
Max’s hand was already stretched out toward the curb, flagging down a cab beneath the deep gray twilight when his phone buzzed sharply in his jacket pocket. The drizzle had started again, cold and relentless, soaking through the seams of his thin hoodie. He sighed, pulling out the phone with fingers numbed by the rain. The screen blinked with a name that made his stomach sink.
Mr. Brandon (Work)
He almost let it ring out. Almost. But rent was due in two weeks, and he was still $350 short. So, against his better judgment, he answered.
“Max,” the familiar bark came through the line, no greeting. “Get back to the office. Now.”
“What? Sir, I’m off the clock. I delivered everything on the sheet today. I’m halfway home…”
“I don’t care if you’re in Madagascar. We’ve got a high-profile client requesting urgent delivery. You want to keep your salary this month, get your ass back here.”
The line cut off before Max could speak. He stood still for a second, the rain slipping down his neck. His throat clenched. He thought about ignoring it, letting Brandon stew in his own ego, but then he remembered Gina.
That stupid bag.
She’d shown him a video clip of it just last week, a short influence reel that had gone viral: the Fashion Class 3X bag, limited edition, silk-lined, and stitched with real platinum thread or some nonsense. Price tag? A cool $50,800. Max didn’t even make that in five months. But Gina had said—no, demanded—that he get it for her birthday. At the very least, he would try and get her the replica, which cost just over $11,000. He’d been saving every dime, skipping meals, doubling shifts, burning the candle at both ends just to reach the $6,000 mark.
A few thousand more, and he could make it happen. Max cursed under his breath and turned back toward the office, sprinting against the wind and the storm.
Mr. Brandon didn’t even look up when Max arrived, soaked and shivering.
Now Brandon dangled the perfect carrot: double pay for one last delivery. “There.” He pointed to a black, slick package wrapped in high-grade waterproof material. “Clorox Bar. Private booth. Name on the tag: Ethan Baron.”
Max blinked.
“Ethan Baron? The Baron?”
Brandon gave him a slow, smug nod. “Yes. That Ethan. Don’t mess it up.”
Clorox Bar was the kind of place that didn't let people like Max in—not unless they were sweeping the floors or dropping off food. A luxury haven for the ultra-rich, where laughter came with vintage wine and every couch probably cost more than his entire apartment lease.
Max could feel every eye on him as he stepped through the glass doors, tracking the mud on his shoes, his wrinkled pants, his worn hoodie. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to deliver the damn package and be done with it.
The hostess gave him a strained smile.
“I’m looking for a Mr. Ethan Baron,” Max said, holding the package up like a peace offering.
Her eyes narrowed when she saw the name, and her voice dropped respectfully. “Private Booth 4. Just down that hallway to the right.”
He nodded, brushing rainwater from his eyebrows, and headed toward the hallway.
The air changed the deeper he went. It was warmer, quieter, thicker—like money itself had a scent, and it perfumed these walls. Max felt out of place in every possible way. He glanced down at the tag on the package. Ethan Baron.
He slowed as he neared Booth 4.
Then, from inside the booth, came the unmistakable sound of gasps. Moaning. Soft, rhythmic, desperate.
Max froze.
His stomach twisted as if someone had grabbed his intestines and wrenched them.
He knocked once.
The moans didn’t stop.
Twice.
Still nothing.
And then, against his better judgment, Max pushed the door open.
The package slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Gina.
Her head snapped up, but her body—half-naked, dress pooled at her waist—was still tangled beneath another figure.
Ethan Baron.
The infamous school playboy. Rich. Arrogant. Untouchable. He barely glanced at Max. Just kept thrusting, slow and deliberate, like Max wasn’t even there. Like he was part of the show.
Max staggered backward, heart pounding so loud he couldn’t hear himself breathe.
“Gina?” he croaked.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him like he was the stranger in the room. Ethan pulled out with a grunt, stretched, and smirked.
“Took you long enough,” Ethan said, wiping sweat from his forehead like he’d just finished a gym set.
Max snapped.
In one furious motion, he lunged forward and grabbed Ethan by the shoulders, yanking him off the couch. Ethan hit the floor with a grunt, but before he could react, Max’s fist collided with his cheek—hard. The room seemed to shake.
Then chaos.
The booth’s curtain flung open. Voices exploded around them. Security came barreling in like dogs unleashed.
“Hey! Hands off the client!”
And within no time, Max’s arms were locked behind him, twisted painfully. He shouted Gina’s name as he struggled, only to see her calmly adjusting her dress, not a flicker of shame or regret in her eyes.
“Gina—why? After everything I’ve done for you? For our relationship?”
She scoffed. “Done for me?” she repeated, lifting an eyebrow.
“You think skipping meals just to buy me $10 dinners counts as doing something for me?”
Max felt like the air had been punched out of him.
“I took this damn job—this delivery—just so I could get you that bag,” he said. “The replica. I’ve been saving for months.”
The room broke into laughter.
Even Gina chuckled as she pulled a small object from Ethan’s side—sleek, leather, golden buckles gleaming.
The Fashion Class 3X bag.
The real one.
“Replica?” Gina said, holding up the bag. “Ethan got me the original—and it’s only our first date.”
More laughter. Some of the women in the room actually clapped. “Girl, you upgraded!” someone shouted. “Finally dumped the broke boy.”
Max stood frozen, burning with humiliation. He turned to Ethan, whose cheek was already swelling but who looked amused more than anything.
“You storm in here… and for what?” Ethan sneered. “A replica bag you hope to buy?”
He turned to the guards.
“Deal with this fool.”
The security didn’t wait for a second order. They dragged Max out the back door like trash being taken to the curb. The alley was empty, slick with oil and rain.
They didn’t hold back.
Fists. Kicks. A boot to the ribs.
Max curled in on himself, shielding his face. Every blow landed with the weight of betrayal, of failure, of foolish dreams.
When it was over, they left him there, groaning, bleeding, alone, almost half dead.
He staggered to his feet, dragging his battered frame into the night, each step agony. The rain was
hed blood from his brow.
Then—buzz.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Latest Chapter
Chapter 112
Max listened with all his heart and all his soul to Gina’s sobbing, pleading, begging. He could not understand his expression, it was tame and unremarkable. He did not interrupt, he did not whine, and he did not offer a single word of comfort. With the look on his face, he watched the performance with an intense concentration that was far more sinister than any breathlessness of temper could have been. There were tears streaming down Gina’s face; her voice now hoarse in the exertion in her sobbing; her grip on Max’s arm tightened to the point of pain; and she waited and waited shivering for some signal. a flicker of emotion, anything that might indicate a crack in his composure, a hint that her desperate act was working.“Please Max, ” she choked, her voice almost whispered, “just say something! Anything! Don’t just look at me like that! ”She squeezed his arm again tighter and more hardened: “I know I messed things up! I know! But people change, Max! I changed! You gotta believe me! ”
Chapter 113
Days turned to weeks. And the rumors about Ethan’s family kept coming out louder like a fever that spread indefinitely through the elite circles of Paris. It started sneaky; a raised eyebrow here, a cold nod there — fed by the reporter’s article and Max’s almost non-existent influence, it seems. Then the rumors turned into facts. News came in: first it came as rumors in obscure financial blogs, then as stories of great suspicion in trusted publications, details of misdeeds within Baron Industries, Ethan’s father’s sprawling organization of holdings – embezzlement of labor from overseas factories, violation of the environment in their manufacturing plants, various kinds of egregious financial maneuvers to boost profits over their limits and avoid paying taxes. The once almost impenetrable facade of the Baron family began to crumble, brick by brick.“Did you see the headlines today?” a student muttered in the school cafeteria, holding up a tablet displaying a damning exposé. “Baron Indu
Chapter 112
The formal dinner was winding down. The atmosphere was filled with the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of happy gossip. Crystal bleated faintly, the last scraps of these exquisite desserts were being removed from the tables. Max still at his place of honor at the VIP table was having a secret conversation with Isabelle Moreau and Jean-Luc Dubois, Trisha's hand gently resting on his arm.By some slipping pause, a woman left a nearby table and approached Max’s. She was a woman in her late thirtys, tastefully dressed, with sharp and pointed eyes that seemed to carry every detail with them. She had a small notebook and a pen in her pocket. It was Eleanor Vance, senior journalist at a leading international business magazine whose interviews were always savvy and for which she received outstanding reviews. She could peel back the corporate language, looking for the truth.“Mr. Lesley, ” she said with a respectful but firm tone of voice, in a straight-on way to Max.
Chapter 111
Obviously, that evening, the air in the private dining room of the Hôtel de Crillon was filled with the smell of truffle oil, expensive perfume and quiet power. And this wasn’t a networking event, this was a private dinner prepared by the very investors who had just been as impressed with Max as I had. The guest list was carefully thought out, a cabal of European finance, tech and art.Gina and Ethan, having gotten invitations through Ethan’s father’s now waning networks of connections, were momentarily out of place. Ethan in the stiff-fitting tuxedo squished together in his hand after a few nervous glances, held out the arms of Gina who was sitting in a shimmering silver dress which suddenly seemed rather loud with her smile crackling; they were led to a less visible table which was located just near the entrance of the kitchen, the sound of dishes constantly reminding them that they were “outside” of it.“This is... this is stupid, ” Ethan muttered, his voice tight and almost exhali
Chapter 110
When it was Max’s turn, he slowly strode up to the small podium stowed in what was really a dedicated pitch space. The posture was relaxed, confident, the whole audience watching – very attentively – Max, one of the few companies out there. Ethan and Gina had squeezed through at the back, faces slightly wary in deference but curiously so, too.“Good afternoon, ” Max said, his voice a steady, moderate tone, untightened by any jitteryness. He didn’t waver from flashy gestures or unnatural gesticulations. He spoke quietly and with an attractive clarity. “I’m Max Lesley, and today I’m here to discuss a problem that pays industries billions every year in lost income, reputation and enormously disproportionate impact of global inequality: opaque and unethical supply chains. ”He paused, let it sink in. “I’m proposing a decentralized and artificial intelligence-driven platform for ethical supply chain management: imagine a system where every component, every raw material, every labor hour, f
Chapter 109
The day after the gala, the school group headed to the other part of the city to attend another high-profile business networking event at a classy high-rise conference room overlooking the river Seine. A far less official but just as grand gathering, the event was designed to introduce the students to the world of international finance. The air was filled with whispered conversations, the tinkling of cups of coffee and the distinct smell of ambition: executive men in suit and tie walked, unshakable, with practice, exchanged business cards and polite smiles.Max (with Trisha) walked around the room with a quiet smile on his face. He wasn’t trying to get the attention, but it found him. He exchanged quick, polite nods with a number of executives, whom he met at the gala on Thursday evening. Jean-Luc Dubois was obviously busy.“As if everyone knows you here, ” Trisha whispered through him as they maneuvered past a crowd of financiers.“Jean-Luc is very... inquisitive, ” Max said, a faint
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