Don lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes longer, letting the faint drip of the tap fill the space while he mulled over the recent system prompt. The numbers, the titles, the gains... all neatly packaged like so cosmic scoreboard.
He still couldn’t decide if it was a blessing, a curse, or the universe’s idea of an inside joke.
Sotis he wondered if any of this was real at all—whether his victories, his close calls, even the people around him, were nothing more than pieces in so elaborate simulation.
But chasing that line of thought had never led anywhere worth staying. Whoever, or whatever, might be behind it—god, machine, or lunatic—wasn’t answering questions.
So he let the thoughts scatter, like ash flicked into the wind.
He gave his face a brief rinse, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped back into the hallway.
That’s when his ears picked up footsteps—light but unmistakable. A mont later, Samantha appeared at the far end. She froze mid-step, eyes widening, expression caught sowhere between surprise and wonder.
The mont his gaze t hers, the daze broke.
"Honey... you look so handso," she breathed. "Oh my goodness, I haven’t seen you in a suit since your elentary graduation."
Her awe softened into that warm, motherly smile—the one that carried years of mories.
Don let his own smile show as he walked toward her.
"Are you sure I don’t look silly? Or like so rich asshole?"
Her brows knit, the scolding imdiate but gentle. "Language." She gave him a quick once-over before adding with certainty, "And no, sweetie. You look absolutely fantastic. Do you have sowhere to be?"
"Yeah," he nodded, "I’ll be at the mayoral gala with Miss Claire. She was supposed to go with Sylvia, but she bailed with Sumr to cool off, I think."
He’d half-expected so flicker of jealousy at the ntion of Claire, but Samantha’s focus didn’t waver. If anything, she seed more intent on fussing over him. She stepped closer, fingers moving to adjust a stubborn strand of his hair.
"Oh wow... I’m sure you’ll make a lot of beautiful ladies swoon."
There it was—just a shade of hesitation under the warmth. Not quite jealousy... but close enough to recognize.
"Well," Don said with an easy smile, "one very beautiful woman has already told I look great. That’s enough for . My mom always said not to be greedy."
The flicker of worry vanished instantly, replaced with a grin. She pinched his cheek lightly. "You’d better listen to her."
"I’ll try."
She scoffed in mock offense, pinching his cheek again before letting go. "You’re getting cheeky, hmph. You’d better hurry—it’s not polite to keep a lady waiting."
Don rolled his eyes but turned to head for the door. "Fine, fine. I’m going."
"Hold on, sweetie!" she called, her tone suddenly brighter.
He stopped, glanced back—only to find her with her phone raised, already framing the shot.
"I need a picture," she said, smiling wide. "Aww, your grandmother will be so happy to see this."
The shutter sound fired more than once, despite her claiming it was "just one." She barely lowered the phone before muttering to herself, "I’ll send them right away."
"Amanda!" Samantha called as she started down the hall. "I want to show you sothing!"
Don watched her go for a mont, the sight oddly touching—cute, even—before he let the smile tugging at his mouth stay and turned to leave.
His footsteps fading down the hall.
When Don stepped out onto the terrace, the cool was air still rolling in gently from the city beyond. Miss Claire remained seated, her posture composed, eyes on the skyline as though the evening’s shift in light had her under mild study.
At the sound of his approach, her gaze drifted toward him—not sharply, but with that slow, asured turn of soone who rarely gave their attention away without intent. Her brows lifted, the smallest hint of surprise breaking her otherwise steady expression.
"Well," she said, voice as precise as ever, "I think you’ll fit right in at the event."
Whether it was a complint or rely an observation, Don couldn’t tell. He didn’t bother trying to pin it down.
She rose from her seat, fingers closing around her tablet before she stepped forward. As she passed him, a faint trace of her perfu followed, her tone cool as she added, "You may even attract a few... curious gazes."
Don’s brow ticked upward at that, though he held back his reply. Instead, he turned smoothly, falling into step behind her as they left the terrace.
Only once they were walking inside did he respond. "Should I be worried?"
"Who knows," she answered without looking back. "You may co to enjoy the attention."
They crossed into the hall, the muted click of her heels trailing ahead of him. "The driver is now unavailable," she said, almost as if it were of no consequence. "I hope you don’t mind if we take your vehicle. Or perhaps a taxi."
It caught him off guard—he’d pegged her as the type to avoid anything short of chauffeured luxury—but his tone stayed casual. "That’s fine."
"Wonderful," she said simply.
As they passed the living room, Samantha’s voice carried out brightly from within. "Doesn’t he look adorable!?"
Don didn’t need to look to know exactly who she was talking about. Miss Claire’s lips curled slightly at the sound, a faint smile that ca and went quickly. Don, anwhile, exhaled through his nose in a quiet sigh.
——
A few minutes later, the echo of their steps softened as they entered the private garage. One row was an exhibition of Charles’s exotic collection—clean lines, aggressive angles, colors chosen to demand attention. The other was far more modest: Don’s Mustang, the Range Rover and pickup belonging to Samantha and Amanda respectively.
Miss Claire didn’t hesitate in identifying his car, walking straight to the passenger side. She let her eyes run over it, her expression carrying a trace of nostalgic amusent.
"It’s been quite so ti since I’ve been in such a vehicle," she said, resting one hand lightly on the door fra. "There’s a certain charm to it."
Don, pleased to see her make the first move toward small talk, matched her tone as he reached the driver’s side and unlocked it.
"Agreed."
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