Alex Seclair: Master of Vengeance

Battle of the fit

The morning sunlight pierced through the motel blinds, splashing soft lines over Carlos’ weary face. The dreams had vanished with the night, but the glow of the mark still lingered in his memory, like a whisper etched into his skin.

He stood before the mirror once more with fingertips grazing the faint emblem on his lower back. The same mark from his dreams… the same one that glowed. It wasn’t just a dream. It meant something.

He had to find out what.

And there was only one person alive who might know of it. Grace, his late mother’s sister and the only relative who’d ever shown him kindness before Beatrice and Dario passed. 

Grace had always been warm, though she kept her distance in recent years. If anyone had answers about his birth, about the strange dreams, about who he really was—it had to be her

Carlos looked down at himself— his boots were ragged, his hoodie stained, and his jeans were so faded they could pass for gray. In his current state, people would dismiss him before he even said a word.

He couldn’t go to Grace like this—not now. Especially if he was chasing the shadows of nobility and secrets buried in bloodlines. He needed to look the part or at least, not look hopeless.

Just as he turned to dig into his wallet, the system’s interface blinked back into view.

> [SYSTEM ALERT]

New Daily Task: Spend $50,000,000 before 12:00 A.M.

Failure to complete this task will result in all system earnings thus far being erased.

Timer: 11 Hours 59 Minutes.

Carlos almost laughed.

"Fifty million… today?" He asked, baffled.

“How does anyone even spend that much in a day?”

But he knew refusing meant losing the entire cash offered to him by the system. He had no choice but to go all in.

He left the lodge in haste, locking the door behind him and stood at the sidewalk while signaling to flag a cab. 

Before he could wave again, a faded yellow taxi screeched to a stop before him. The driver, a wiry man in his fifties with a worn baseball cap, leaned out the window with a toothy grin.

"You… you're the guy from Star Bank!" the man exclaimed, eyes gleaming. 

“I witnessed what you did there. You don’t pay for cab rides today—not on my shift.” he offered.

 "You're sure?" He asked in awe and the man nodded with a  wide smile. 

Carlos smiled faintly and slid into the backseat.

“Thank you man.” 

“Where are you headed?” The excited cab man turned to ask him.

“I am headed to Thalos brand wearables in Thalos street.” He responded.

Thalos was more than just a clothing brand—it was an empire of style, class, and wealth. In Coast Wesley, owning a Thalos piece was like wearing a crown. The wealthy flaunted it, the elite bathed in it and the dreamers gawked at it. Carlos had never imagined he'd even step near it.

But today, with the system’s challenge weighing on him, it was the perfect starting point.

As the cab sped through the streets, Carlos’ gaze caught onto a billboard hovering above a traffic light. And there was Andre.

Both looked like the enviable pair every young person in the city could dream of becoming.

Her perfect face lit across the city skyline, nestled beside Axel—the traitor, the man who stabbed him with betrayal, lies, and privilege.

Carlos turned his head quickly, but the pain lingered.

He remembered the sacrifices, the late nights spent working to buy Andrea gifts she barely noticed, the poems she said she never read, the meals he learned to cook just to make her smile. It all collapsed in one moment.

As the cab slowed near Thalos' towering glass entrance, Carlos leaned forward.

 “Wait here,” he said to the driver. 

“You’ll be paid handsomely when I’m done.”

“No problem sir.” He said to him while he stepped out.

The sight of Thalos was overwhelming with chandeliers hung from golden beams inside. Marble floors gleamed like still water. Designers in tailored coats scurried about like stagehands in a theater of royalty. The scent of rich leather and sweet cologne filled the air.

Everywhere he turned, elegant racks showcased high-end suits, leather shoes, gold-tipped cufflinks, rare silk shirts, and trench coats that gleamed like woven glass. 

Each price tag screamed four figures—minimum. But none of that intimidated him.

He’d begun his rounds, selecting every item that caught his eye: a graphite-black overcoat, an ivory dress shirt stitched with platinum thread, hand-made Italian loafers and more. 

Sales associates whispered to one another as they eyed the rugged young man curiously.

But everything changed when he spotted a glass display at the center of the showroom—like a crown jewel.

The immaculate tuxedo, charcoal black with a shadow-blue sheen. Its stitching was custom, hand-designed by Thalos’ founder himself before his death. 

The lapels sparkled with embedded obsidian gems; the inner lining was a silver silk engraved with the signature of the empire. A group of people stood before it, mesmerized and hushed.

The store manager, Cassandra, in a sharp burgundy dress walked forward and faced the crowd with authority. She was striking and confident.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began

“You are looking at the singular Elysian Legacy Tuxedo—the only one of its kind. Designed personally by Geraud Thalos. This piece has no fixed price, but rather, we will be given to the highest bidder today.” She said as murmurs rippled through the room. 

“Let the offers begin” she announced and everyone interested bidded according to their capacity.

But a young man quite tall and charming, about Carlos' age stepped forward.

“Two million dollars,” he declared loudly, grinning. It was no other than Brian, son to Nat Morgan. A famous wealthy oil magnate and investor.

They had turned heads to notice in awe as whispers followed. But no one had dared to top him until Carlos raised his hand.

“Three million.” He announced and silence followed after.

Brian’s happy expression fell suddenly as he turned. His eyes landed on Carlos and scoffed. 

“Was that… a joke?” he asked

But Carlos said nothing while the sales team quickly recorded the bid.

Brian laughed, then sneered. 

“Listen, man. You shouldn’t walk into dreams you can’t afford. This tux isn’t for peasants like you.” he snapped.

“Four million dollars,” Brian added, waving his hand with arrogance but Carlos didn’t give in either.

“Five million” he said and the room gasped.

“You son of a bitch. Are you trying to dare me?” Brian demanded with sharp rage.

“No, not at all,” Carlos replied. 

“I am only interested in getting that tux. And if you feel you can too, then be my guest.”

“On a hustler's income?” he scoffed. 

“Want to find out?”

The bidding continued…

“Five point five…”

“Six point five…”

“Eight point five…” Brian said after. 

“Now, back the hell off.” He snapped with the grim in his eyes at him.

The staff and everyone else could barely contain their shock. It certainly was a huge mistake for a young man in plain wear to ever think he could outbid one of the city’s wealthiest.

But Carlos shook his head, positioning his side arm on a wall and hands to his pockets as one who doesn’t seem to care enough and was starting to get really bored of the situation regarding the tux.

He cleared his throat to speak after watching everyone muttered in admiration for Brian.

 “Ten million dollars.” Carlos announced afterwards and the entire store went silent.

“Ten million, going once, going twice,” Cassandra offered in hope for a higher bid.

Brian's face reddened as he stepped back, unable to match it and the auction ended.

Cassandra walked forward to Carlos, stunned and impressed.

“Congratulations… Mr…?” Carlos simply smiled and reached for his card. 

“Carlos, Carlos Rodriguez.”