Piss Off, This Is My Money

4

In three hours, Jace had a hoodie—limited edition, only two of its kind in the whole damn world. Sneakers that could pay an average man’s rent for two straight years. A Rolex that could blind the sun. Fresh haircut like he walked out of a movie set. Shades. Aura. Vengeance.

He’d learned to drive at thirteen—one of those necessary survival skills in Detroit. Either you delivered drugs for the wrong people or you got dirty in even worse ways. Morals didn’t feed anyone.

And all that crap people always say about the “beauty of not being rich”?

Bullshit.

One hundred percent bullshit.

The way the tires of the Rolls Royce kissed the asphalt… heavenly. Addictive. Like the universe finally remembered his name. The stares—God, the stares—made him feel like the bastard son of the world’s richest man.

He rolled up to the campus gate with one hand casually hanging out the window, just like he’d seen in every music video he wasn’t supposed to watch growing up.

And, of course, the fucking reporters were already there. Still soaking up the viral scandal like parasites. A few people noticed the Rolls. Two seconds. That’s all it took before the entire crowd turned.

They started coming toward him like pigeons chasing breadcrumbs.

Fuck all of them.

For extra effect, Jace unwrapped a piece of bubble gum and popped it into his mouth, chewing slow, like a warning.

“It seems we’re about to have another surprise here,” someone said into a livestream.

“Who can this rich dude be?” another idiot asked into his livestream.

Fucking cowards, Jace thought as he opened the door and stepped out.

He stood there with his hands in his pockets, letting them snap pictures. Let them choke on the truth. None of these bastards had ever seen someone as effortlessly charming as him in their entire miserable lives.

“Who are you, please?” one of them asked, surprisingly bold.

The whole place went silent.

Jace scanned the crowd—basically the entire damn campus. He reached for his shades, ready to give them the reveal of the century, when someone burst into laughter.

“Jace?” a voice called. “Guys, this is Jace!”

“That’s not possible!”

“He can’t be this rich!”

“No way!”

“You all… keep your damn mouths shut,” Jace said, waving his hand like they were an annoying smell.

“He’s really the one!” someone yelled.

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

“Did Maya finally give you the money? How much did she pay you?”

“You’re such a coward to blow the cash just to look rich!”

Jace lowered his hand from his sunglasses. No need—everyone already saw him.

Then someone stepped forward. Bold. Annoying. The guy Jace hated the most in the whole school.

“Hey, man, how about we do some business?” the guy said, circling him like a predator. “I need followers too. I’ll pay you. Be my boyfriend for two days. Gay, huh? Name your price.”

Jace blew a perfect bubble, let it expand, then slowly popped it right in the guy’s face. He spat the sticky mess across him like a masterpiece.

“Piss off. All of you,” Jace said, lips curling into a wicked smile. “I wanna drive in.”

The guy peeled the gum off his face, glaring. “You wanna die?”

Jace gave him a casual once-over. “Oh man… now that I think about it, you’re not even that rich. Look at how much you brag, look at your lame-ass clothes. Cheap as hell.”

“Get out of my way,” Jace added, shrugging.

The guy chuckled, silent but dangerous. “Do you remember my father is the dean? I can have your ass tossed outta here right now.”

“Go ahead. Be my guest, fool,” Jace said, laughing under his breath like the world was his playground.

A ripple of gasps ran through the crowd. Jace had crossed a line—calling the dean’s son a fool? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially from some scholarship kid.

The guy snapped his fingers. Men emerged from the crowd, handing him his phone.

“You’ll regret ever meeting me. I’ll make sure no college in this country will ever take you in,” he spat, venom in every word.

“Too much talk, homie. Just go ahead and do your shit,” Jace replied, calm, almost bored.

More gasps. Cameras swung to capture every second. People pressed into each other, desperate for the shot of the fake boyfriend who had apparently lost his mind after some mysterious cash windfall.

The guy dialed a number. “Dad, get your ass here right now.”

“What a fool,” Jace muttered. “No respect for your own father? Figures. Absolute worst-case scenario right here.”

“Sweet talk coming from the son of a junkie,” the guy mocked, laughter sharp like a blade. “I’ll show you why silence is the best weapon for people like you.”

“Can you feel the tension over here? I’m sweating!” someone announced into their livestream.

“He’ll finally be expelled!”

“So stupid. His name should be stupid.”

The crowd parted like the Red Sea. The dean appeared, flanked by men in suits—obvious bodyguards.

“Dad, tell him—go ahead, tell him he’s expelled,” the guy barked at the dean. He looked Jace over with disgust, hands shoved in his pockets.

Everyone held their breath.

The dean strode up to his son. Slap. Twice. Thrice. The kid staggered, head spinning, vision blurring.

“I think that could do better, sir,” Jace said casually, like the world hadn’t just exploded. “The disrespect is too much. Hell, I wouldn’t even talk to my fucked-up parents like that.”

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” the guy squeaked.

“You want to know?” his father snapped. “Jace Prescott, as of today, has the highest shares in this school!”

“That… can’t… even in a dream—” another slap sent him crashing to the floor. Cameras zoomed in, capturing the humiliation in excruciating detail.

Jace adjusted his sunglasses. “Since we’ve made that clear, let me make one more thing crystal.”

Everyone froze. A poor scholarship kid having the highest shares? The dean wasn’t drunk. This was real.

“That viral video from a few hours ago? Shared it, you’re expelled. Laughed at it, you’re suspended. Took videos? Court in three days. And Maya… if she sees this, I’ve already filed a lawsuit. Any further conversation? Court.”

Silence swallowed the campus.

Jace’s lips curled into a wicked grin as he slid into his car and roared off. Everyone scrambled to clear the path. He drove like a man possessed.

Chaos erupted.

“Have you deleted yours?” someone shouted.

“You all can’t take him seriously!” another yelled. “He’s just bluffing!”

But nobody risked it. If the dean could slap his own son like that, it was clear: this was war.