The Incredible Charlie Maxwell

Chapter 7

The city lights shimmered against the tinted windows of Charlie’s Lamborghini La Voiture Noire as he rolled into the boulevard. The roar of the $50 million engine made heads turn. Even in the city of giants, this car was a god among machines.

He parked at the VVIP parking lot, where only the wealthiest clients of the exclusive fashion store were allowed. The valet bowed and pointed at the platinum-plated sign: “Parking Fee—$100,000.”

Charlie didn’t flinch. Twenty-four hours ago, that number could have made him sleepless. Now, it was dust—no, smaller than dust compared to what sat in his account. He dropped the key and walked in casually, the crowd already murmuring at the sight of the legendary car.

As Charlie entered the store, the glass doors hissed open—and just then, someone rammed into him so hard he stumbled and fell flat on the polished marble. The thud echoed sharply, drawing attention.

The man who bumped into him—a tall stranger in his late twenties—looked down at him with disgust, brushing imaginary dirt off his sleeve.

Charlie blinked in disbelief.

The man pulled out a white handkerchief and began wiping the spot on his arm where Charlie had touched him. “Ugh. You peasants always get in the way,” he muttered loudly enough for others to hear.

Charlie slowly rose to his feet, staring at him. “You could’ve just apologized,” he said calmly.

The man gave a mocking smirk. “Apologize? You should be grateful I only pushed you to the floor. If I had the means, I’d push you straight to hell.”

Charlie’s eyes darkened. “What exactly did I do wrong?”

The man leaned forward, his cologne stinging the air. “Existing.”

The words hit like a slap. Charlie clenched his fists but let out a breath, forcing a calm smile. “Right.” He stepped aside, his voice cold. “Have a good day, king.”

As he walked away, the man scoffed. “Pathetic.”

Charlie didn’t turn back. ‘Let him think whatever he wants. I could buy his entire life twice over now,’ he thought. 

But that was the irony of life—those who looked down on you never really looked close enough to see what stood above them.

Inside the store, Charlie started browsing through the racks when familiar voices—poisonous voices—pierced his peace.

Gory and Vera. Angela’s friends.

The same girls who’d poisoned her mind and pushed her to betray him.

They spotted him almost instantly.

“Oh, look who we have here,” Vera whispered with a wicked smile.

“Isn’t that Charlie? Angela’s charity case,” Gory added, laughing.

They strolled over like hyenas circling prey.

“Well, if it isn’t the worst mistake any girl could ever make,” Vera sneered. “Still wearing the same rags, huh?”

Charlie tried to walk past them. “Go your way. I’m not in the mood.”

Gory blocked his path, folding her arms. “Or what? You’ll run crying to your little half-sister again?”

He looked at them, unbothered, and smiled faintly. “Not this time.”

The confidence in his tone unsettled them for a moment. Vera poked his chest. “You’ve grown a backbone, huh? What are you even doing here, Charlie? Planning to steal?”

“I came to shop,” he said simply.

They burst into laughter, holding their stomachs.

“This is Luxe Mode, not a thrift store,” Vera mocked. “Do you think anything here costs a hundred bucks?”

“No,” Charlie replied evenly. “But whatever the price, I can afford it.”

That stopped them. Just for a moment.

Gory narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I get it. You must’ve heard what your stepbrothers did last night and now you’re pretending you’re one of them.”

Charlie frowned. “What did Jim and Jey do?”

Vera rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t act clueless. It’s all over the campus social feed.” She pulled out her phone and shoved the screen toward him.

The video played.

Jim and Jey were laughing, drunk, bragging in a VIP club.

"We did it! We finally got rid of that loser Charlie! Dad’s announcing us as the rightful heirs tonight!"

Laughter. Clinking glasses. More drunken boasting.

Then came the venom.

"That witch of a woman he calls his mother should’ve been gone ages ago. A whore doesn’t deserve a Grant name!"

The words cut deeper than knives. Charlie’s jaw tightened. His fists trembled, veins bulging. If they had been in front of him, he would have smashed them both into silence.

Gory switched to another clip. This time, Jim and Jey were surrounded by bottles, ordering drinks worth $300,000.

"Here’s to the money that could’ve saved Charlie’s witch mother—cheers!"

Charlie’s breath hitched. Rage burned behind his calm expression, but he swallowed it. Revenge was no longer an emotional outburst—it would be art, and he would be the artist.

Then Vera’s tone shifted into a sly smirk. “Oh, we’re not done.”

She tapped on her phone again.

This time, the video showed Jey kissing Angela. The scene was raw, heated—too familiar. Gory laughed. “From what we heard, they had a wild night. Guess money talks louder than your broke love ever did.”

Vera leaned closer. “Tell me, Charlie… you ever kissed Angela before? Didn’t think so. Jey did all that in one night. That’s the power of money, sweetheart. Not your pitiful heart.”

Their laughter echoed across the store.

Charlie just stood there, expressionless. Inside, the storm raged. But when he finally smiled, it wasn’t one of pain—it was power.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “Money rules the world.”

Then he walked away, his tone like a whisper from the throne. “And the world belongs to me now.”

The girls froze, confused. His words didn’t sound like bluff.

***

Minutes later, Charlie stood at the counter. “I’ll take all these,” he said, gesturing to the suits, watches, and jewelry that shimmered under the glass.

The attendant’s eyes widened as the scanner tallied the total: $22 million.

He swiped the premium Golden Card.

Approved.

The transaction sound chimed softly—like a royal seal being stamped.

The attendants nearly bowed. They helped him carry the bags, grateful when he handed them each a $25,000 tip.

As he stepped outside, the two women trailed behind him, eyes wide. They couldn’t believe what they’d just seen.

Charlie approached the VVIP lot—and there he was.

The same arrogant man from earlier, leaning casually against the La Voiture Noire, chatting with Vera and Gory.

The two women giggled beside him.

“Wow, is this your car?” Vera asked dreamily.

The man smirked. “Of course. Only real men drive machines like this.”

Charlie walked closer, silent, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The valet ran ahead of him, bowing deeply. “Sir, your car is ready.”