REVENGE OF JASON LUTHER

Chapter Eight: Two Things He Wants

The rain had finally stopped by the time Jason approached the Rotterdam mansion gates for the second time that night. The storm clouds were drifting away, leaving the air cool and heavy with the smell of wet earth.

But this time, everything was different.

Gone were the soaked, torn clothes he had worn earlier.

In their place was a midnight-black suit tailored by Alessandro Romano, the legendary Italian designer whose creations graced royal weddings and international red carpets. The fabric shimmered faintly under the mansion lights, moving almost like liquid whenever Jason shifted his shoulders. Every seam had been stitched by hand. Every line had been cut with mathematical precision.

His shoes were even more extraordinary.

They were Salvatore King Limited Edition, part of the Monarch Collection. Only three pairs had ever been made in the world. Each pair took six months of careful craftsmanship, and the price of one pair could buy several luxury cars.

Jason stood calmly before the intercom and pressed the button.

A harsh voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes? Who is it?” the man demanded impatiently.

Jason leaned slightly toward the speaker. “Jason Luther,” he replied evenly, his tone calm and controlled. “I’m here to sign the divorce papers.”

There was a pause.

A long pause.

Then the heavy iron gates slowly opened with a metallic groan.

Jason stepped through and walked up the curved driveway toward the mansion. His pace was steady. His posture was straight. The soft sound of his expensive shoes against the stone path echoed faintly in the quiet night.

The mansion looked exactly the same as it always had.

Tall white pillars.

Golden lights glowing from enormous windows.

The symbol of wealth and power that had crushed him for three long years.

At the entrance stood the security guard.

Jason immediately recognized him.

David.

The same man who had thrown him out into the rain just hours earlier.

For three years David had watched Jason come and go from this house like an unwanted servant. Sometimes the guard looked at him with pity. Other times with quiet contempt.

Like a stray dog that kept returning to the same doorstep no matter how many times it was kicked away.

But the moment David looked up and saw Jason now, everything changed.

The guard froze.

His eyes moved slowly from Jason’s face down to his shoulders.

Then to the suit.

His brows pulled together in confusion at first. Then his eyes widened as realization began to form.

The fabric.

The stitching.

The cut of the jacket.

His gaze slowly continued downward until it reached Jason’s shoes.

David’s mouth actually fell open.

Jason noticed immediately.

“Is something wrong?” Jason asked calmly, tilting his head slightly as he studied the guard’s stunned expression.

David blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. “I… no, sir,” he stammered quickly, straightening his posture. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…” His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted back to the suit again.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Just what?” he asked quietly, his tone patient but curious.

David shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I couldn’t help noticing your suit, Mr. Luther,” he admitted nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry if this sounds inappropriate.”

Jason glanced down at himself briefly before looking back at the guard. “What about the suit?” he asked calmly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Does it look strange on me?”

“No!” David replied quickly, shaking his head with surprising urgency. “No, sir, not strange at all.” His voice softened with disbelief as he stared again at the jacket. “Actually… it’s the complete opposite.”

Jason watched him silently.

David swallowed.

“That suit… it’s an Alessandro Romano original, isn’t it?” he said slowly, almost reverently, as if speaking about something sacred. “The Midnight Collection.”

Jason didn’t answer.

The silence was enough.

David inhaled sharply. “I knew it,” he murmured, shaking his head in amazement. “I’ve only ever seen pictures of it in magazines.” His eyes sparkled with excitement as he continued, “Romano only produces about fifty pieces a year. Each one is handmade, and they cost over two hundred thousand dollars.”

He paused, clearly overwhelmed.

“That suit is one of the finest suits in the world,” he finished quietly.

A faint smile touched Jason’s lips before disappearing again.

“You know quite a lot about fashion,” Jason remarked calmly, studying the guard with mild interest.

David nodded awkwardly. “It’s… kind of a hobby of mine,” he admitted with a shy shrug. “I follow luxury designers and rare collections.” His eyes drifted downward again, locking onto Jason’s shoes.

Then he froze once more.

“And those shoes…” David said slowly, his voice dropping into pure disbelief.

Jason followed his gaze. “Yes?” he asked lightly.

David crouched slightly as if needing a closer look, though he did not dare touch them. “Those are Salvatore King Limited Edition,” he whispered, almost breathless. “From the Monarch Collection.”

Jason said nothing.

“They only made three pairs,” David continued, shaking his head slowly. “Three pairs in the entire world.” His voice trembled with excitement as he added, “I read about them in Luxury Footwear Monthly. Each pair took six months to make.”

He looked up again.

“And they cost about three hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he finished quietly.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The night air felt strangely still.

David stood there staring at Jason, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle in front of him.

Finally he spoke again, his voice hesitant.

“It’s just that… I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Luther,” he said carefully, his expression filled with confusion. “But the shoes alone cost more than most people earn in ten years.”

Jason remained silent.

“And together with that suit…” David continued slowly, glancing over Jason again. “You’re wearing more than half a million dollars.”

He hesitated.

His eyes met Jason’s.

“And I know you work as a delivery driver,” he said cautiously, clearly struggling to remain respectful. “So I couldn’t help wondering…” His voice faded as uncertainty filled his face.

Jason waited patiently.

“How did you get all this?” David finally asked quietly.

The question lingered in the air between them.

Jason studied the guard for a long moment, allowing the silence to stretch until it almost became uncomfortable. Then a faint smile appeared on his face.

“You’re wondering how a delivery driver could afford a suit and shoes worth over half a million dollars,” Jason said quietly, watching the guard with calm eyes. “Is that what you’re asking, David?”

David’s face flushed a deep red. “I… I didn’t mean to pry, sir,” he stammered nervously, straightening his uniform. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. It’s not my place to ask questions like that.”

Jason lifted a hand gently, stopping the apology before it continued. “Relax,” he said calmly, shaking his head with mild amusement. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

David blinked, surprised.

“You’re curious,” Jason continued in a measured tone, slipping his hands casually into his pockets. “Anyone in your position would be.” He tilted his head slightly. “After all, how does a man you’ve known for three years as a broke delivery driver suddenly appear wearing clothes worth more than most people earn in a lifetime?”

David nodded slowly. “Exactly,” he admitted quietly, his eyes still filled with confusion.

Jason leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a dangerous secret. “And as much as I’d like to explain it,” he said softly, a faint smile touching his lips, “I can’t.”

David frowned slightly.

“Not yet,” Jason added calmly.

He straightened his jacket sleeves with slow, deliberate movements. “You see, David,” he continued thoughtfully, “sometimes the truth is harder to believe than a lie.” His gaze grew distant for a moment. “Sometimes the truth is so unbelievable that even if you tell people, they won’t accept it.”

David listened silently.

“They’ll laugh,” Jason went on quietly, his voice steady. “They’ll call you crazy. They’ll assume you’re making things up.”

Jason looked back at him.

“So for now,” he finished calmly, offering a polite smile, “let’s just say I came into some money recently.”

David studied him carefully for several seconds. Then he slowly nodded. “Understood, sir,” he said respectfully, his tone now far more formal. “I won’t ask any more questions.”

Jason’s smile widened slightly. “Good man,” he replied approvingly.

They began walking through the mansion together.

Their footsteps echoed softly along the polished marble floors, each step sending faint reflections of light dancing beneath their feet.

The interior of the Rotterdam mansion was exactly as extravagant as ever.

Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, scattering prismatic light across the grand hallways. Oil paintings covered the walls, each one framed in thick gold. Sculptures stood in carefully arranged corners, pieces that looked like they belonged in national museums rather than a private home.

The wealth was overwhelming.

But as Jason walked through it now, he felt absolutely nothing.

Not envy.

Not resentment.

Not even anger.

Because he knew something the Rotterdam family did not.

He knew that every single thing in this mansion had become meaningless to him.

He could buy this entire property ten times over and barely notice the money leaving his account.

He could purchase the Rotterdam family’s entire business empire with a single phone call.

The thought made a faint smile appear on his face.

Eventually they reached the study.

The doors were large oak panels with polished brass handles that gleamed under the hallway lights.

David knocked twice before opening the door. “Mr. Luther is here,” the guard announced respectfully, stepping aside.

Jason walked into the room.

The study looked exactly as he remembered.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books that had likely never been opened. A large fireplace burned warmly despite the humid night outside. The furniture was expensive enough to buy a small house.

And the Rotterdam family stood arranged inside the room like actors waiting for a performance.

Marcus Rotterdam, Melissa's father, sat behind his enormous mahogany desk, his fingers steepled together as he studied Jason with cold eyes.

His wife, Catherine sat on the arm of a leather chair nearby, her diamonds glittering in the firelight.

The grandmother, Eleanor Rotterdam, occupied a massive wingback chair like a queen on a throne, her thin lips pressed into a permanent expression of contempt.

Melissa’s brothers and sisters leaned casually against the walls, all of them dressed in expensive clothes and wearing the same smug expressions Jason had endured for years.

And in the center of the room stood Melissa.

Beside her was Richard Blackwell.

Richard’s arm was wrapped possessively around Melissa’s waist, his hand resting firmly on her hip. The gesture was deliberate and territorial.

Melissa leaned comfortably into him, her posture radiating confidence and triumph.

Only one person stood apart from the group.

Claire Rotterdam lingered quietly near the window, half hidden in shadow. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest as if trying to make herself smaller. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to look at Jason.

But everyone else was staring directly at him.

And the moment they truly saw him, the room changed.

Melissa reacted first.

Her eyes widened in shock as her gaze dropped from Jason’s face to the suit he was wearing.

Her breath caught audibly.

Catherine suddenly stood up from her chair. “Wait… is that…?” she murmured in disbelief, pressing a hand against her chest.

Marcus leaned forward slowly, his sharp eyes studying every detail of Jason’s appearance.

Even Eleanor’s cold expression cracked slightly as one eyebrow lifted.

Richard’s arm tightened around Melissa’s waist, his jaw clenching as suspicion darkened his face.

A heavy silence filled the room.

Five long seconds passed.

Then Melissa stepped forward.

“Where did you get that suit?” she demanded sharply, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade.

Jason looked at her calmly.

Melissa’s eyes burned with disbelief as she pointed at his jacket. “That’s Alessandro Romano,” she said quickly, her voice rising with agitation. “That’s from the Midnight Collection. I saw it in Vogue.”

She paused, doing the calculation in her head.

Her face turned pale.

“That suit costs two hundred thousand dollars,” she finished slowly, her voice trembling with shock. Then her eyes hardened with suspicion. “Where did you get it, Jason?”

Jason said nothing.

Melissa took another step forward, her tone suddenly accusatory. “Did you steal it?”

Jason slowly raised one eyebrow. “Steal it?” he repeated calmly, his voice carrying faint amusement as he studied her. “You believe I stole this suit?”

“Of course you stole it!” Melissa snapped immediately, her composure collapsing. “There’s no other explanation!”

She threw her hands in the air as frustration took over. “You’re a delivery driver, Jason,” she continued harshly, her voice dripping with ridicule. “You earn about twenty-two hundred dollars a month.”

She pointed accusingly at him.

“You can barely afford food,” she said coldly. “You’ve been wearing the same three shirts for years. You’ve never owned anything worth more than fifty dollars in your entire life.”

Her eyes burned with certainty.

“So yes,” she concluded sharply, “you must have stolen that suit.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, watching Jason like a chess player studying an opponent. “Or perhaps the suit is fake,” he said coolly, tapping a finger against the desk. “Replicas are very convincing these days.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe he bought a cheap knockoff to impress us.”

Catherine scoffed loudly. “Even a replica would cost thousands,” she said dismissively, waving a jeweled hand in the air. “And this boy couldn’t afford that.”

Eleanor let out a dry, mocking laugh from her chair. “This useless boy couldn’t even pay for his own mother’s medical treatment,” she said cruelly, her eyes filled with icy disdain. “Do you really think he could afford even a fake designer suit?”

She shook her head slowly.

“No,” she concluded with cold certainty. “Melissa is right. He stole it. Most likely from one of the houses he delivered to.”

The room erupted in laughter. Melissa's brothers and sisters joined in, their voices creating a chorus of mockery that filled the study like poison gas. Even Richard laughed, though his eyes never left Jason's face, watching him with the intensity of a predator assessing potential prey.

Jason stood perfectly still in the center of their derision, letting them laugh, letting them mock him, letting them convince themselves that he was still the same poor, pathetic delivery driver they'd always known. He gazed at their faces, really looked at each of them, and felt something warm and dangerous unfold in his chest.

They had no idea. Not a single clue.

They still thought he was poor. Still thought he was beneath them. Still thought they could mock him and belittle him and he would just take it, the way he'd always taken it.

And somehow, that made everything better. The fact that he was the richest man in the entire world, the fact that he possessed wealth beyond their wildest imagination, the fact that he could buy every single person in this room and make them his servants with a single phone call, and they had absolutely no idea... it was intoxicating.

He could buy this mansion right now. He could call his lawyers and have the paperwork drawn up within an hour, and the Rotterdam family would find themselves homeless, tenants in a property owned by the man they'd just accused of theft. He could buy Marcus Rotterdam's company. He could buy Richard Blackwell's real estate empire. He could buy their cars, their clothes, their dignity, and their pride.

But not yet. Not now. That would come later.

Right now, he had two things to do. Sign the divorce papers and claim the woman who had shown him kindness.