"Good afternoon, sir. Welco to Armani," a female sales associate greeted, bowing slightly as Liam stepped into the store.
The polished interior glistened under warm lights. Everything slled like cologne, luxury, and quiet confidence.
Without hesitation, Liam spoke. "Please get so clothes, shoes, and the necessary accessories. I want sothing simple. My budget is $30,000."
The associate's brows lifted just slightly, the professional smile never leaving her face. "Understood. Please follow , sir."
She turned and led him toward a private waiting room, where clients of a certain status were usually seated.
***
Inside, Liam relaxed in a plush, cream-colored chair, scrolling through his phone while waiting. His mind wasn't on social dia or random videos. It was on his future.
He now had a system—a mysterious power promising to make him the most powerful and wealthiest man alive. And honestly, he had no plans of chasing grand ambitions. Not yet.
For the past four years, while others his age partied and dread, Liam was buried in double shifts and manual labor. He worked through sickness, slept through hunger, and existed more than lived. Every penny he earned vanished into bills, loans, and the debt his parents dumped on him like trash.
Now he had a chance to breathe.
A chance to live.
And that's all he wanted for now.
If the system wants to make powerful, then fine. But for now... I'm going to enjoy this ride. For once, I'll let life be easy.
His thoughts were interrupted when the associate returned, arms full with curated selections. She laid out the clothing, shoes, and accessories with practiced grace.
"These were chosen to your budget and request. Do let know what you think."
Liam looked over the neatly presented pieces—tailored suits, casual designer wear, handmade leather shoes, wristwatches, belts. All neutral tones. Clean cuts. Nothing flashy, but everything scread wealth.
"I'll take all of it," he said.
"Of course. I'll prepare the packaging and paynt terminal."
A few minutes later, bags in hand, Liam left the store. He opened the door to his red Maserati GranTurismo, tossed the bags onto the passenger seat, and slid in behind the wheel. The leather welcod him like a throne. He started the engine and drove back toward his penthouse in Palm Ville Estate.
***
Back in the penthouse, Liam walked straight into his bedroom. He placed the shopping bags on the bed, undressed, and stepped into the marbled bathroom.
Warm water poured over him, washing away more than dirt. It felt like it was rinsing off every bad mory, every unpaid bill, every insult, every ti soone told him he wouldn't make it.
After the bath, he dressed in one of his new outfits—a dark navy dress shirt tucked into light grey slacks, paired with matte black leather shoes and a matching belt. He chose a simple silver wristwatch to complete the look.
He turned to the full-length mirror by the closet and paused.
The reflection looking back at him almost startled him.
He was eighteen, with short dark hair neatly combed to the side. His face wasn't the most handso, but it was well-shaped and clean. His ocean-blue eyes, normally dulled by exhaustion, now looked sharp and alert.
His body still looked skinny and tired but that would change very soon.
As for new clothes? It hugged him perfectly, outlining his slim fra with precision. He looked elegant, rich, and capable.
It was hard to believe he was the sa guy who, just yesterday, had been cleaning dishes and getting scread at by custors.
"It's true what they say," Liam muttered. "Clothes really do maketh the man."
He gathered his old clothes—worn, torn, and stained—and tossed them into the trash.
He wasn't going back to that version of himself.
Ever again.
***
Liam walked into the living room, planning to lounge on the sofa and watch a movie. Just as he reached for the remote, his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
It was his forr boss—the sa man who had fired him just earlier today.
Liam stared at the na for a few seconds, then pressed the lock button and placed the phone face-down on the couch. He wasn't in the mood for whatever excuse or insult the man was ready to spew.
Instead, he scrolled through the streaming options and picked a random action movie. The loud gunfire and explosions on-screen felt oddly soothing.
Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon. The city skyline shimred through the penthouse windows.
By the ti Liam turned off the TV, it was well past 9 p.m. He picked up his phone again and checked it—seven missed calls and three ssages, all from his ex-boss.
He opened the ssages. As expected, they were a mix of excuses and veiled accusations.
"We can't process your severance now. Business has been terrible. Especially after what happened with that woman. She's threatened legal action."
"You shouldn't have said what you did. You know the rules. Don't make this harder than it already is."
Liam chuckled dryly.
He hadn't expected to receive the money anyway, but the way the man twisted the situation into his fault still made his blood simr.
Almost a year of working under that petty tyrant. Always walking on eggshells. Always having his pay cut for the most minor "infractions." Always being threatened with dismissal like it was a sword over his head.
A bitter mory surfaced—his boss once deducting half his salary because a custor complained he didn't smile "warmly enough."
Liam gripped the phone tightly.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
And tossed the phone onto the couch.
Let it go, he told himself. He's no longer worth your anger.
If he sought revenge on every person who used or stepped on him, he'd spend the rest of his life chasing shadows.
That wasn't living.
That was a different kind of prison.
But as for his parents?
He would never forgive them.
Not now. Not ever.
---
The next morning, Liam woke refreshed. The sunlight poured into the penthouse through the full glass windows.
The system's daily sign-in hadn't appeared yet, but Liam was already anticipating what reward might co next.
After a quick bath, he dressed in another new outfit—white sneakers, slim dark jeans, a fitted charcoal polo shirt, and a new black leather wallet in his back pocket.
He wanted to pick up groceries today. It might sound odd to so—why cook when you could order anything? But Liam had always wanted to cook in a beautiful kitchen, not the cramped fire hazard he used to rent.
The elevator ride was smooth, silent. He felt calm.
But as the elevator door slid open, he was startled to find soone standing directly in front of it.
It was a familiar face.
Stacy's.
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