The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room like an unwelcome guest. Jamie Reynold sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, his fingers lightly curled around her frail hand. Tubes and beeping monitors surrounded her like mechanical vultures, ticking down the moments she had left. Her skin had turned pale and parchment-thin, and each shallow breath she took rattled like a fading whisper. But to Jamie, she was still the strongest woman he'd ever known.He hadn’t slept in over a day. The nurses had offered to relieve him, to let him rest in the waiting room, but he refused. He wanted to be present for every second she had left. He wanted her to feel him beside her when she slipped away—not a stranger in white scrubs. He wanted her to feel loved.His phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated, glanced at his mother’s face—eyes shut, chest barely rising—then slowly stepped into the corridor. The name Amanda lit up his screen in soft white letters. He answered.“Amanda,” he said, his

Jamie couldn’t afford to lose his job—not now. Not when everything else had crumbled around him like an ancient ruin left to the mercy of wind and time. His mother was gone. His home—the only one he had ever known, however cold and cruel—was now a memory erased in a single night. The Reynolds, as vile as they had been, at least gave him a roof to sleep under and two meals a day. That roof was now gone. That allowance of $500, which came with bitterness and humiliation, had vanished along with any hope of financial reprieve.Still reeling from the sting of Ben Reynold’s cruelty, Jamie sprinted through the city’s busy streets, the dried tears on his face cracked by the wind, his mind cluttered with grief. His clothes still smelled faintly of the hospital room where his mother had died. But there was no time to mourn properly. Life in Hollywood never waited for the broken or the poor. It only moved for the rich and powerful, and Jamie knew all too well he was neither.He reached Momentuu

Jamie had spent the entire night dancing in the rain — soaked, cold, and mad with euphoria — on the same bridge he had nearly jumped off hours ago. His limbs ached from the wildness of his movements, but his soul, for the first time in years, felt alive. He twirled and spun and laughed like a man who had just wrestled with the gods and won. He sang aloud, arms flung wide to the heavens, the rain hiding his tears — both the old ones of grief and the new ones of redemption.Eventually, sometime before dawn, he slumped down on a wooden bench nearby, exhausted and half-conscious. The rain had stopped. His eyes fluttered open only when the early morning sun pierced the cloudy sky and kissed his wet face with golden warmth. Jamie groaned softly and sat up. His neck ached, his clothes clung to his body like damp rags, and he was shivering, but he had one thing on his mind.He fumbled into his pocket and pulled out his phone.With trembling fingers, he unlocked it and stared at the banking ap

Clandestine Fashion was a name that echoed opulence across every elite corner of the country. With a valuation of $2 billion, it wasn’t just a fashion brand—it was a symbol. Its Hollywood University branch, located within the most luxurious plaza near campus, was where the city’s young elite came to flaunt their privilege and burn money on imported Italian leather, silk scarves, and designer accessories. The chandeliers glittered like stardust, and the air inside was chilled to a precise 19°C, diffused with a fragrance that cost more than some students' tuition.And yet, in that glimmering temple of vanity, stood Jamie.Dusty, worn, and bruised from life’s most unforgiving trials, he held several shopping bags filled with clothes he intended to buy—if they’d let him. But his mere presence was causing tremors. The air changed the moment Olivia Feng made that call.The manager emerged moments later—Ms. Tricia Monteverde, the iron-clad guardian of Clandestine Fashion. She was a vision in

Ray motioned for his men, and they moved swiftly, stepping out and clearing everyone outside the store with military precision. The manager, Ms. Tricia, returned, her face pale with fear. She trembled as she approached Jamie, but there was no longer any hint of defiance in her gaze—just an overwhelming dread."Please, Mr. Jamie," she begged, her voice shaking. "Let me settle this with you. You can pay for what you took... and I am sorry for my misconduct earlier and those of the girls."Jamie didn't even blink as he swiped his card, clearing the five million-dollar bill without hesitation. Ms. Tricia stared at the receipt in disbelief, but there was nothing she could do. Her hands trembled as she handed Jamie his purchases, and with a nod, he turned and walked out of the store. Questions filled her head to ask but she wouldn’t dare, Ray Fenix was very clear with his instructions, the consequences of disobedience would be dire. He lingered at the plaza’s gate, the sun glinting off his