. “Not just any exposé, Jonathan. I want something that will bury him. A full-blown scandal. Something so devastating, so irrefutable, that t