On Saturday morning, the digital landscape of Veyra was entirely saturated with grainy vertical videos, blurred screenshots, and re-uploaded stream clips from outside The Neptune Archive.
On popular local social dia site Loop and on TikTok, the hashtag #GoldKingSpotted had completely taken over the trending charts with over twelve million active interactions. One specific snippet—originally cut from Chloe’s interrupted food stream—showed Jake guiding a stunning woman in an erald dress past a wall of locked-shoulders security guards. The comnt sections were moving too fast to read.
User_881: Wait, who is she?! She looks so elegant! Is that the Gold King’s actual girlfriend?
VeyraVibes: The way he kept his hand on her waist to shield her from the crowd... okay, billionaire romance is real.
MarketWatcher: Look at the convoy outside. Two armor-spec vehicles just for dinner. He’s not playing around.
By 7:00 AM, the civilian chatter had bled directly into mainstream broadcasting. On Veyra One News, the morning anchor sat before a massive digital backdrop displaying a split screen of Jake’s restaurant arrival and a promotional graphic for the Veyra Financial Chronicle.
"A rare public sighting of Golden Investnts’ enigmatic owner, Jake Rivers, has taken social dia by storm over the last twelve hours," the anchor reported, adjusting her earpiece. "Rivers was seen entering an exclusive coastal establishnt alongside an unidentified companion, drawing a massive crowd of onlookers. This unprecedented public appearance cos just days before his highly anticipated, unedited live broadcast interview this Tuesday evening—a segnt that network insiders confirm has already broken all historical ad-space revenue records."
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Inside the master suite of Jake’s penthouse... The room was dark, the automated blackout blinds sealing in the quiet warmth. Catherine was sound asleep, her head resting against Jake’s chest, while Jake lay with one arm wrapped around her shoulder, staring lazily at the ceiling.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The violent, rhythmic pounding against the front door of the penthouse shattered the silence, followed imdiately by the rapid, non-stop chiming of the video doorbell.
Catherine stirred with a soft groan, her eyes blinking open in confusion. "What... what is that? Is the building on fire?"
Jake closed his eyes, a deep, long-suffering sigh escaping his lips as he checked the bedside clock. It was exactly 7:30 AM. "No. Worse. It’s my sister."
He slid out of bed, pulling on a dark silk robe, and walked through the sprawling, minimalist living room. The video monitor by the foyer showed Aliya leaning directly into the cara lens, her face distorted as she aggressively mashed the buzzer with her thumb.
The mont Jake unlocked and swung the heavy door open, Aliya slipped right past his arm like a gust of wind, her boots clattering loudly against the marble floor.
"Finally! I thought you died in here!" Aliya yelled, her phone already attached to a pink handheld stabilizer rig, the recording light blinking green. "Get ready, get ready, get ready! It’s getting late, the sun is up, and the dealerships open in exactly thirty minutes!"
Jake leaned against the foyer wall, his arms crossed as he stared at her with a blank expression. "Aliya. The cars aren’t going to evaporate into thin air even if we go at noon."
"You don’t understand how high-end inventory works, Jake," she argued, pointing her cara directly at his sleepy face. "Soone might buy the exact one that’s made for . The energy is in the morning!"
"You don’t even know what car you want," Jake said flatly.
"I absolutely do! I stayed up until 3:00 AM doing exhaustive, highly scientific research on lifestyle forums," she shot back, spinning around on her heel to face him.
"You stayed up till 3:00 AM yet you are here this early? Which car is it then?"
Aliya waved her hand dismissively, pushing him back toward the hallway. "I’m not telling you yet. It’s a visual surprise. Go get dressed! Go, go, go!"
Jake rubbed his temples, letting out a dry, defeated chuckle as he turned back toward the master bedroom. "What cri did I commit in my past life to deserve this specific brand of torture?"
"Be quick or I’m waking Catherine up myself!" Aliya called out from the living room, already vlogging her live reaction to his kitchen decor.
When Jake walked back into the bedroom, Catherine was sitting up against the headboard, hiding a laugh behind her hands. "She’s loud today."
"She’s a hurricane," Jake muttered, tossing his robe onto a chair and reaching for a clean black t-shirt and structured denim. "She just threatened to co in here if we don’t hurry."
Catherine bounced out of bed, grabbing her outfit from the hanger. "We better get ready fast then. I’ve seen her when she’s determined. She really is capable of bursting through that door with that cara running."
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The multi-brand exotic vehicle district on the northern avenue of Veyra was a sprawling block of structural glass, spotless white architectural concrete, and pristine gravel lots.
Though Jake hadn’t brought a conspicuous three-car convoy today to keep the profile slightly lower, the security grid was completely operational. Elias sat behind the wheel of the unmarked lead SUV parked across the street, while Aliya’s personal bodyguard, Kovacs, moved quietly through the shadows of the showroom entrances. Catherine’s personal detail was also discreetly deployed near the periter, their eyes scanning the casual Saturday morning foot traffic.
The first stop was the hyper-minimalist Porsche pavilion. The air slled of expensive polished leather and espresso.
"Welco back to the channel, guys!" Aliya whispered loudly into her vlogging rig as she panned the cara past a row of gleaming sports cars. "We are officially at store number one. Look at the lines on this thing!"
A senior sales representative in a crisp charcoal suit and white gloves stepped forward, recognizing Jake instantly but keeping his professional composure perfectly intact. "Good morning, Mr. Rivers. Miss. Welco to the facility. Are we looking at the 911 tier today, or perhaps sothing from our track-limited allocations?"
"She’s looking for sothing specific," Jake said, gesturing toward Aliya. "Show her the options."
"Of course," the agent smiled, guiding them toward a stunning, chalk-grey Porsche 911 GT3 RS sitting under directional LED spotlights. "For track-oriented performance with daily drivability, this features our four-litre naturally aspirated boxer engine, generating five hundred and twenty horsepower. The price as spec’d with the Weissach package is exactly two million, four hundred thousand marks."
"Oh, it’s pretty, but the rear wing is way too aggressive," Aliya said, circling the car while holding her cara high. "I want sothing girly but fierce, you know? Let’s check out the next room."
Within ten minutes, they had crossed the connecting glass bridge into the Ferrari studio. Aliya imdiately gravitated toward a sleek, pearl-white Ferrari Roma.
"Now this is a vibe," she told her cara, filming the red leather interior. "It’s giving classic European holiday. Sir, what are the details on this one?"
The Ferrari brand specialist stepped up, adjusting his cuffs. "The Roma features a 3.9-litre turbocharged V8, generating six hundred and twelve horsepower, ma’am. It’s an absolute masterpiece of GT design. This particular unit includes the carbon fiber exterior matrix, sitting at three million, one hundred thousand marks."
"I love it," Aliya declared, turning to Jake with wide eyes. "This is the one. Let’s see others then co back and do the paperwork."
Jake leaned against a structural column, an amused brow raised. "Aliya, didn’t you say five minutes ago at the house that you already knew exactly which car you were going to pick?"
"Jake, this is a delicate, highly spiritual process," she replied instantly, without skipping a beat. "A woman is allowed to change her mind when she sees better art. Don’t rush my vision."
"Right," Jake murmured.
Ten minutes later, she dropped the Ferrari the second they entered the Lamborghini sector and she laid eyes on a neon-pink wrapped Lamborghini Urus Performante. By eleven o’clock, she was completely stuck, pacing back and forth in the central plaza between a matte-black rcedes-AMG G63 Wagon priced at three million, five hundred thousand marks, and a fully customized Urus sitting at four million marks.
"I’m experiencing a legitimate life crisis," Aliya groaned to her cara, framing both massive luxury trucks in a single shot. "The G-Wagon is iconic, it’s giving boss energy. But the Urus sounds like a literal jet engine when it starts up. Catherine, help choose."
Catherine laughed, shaking her head as she leaned against Jake’s shoulder. "Al, don’t look at . Both of those look like military tanks disguised as luxury vehicles. I wouldn’t even know how to parallel park them."
Jake glanced at his watch, then looked at his sister’s genuinely torn expression. He let out a relaxed, easy laugh. "You know what? I’m feeling pretty good today. Just get them both. One for daily campus commutes, one for the weekend."
Aliya completely froze. Her cara tilted downward as her jaw dropped. "Wait... are you serious? Both?"
"Both," Jake nodded to the attendant. "Process the invoices for the G63 and the Urus under the Golden Investnts corporate transport ledger."
"Oh my god, my brother is a maniac!" Aliya scread into her vlog rig, jumping up and down on the pristine floor. "You guys heard it live on cara! Double acquisition!"
Jake turned to Catherine, his voice dropping into a softer, gentler tone. "What about you, Cath? Pick one out. Anything in this hall. It’s ti you had your own regular ride."
Catherine instantly waved her hands, backing up a step with a wide, startled look. "Oh, absolutely not, Jake. No way. All the cars in this district are way too expensive. Even if you bought it, I wouldn’t even be able to afford the standard insurance or the regular maintenance packages on a salary from my architecture firm."
Aliya popped her head into the fra, her eyes gleaming. "Cath, are you crazy? You don’t need to worry about any of that boring stuff. Look at him! He has too many digits on his screen. He’ll obviously take care of the insurance, the fuel, and the tire changes for the next ten years."
Jake reached over, playfully poking the back of Aliya’s head with his finger. "Who said I’m paying for your maintenance packages? You’re paying for your own fuel out of your allowance, Al."
"Hey!" Aliya protested, pouting at the cara.
Catherine smiled warmly, stepping closer to Jake and slipping her hand tightly into his. "Seriously, Jake, it’s fine. I don’t need a four-million-mark hypercar just to go to the design studio. I can just keep using yours whenever I want to do sothing or go out. It’s much less stressful for ."
Jake looked down at her, seeing the absolute sincerity in her eyes. He didn’t push it further, simply squeezing her hand back. "Alright. If you change your mind, the offer stands."
His eyes drifted across the massive showroom floor, past the standard ordering desks, and locked onto a vehicle parked in an isolated, velvet-roped display alcove at the very back. It was a Brabus G900 Rocket Edition—a nacing, wide-body stealth-grey monster with exposed forged carbon fiber accents and massive red-rimd monoblock wheels. Beside it sat a pristine, bare-carbon Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, its aggressive aero lines looking like a predatory fighter jet.
"Actually," Jake murmured, a hard, sharp gleam entering his eyes as he flagged down the general manager who had been hovering nearby. "Add that Brabus Rocket and the Aventador SVJ to my personal billing invoice as well. I’ll take those two for my personal garage at the Zenith."
The general manager’s breath visibly hitched. He hurriedly pulled out his digital ledger, his fingers trembling slightly as he input the data. "Right away, Mr. Rivers. It will be 9 million marks for the Brabus and thirteen million for the SVJ. Imdiate delivery by flatbed tonight."
As they walked toward the exit of the luxury multi-brand complex, Aliya still frantically editing footage on her phone, Jake suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
In the center of the final glass rotunda, sitting on a elevated, floating mirror platform, was a legendary hypercar. A McLaren P1. Its deep, volcano-orange paint looked like liquid fire under the architectural lights, its dramatic, sweeping carbon-fiber canopy perfectly preserved. It was a rare, low-production icon of automotive engineering.
Jake walked over to the edge of the mirror platform, his eyes tracing the flawless curves of the car. The familiar, deep pulse of heat behind his left temple flared up with an intense, sudden focus. He wanted it.
An attendant standing near the platform stepped forward imdiately, bowing politely. "Beautiful, isn’t it, sir? The McLaren P1. Truly a historic piece."
"Is it for sale?" Jake asked, his voice low and entirely direct.
The attendant gave a apologetic, nervous smile, shaking his head. "Ah, unfortunately not, sir. This vehicle belongs to the owner of the dealership. It’s his personal crown jewel. He has it displayed here strictly as a non-sale centerpiece for the facility’s anniversary."
Jake didn’t blink. He kept his eyes locked on the orange carbon weave of the front splitter.
"Call him," Jake said flatly.
The attendant blinked, confused. "Sir?"
Jake turned his head, his cold, calculating gaze locking onto the man’s eyes with an absolute, undeniable authority. "Call the owner right now. Give him my na, and tell him that Jake Rivers is currently standing in his lobby. Tell him I am prepared to transfer the wire for this exact McLaren P1 within the next five minutes—at double its current maximum global market valuation."
The entire rotunda went dead silent. Aliya lowered her vlogging rig, her jaw dropping for the second ti that morning, while Catherine looked at Jake with a mixture of awe and slight shock.
Double the market value of a pristine McLaren P1 ant a single, unhesitating wire transfer of nearly forty million marks for a car that wasn’t even listed on the floor. It was a raw, absolute flex of liquid capital that completely bypassed the standard rules of retail comrce.
The attendant’s face went entirely pale. He looked at Jake’s expression, realized with a wave of cold sweat that the young billionaire wasn’t joking in the slightest, and grabbed his internal radio with a shaking hand.
"Manager... clear the private line to the Chairman’s office," the attendant stamred into the mic, his eyes wide as he backed toward the main office. "We have an active asset negotiation on the rotunda floor. Yes... it’s Mr. Rivers."
Jake turned back to look at the volcano-orange hypercar, and continued to admire it.
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