THE ANOMALY: RISE OF A BILLIONAIRE

5

Jazz still floated through the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers scattered golden light across tables dressed with champagne, caviar, and counterfeit smiles.

The guests—bankers, politicians, crooked businessmen—crowded around Damian Crowne, praising his latest shady deal that had just rattled Ashborne’s shadow market.

Jake stood off in a corner, his back pressed against the cold marble wall. He wore a cheap black shirt and worn-out trousers, a stark contrast to the silk suits of the guests.

Damian raised his glass high. “To the man who made the impossible possible!”

Cheers erupted, the crowd chanting Damian Crowne’s name as if he were the star of the night. No one realized the toast was actually meant for Jake.

Jake’s gaze was flat as he watched people drift past him.

One guest whispered loudly enough for him to hear, “Why is that guy here? He looks like a pizza delivery boy.”

Another snickered. Jake kept himself in check, gripping the glass of mineral water he held just so he’d have something in his hand.

Damian strode over, clapping him on the shoulder. “They don’t get it, Jake. Let them talk. What matters is—I know your worth.”

Jake looked at him without a smile. “Yeah, well, I’d like to take my money now. Can I leave? Honestly, I need rest. You people look like you’ll be partying till dawn.”

“Of course. But wait until the party winds down.”

Damian walked away, leaving Jake to sigh and head for an empty sofa.

When the party finally faded, Damian brought him into his study. The air reeked of cigars, the tall windows framing the city skyline. On the desk sat a small briefcase. Damian pushed it toward him.

“Alright. One million dollars. Yours.”

Jake flipped it open. Stacks of cash stared back at him—more than he’d ever seen in his life. His words, though, were flat. “We agreed on ten.”

Damian puffed on his cigar, exhaling smoke slowly. “The deal’s changed. The world is fluid, Jake. Learn to be satisfied with what you get. Besides, last time was easy—you had my team’s help. Next time, try handling it yourself, without me holding your hand.”

Jake clenched his fist. “You played me.”

Damian leaned in, his eyes sharp. “I saved you. Without me, you’d still be sleeping in a stinking alley, beaten up by some two-bit landlord. Now? You’ve got a million dollars. That’s more than enough to rebuild your life. Or do you want to crawl back into being a street ghost?”

Silence pressed down. Jake knew he was being strung along. But he also knew saying no meant returning to zero. Finally, he shut the briefcase and lifted it. “Fine. I’ll take it. But remember this, Damian—I won’t always be your pawn.”

Damian smirked. “We’ll see. Tomorrow, you’ll be back here anyway.”

Jake scoffed and stormed out of the penthouse. He hailed a cab to Ashborne’s central district, where five-star hotels lined the boulevard.

Neon lights gleamed off wet pavement. His heart pounded—caught between euphoria and doubt.

At the Celestine Grand’s marble lobby, he instantly drew stares. The place shimmered with white marble, golden statues, and the perfume of money. In his shabby clothes, Jake looked like a stain on the scenery.

A black-suited guard approached. “Sir, can we help you? Or… are you lost?”

Jake held his stare. “I want to book a room.”

The receptionist, a blonde woman with an icy smile, swept her eyes over him. “I’m sorry, sir. This hotel doesn’t… accept guests in your condition. There’s a budget motel down the street.”

Laughter rippled across the lobby. An old man in a gray suit muttered to his wife, “A beggar trying to get into the Celestine. Hilarious.”

Jake drew a breath. “I said, I want to book a room.”

The receptionist straightened, her smile sharpening. “Our penthouse suite runs fifteen thousand a night. I doubt—”

Jake dropped his backpack onto the counter. The motion turned every head. Calmly, he unzipped it, revealing stacks of crisp bills glittering under the marble lights.

The room went dead silent. The guards swallowed hard. The receptionist turned pale.

Jake’s gaze was steady. “I want your best room. Now.”

The receptionist stammered, “O-of course, sir. The penthouse suite will be prepared immediately. Please forgive the… misunderstanding.”

Jake zipped the bag shut with a cold smirk. “Good. Don’t make me wait.”

The security guard bowed slightly. “Our apologies, sir. Allow me to escort you to the exclusive lounge.”

Jake strode to the elevator, the lobby hushed. Faces that had sneered moments ago now watched in awe, whispers of admiration trailing in his wake.

But from a sofa in the corner, a woman was watching.

Her red dress clung to her frame, black hair falling in soft waves. Sharp eyes, a subtle smile. She had seen how the shabby man flipped the room on its head with a single gesture.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

She rose quickly, pretending to nearly miss the lift. She ran toward the closing doors, calling out, “Wait!”

The doors slid open again. Their eyes met.

The woman smiled. “Thanks for letting me in.”

Jake gave a slight nod. “Of course.”

She extended her hand. “Mind if we introduce ourselves? I’m Elara Claire Turner.”

Jake’s face flickered with surprise. No woman had ever approached him like this. He shook her hand. “Brad James.”

His usual alias rolled off his tongue once more. Elara’s eyes lit up with delight.

When the doors opened at his floor, Jake hesitated. “Uh, which floor are you on?”

Elara shrugged lightly. “Honestly, I came to see a friend here, but… I’d rather keep talking with the man I just met.”

Jake pointed at himself. “You mean me?”

She laughed softly, tapping his shoulder. “Who else? But if I’m bothering you, we can chat another time.”

As she reached for the panel, Jake stopped her hand. “No—you’re not bothering me. If you’d like, we can talk… in my suite.”