The moment Veronica's back hit the floor, time stopped.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Blake's eyes went wide. The entire showroom staff froze mid-breath. Even the automatic air freshener in the corner stuttered in its spray cycle.
Veronica Monteverde, national taekwondo champion, heiress to a shadowy empire, and professional menace to society—was lying on the ground.
Selene Sinclair had pushed her.
The manager let out a strangled sound and scrambled to grab his phone.
"I-I'm calling the cops," he whispered to no one in particular. "And maybe… an ambulance?"
Veronica's stunned silence cracked into a growl. Her face flushed a venomous red as she scrambled upright.
"You son of a—!"
She lunged.
Selene stepped back, startled, almost falling on the floor.
Veronica raised a sharp kick. Dangerously fast. A move practiced a thousand times in competitions. A kick that had broken ribs before.
Selene's body didn't think.
It moved.
She ducked under the strike, twisted around, and slammed her palm into Veronica's shoulder with just enough force to flip her.
The sound of impact was horrifyingly crisp.
Veronica hit the floor with a sickening thud, a grunt of pain leaving her lips. Her wrist bent at an unnatural angle as she tried to break the fall.
Blake gasped.
The showroom manager screamed.
Selene blinked, her breath sharp in her throat. "...Okay, maybe I didn't mean that much strength."
The staff were too scared to speak. Several took cautious steps backward. The security team? They were conveniently missing.
Selene walked over to Veronica, who was cradling her hand now, trembling with both rage and pain.
"I always wondered," Selene said softly. "How someone with national titles and Olympic dreams found the time to bully a girl for being poor."
Veronica's eyes flared.
Selene tilted her head, voice icy. "And now look at you. Broken wrist, bruised ego. Maybe you should have used all that time practicing."
The silence was so heavy it might have had gravity.
"I'll take the Macbeth Furiosa," Selene added, smiling sweetly at the stunned manager. "Wrap it up."
The manager nodded like a man who feared she might break his wrist next.
Veronica pushed herself up. Her eyes were wet, her lips trembling—not with pain, but humiliation.
"You—You freak!" she snarled. "You'll regret this! You'll regret everything! I swear on my family's name—!"
Selene rolled her eyes.
So what if the Monteverdes were stupidly powerful? The Sinclairs were not much different. Selene had already decided to take her revenge against them if her quest was completed.
Veronica screamed in frustration and stormed out, cradling her hand, her designer coat dragging in the dust behind her like a defeated villainess in a tragic opera.
Ding!
Transaction Completed!
[New Asset Acquired: Macbeth Furiosa — $150,000,000]
Ding!
[150 Star Coins Received!]
A male attendant soon prepared the car, wrapping it in black ribbons, offering Selene a huge hamper and bouquet of black lotuses before hurriedly rushing back inside the showroom.
Selene couldn't have been happier.
She even considered starting a profession in underground wrestling and becoming rich! But then, she remembered she no longer needed to take odd jobs to make ends meet.
With a light laugh, she stepped inside the car… and her smile died the moment she saw the dashboard.
"…Why does it look like a spaceship?"
Screens. Holograms. Seventy buttons. Four were glowing. Two were blinking. One said "Do Not Touch", which obviously meant she had to touch it immediately.
Selene instinctively moved back in her seat to stop herself from messing up anything.
Blake slid into the backseat, cleared his throat, and said politely.
"Miss Sinclair, the Macbeth Furiousa was first designed based only on the wishes of billionaire astronaut philanthropist playboy Mister Shark."
Selene was dumbfounded.
Before she could insult the car, however, Blake added in a low voice. "Miss Sinclair, what you did back there was reckless."
Selene frowned. "She tried to kick me in the face."
Blake sighed heavily. "Please try to understand. The Monteverdes—they're not just rich. They've got roots. Deep ones. Into the shadiest corners of the Underworld. You don't want to make enemies like them."
Selene blinked. "Oh, well, I didn't know that…"
Blake raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, I avoided knowing about them. On principle," she muttered. "Because of her."
But anxiety curled inside her chest now.
She had taken a blowtorch to a hornet's nest—and now she was driving off in their favorite toy.
Ding!
[System Alert: Time Remaining – 4 Hours, 30 Minutes]
[Reminder: Failure to complete your quest will result in total financial wipeout. And probably social death too.]
Selene's fingers tightened on the wheel.
No time to panic.
She still had a business empire to launch.
Selene returned her focus to the car. It was absurdly high-tech—screens everywhere, buttons that didn't look like buttons, and a control panel that required a PhD to operate.
She had driven taxis, delivery trucks, and even an old beat-up minivan when she was desperate. But this? This was an alien spaceship disguised as a car.
[System Alert! Vehicular Incompetence Detected!]
[Would you like to spend 50 Star Coins to unlock Super Advanced Driving Skill?]
Selene raised a suspicious brow. Fifty Star Coins were worth fifty million dollars. What special driving skills would amount to that much?
But hey, it was all free!
She shrugged and accepted.
Ding!
[Super Advanced Driving Skill Unlocked!]
[You can now drive all Earthly inventions!]
[Bonus Perks: Unnecessary Tokyo Drift tendencies! You will also have a 12% chance of summoning a street race wherever you go!]
Selene suddenly felt a rush of warmth coursing through her veins. Her fingers deftly tightened around the steering wheel, and in an instant—woosh! The Macbeth ran over the highway like a wild boar!
Before Selene could even register the traffic and police, her reflexes kicked in, and she swiftly dodged any obstacles.
Her heartbeats picked up.
Then, she glanced at the countdown in her peripheral vision.
'Time Remaining: Four hours.'
Selene grimaced.
"System, what happens if I fail this quest?"
She had already spent an outrageous amount of money, and yet, she still had a stupidly large amount left to burn.
The system responded in its usual dry, slightly ominous tone.
[Failure Consequence: All transactions will be reversed.]
[Properties? Gone.]
[Money? Poof.]
[Prestige? Vanished.]
Selene narrowed her eyes. "Okay, that's bad, but—"
[Even Blackie may be at risk.]
She froze.
The kitten might be at risk?
Then, without thinking, she slammed the brakes. The Macbeth screeched to a halt so violently that Blake let out a strangled yelp and clutched his seatbelt like it was his last lifeline.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BLACKIE MAY BE AT RISK?!" Selene exclaimed.
[The system does not offer exceptions for feline dependents.]
Selene felt her world tilt. She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, sending Blake flying back against his seat.
"Miss Sinclair—!"
"Shut up, Blake. We need to hurry!"
At Crystal Avenue, Blake barely had time to recover before Selene gracefully stepped out of the car, adjusting the cuff of her expensive new blazer.
The sky was now getting darker.
Blake followed quickly, still looking slightly winded. In his mind, there were a thousand racing thoughts. 'What's wrong with the Sinclair heiress?'
'Why is she recklessly buying everything? Why is she making enemies everywhere she goes? Why is she speaking to herself??'
'Is that why her family kicked her out?? Because she is crazy???'
Blake kept his thoughts to himself.
Regardless of his doubts, he always knew better than to question those who could easily make him go bankrupt. He cleared his throat, went straight to the CEO's office, and returned to Selene half an hour later.
"Miss Sinclair. The deal has been finalized. Crystal Avenue now belongs to the Hamilton Group." He informed calmly.
Selene turned to him with a slow, satisfied smile. "And, as of today, I am the Hamilton Group."
Selene walked through the pristine lobby with the confidence of someone who had owned the place for years rather than just a few minutes.
She reached the top floor and pushed open the doors to William Sinclair's office without so much as a knock.
He was lounging in his chair, whiskey in hand, completely oblivious to the financial hurricane about to destroy his world.
Then he saw her.
For a full three seconds, he just stared.
The Selene Sinclair he knew was supposed to be a desperate nobody, clinging to the fringes of high society. But the woman standing before him now?
Hair styled to perfection. Clothes that whispered old money. A presence that demanded attention. She looked like she belonged.
And his heart almost dropped. Has his stupid brother really taken Selene back into the family? His eyes darkened. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Selene smirked. "Just checking in on my new property."
He laughed loudly, "Has all those years of poverty finally made you lose your mind?"
She let out a soft, pitying sigh. "Oh, William… you really should pay attention to the fine print."
With a practiced flick of her wrist, she dropped a stack of documents onto his desk. "You sold Crystal Avenue to Hamilton Group, remember?"
His fingers clenched around the whiskey glass. "That has nothing to do with you."
Selene's smile widened. "Actually, it has everything to do with me. Because I'm Hamilton Group's biggest shareholder."
Silence.
The kind of silence that stretched, suffocating, as realization dawned on him like a very slow, very painful sunrise.
"You—"
"Yes, me," she said sweetly, enjoying the way his face twisted with disbelief. "And do you know what that means?"
She let the moment breathe, drawing it out, savoring it.
And at last, Selene said softly.
"You're fired."