A Trillionaire Pauper

Chapter 6

Kendrick had barely taken three steps out of La Lumière when the glass doors slid open behind him again.

The salesgirls followed closely, each holding his shopping bags with both hands, their grips careful and reverent, as though they were carrying crown jewels rather than merchandise. They walked a respectful distance behind him, heads slightly bowed, faces tight with professionalism and awe.

Heads turned immediately.

Conversations paused.

Phones subtly lifted.

Whispers rippled across the sidewalk like a quiet wave.

Anyone who truly understood luxury would have known why.

One of the orange boxes, tied neatly with a white ribbon, cradled a Hermès Birkin Himalaya—a bag so rare it was usually reserved for private clients only. Its crocodile leather shimmered faintly under the sunlight, its value hovering around six hundred and eighty thousand dollars. 

Another assistant carried a black velvet case containing a platinum Rolex Daytona, its icy blue dial unmistakable, its market value exceeding three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Even the simple-looking clothes Kendrick had bought for himself—neutral-toned jackets, crisp shirts, understated shoes—quietly crossed two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, though nothing about his appearance hinted at it.

All together, Kendrick walked out with purchases worth over one million dollars.

Just outside the boutique, Bryan and Melissa stood frozen.

They had waited deliberately.

They needed to see it with their own eyes.

Melissa’s gaze locked instantly onto the unmistakable orange box.

Her breath caught.

“A… Birkin?” she whispered, disbelief creeping into her voice.

Bryan narrowed his eyes, suspicion crawling up his spine. That black card Kendrick had used—it wasn’t something you casually came across. Only people at the very top—old money, untouchable elites—carried cards like that. Rumor had it that only three people in the entire world openly possessed one.

Something was wrong.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Bryan muttered under his breath. “No one in my family has that kind of access.”

Melissa didn’t respond.

She wasn’t listening anymore.

Her eyes stayed glued to Kendrick.

“He bought something,” she said slowly. “For someone.”

Bryan scoffed, forcing a laugh that didn’t quite convince even himself. “Or he stole it. I’m telling you, that card isn’t his.”

But doubt had already crept in.

Kendrick hadn’t panicked.

He hadn’t begged.

He hadn’t looked afraid.

He had stood there calm, unbothered, untouchable.

Bryan turned to Melissa. “We should go. I’ll look into this.”

Melissa shook her head without looking at him. “You go ahead. I need to handle something.”

Bryan frowned. “We’re supposed to be at the Chancellor’s birthday party later. Don’t be late.”

“I know,” she replied distractedly. “I’ll meet you there.”

Bryan hesitated for a moment, studying her expression, then nodded. He turned and walked off, already pulling out his phone to make calls.

Melissa stayed.

She told herself it was curiosity.

But deep down, it was something else.

Hope.

What if Kendrick had been rich all along?

What if he had been hiding it?

And what if that Birkin—worth nearly three-quarters of a million dollars—was for her?

After all, when they were together, he had promised her that bag more times than she could count.

Someday, he had said. I’ll get it for you.

The boutique doors opened again.

Kendrick stepped out fully this time, the salesgirls bowing politely behind him before retreating inside. He adjusted the strap of his worn backpack, unfazed by the attention, as though he hadn’t just walked out carrying over a million dollars’ worth of luxury.

Melissa walked straight up to him.

“Kendrick.”

He didn’t stop.

“Were you rich before?” she demanded. “Or is this some kind of disguise you’ve been running?”

He glanced at her briefly.

His eyes were calm.

Disinterested.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said flatly. “Move.”

She stepped directly into his path.

“No. You’re not walking away until you explain.”

He sighed, irritation flickering for the first time. “Explain what?”

“This,” she snapped, gesturing sharply at the bags. “The card. All of it.”

“You dumped me,” Kendrick said coolly. “And you made it very clear I didn’t deserve explanations. So why should I give you one now?”

Her lips tightened. “I didn’t dump you. I motivated you.”

He laughed.

A short, humorless sound.

“Motivated me?”

“Yes,” she said confidently. “You needed pressure. You needed to suffer a bit so you could grow. I knew once you became successful, we’d find our way back to each other.”

Kendrick stared at her.

“That wasn’t motivation,” he said quietly. “You humiliated me. In public. You laughed while others laughed.”

She waved it off dismissively. “And look at you now. It worked.”

Her eyes dropped again to the shopping bags, calculating numbers she could barely comprehend.

“So,” she said casually, “give it to me.”

He blinked. “Give what to you?”

“The bag,” she said impatiently, as if it were obvious. “I know you bought it for me. You always said you would when we were still together.”

Kendrick burst out laughing.

Not amused laughter.

Genuine disbelief.

“I didn’t buy you a bag,” he said. “And I’m not rich.”

Her smile froze.

“Then how do you have a black premium card?” she snapped. “And if the bag isn’t for me, who is it for?”

For a moment, Kendrick studied her carefully.

He wanted to see if anything—anything at all—had changed.

“I got a gig,” he said calmly. “A wealthy man hired me to help him shop. The bag is for his wife. The watch is for him. I’m being paid two thousand dollars for the errand.”

She had no idea that the “errand” involved handling items worth over a million dollars, trusted to him without hesitation.

Melissa’s face fell.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “So you’re still just running errands?”

“Yes,” Kendrick replied.

Her eyes hardened instantly.

She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “I actually thought you were rich.”

She stepped back, disgust flashing across her face.

“So you’re still pathetic,” she continued cruelly. “Only now you work for rich men who are stupid enough to hand you their black cards. Someone like you could easily run away with a six-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar bag and a three-hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar watch.”

She shook her head. “You’re worse than before. You are worthless and should be in the trash where you belong.”

Kendrick didn’t respond.

Inside his mind, one thought echoed clearly.

She hasn’t changed at all.

“Thank God I left you,” she said coldly. “I almost believed you had finally become something.”

She turned sharply, raised her hand for a taxi, and climbed in without another glance.

The car disappeared into traffic.

Kendrick stood alone on the sidewalk, city noise buzzing around him.

Moments later, his phone rang.

“Where have you been?” Zara’s voice came through, breathless. “Jayson and I have been looking for you everywhere.”

“We were worried,” Jayson added. “You didn’t tell us where you were going. And you didn’t forget today’s the Chancellor’s birthday party, right?”

Kendrick stiffened slightly.

“And everyone has to bring a gift,” Zara continued. “Please tell me you remembered.”

He exhaled slowly. “Don’t worry. I’ll meet you both at the party.”

He ended the call.

Then the problem fully sank in.

A gift.

For the Chancellor.

Kendrick pulled out his phone again and dialed another number.

“Adrian,” he said when the call connected. “The Chancellor of my school is having a birthday party tonight.”

“I know him,” Adrian replied smoothly. “Very well.”

“What kind of gift would be appropriate?” Kendrick asked. “Something worthy of him.”

Adrian didn’t hesitate. “Leave it to me.”

“Cost doesn’t matter,” Kendrick added. “Just make sure it’s befitting.”

“Consider it done.”

The call ended.

Kendrick slipped his phone back into his pocket, then quickly sent a message to Zara and Jayson, telling them he was on his way back to campus.