The silence in the grand rotunda was absolute. For a full ten seconds, the only sound was the faint, electric hum of the floating mirror platform beneath the orange McLaren P1.

Nearby, a couple who had been browsing a row of SUVs froze, their mouths slightly open. The husband slowly lowered his tablet, staring over at Jake with wide eyes. Two sales consultants standing by the reception counter completely stopped typing, their hands hovering over their keyboards as they exchanged rapid, stunned glances. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

"Did he just say double?" one consultant whispered under his breath, his eyes darting from Jake to the pale-faced attendant. "A pristine P1 fluctuates around nineteen million marks on the global auction block. Double that is..."

"Thirty-eight million," the other replied, her voice shaking slightly as she reached for her desk phone. "He’s trying to drop thirty-eight million marks on a car that isn’t even for sale. On a Saturday morning."

A few paces away, a young man wearing a designer jacket subtly slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. Keeping the device level with his chest to avoid attracting the attention of Kovacs or Elias, he started recording, capturing the tense, breathless atmosphere of the showroom floor. ’I have to record this, otherwise no one is going to believe me.’

Aliya lowered her vlogging rig, the camera tilting toward the polished tiles for a brief moment before she snapped herself out of it. She marched over to Jake, planting her boots firmly on the floor and looking up at him.

"Jake, are you completely out of your mind?" she hissed, dropping her voice so the nearby crowd couldn’t catch every word. "Why do you want to spend that much money on a car? Thirty-eight million marks? You just bought two cars for me, and two for yourself!"

Jake turned his head slightly, looking down at her with an entirely calm, unbothered expression. "Aliya, you don’t need to worry about the numbers. I’m capable of buying this entire dealership right now, and it wouldn’t hurt my pocket in the slightest."

Pinch.

"Ow," Jake muttered, wincing slightly as Aliya’s fingers dug into his forearm.

"That is not what I meant, you arrogant jerk," Aliya ranted, crossing her arms and huffing. "I know you have too many digits on your account. But that’s a lot of money for just one car."

Jake looked back at the volcano-orange carbon weave of the McLaren, his gaze tracking the aggressive aerodynamic lines of the rear diffuser. "A car like the P1 isn’t just a car, Al. It’s an asset class. I’m thinking of starting my own private car collection, and an iconic, low-production hypercar is a proper foundation to build it on."

Aliya stared at him for a long beat, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, she let out a massive, dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Whatever. It’s your money. If you want to throw millions on a car because it looks like a fighter jet, go ahead. I can’t even argue with you anymore."

Jake’s lips twitched upward into a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down slightly, catching her eye. "Tell you what. If I get to buy this car today, I will take both you and Catherine straight to the central mall for a full shopping spree. No budget limit."

The transformation was instantaneous. Aliya’s eyes went completely wide, her pout vanishing as she grabbed her vlog rig again. "Okay, look into my camera right now and say those exact words again. No budget limit right? Forget everything I just said, Jake. You need this car. The orange perfectly matches your skin undertones. Buy it right now!"

Catherine couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst into a clear, melodic chuckle, shaking her head as she leaned against Jake’s shoulder. "Al, you are absolutely shameless. Your loyalty can be bought in less than five seconds."

"It’s called being an opportunistic younger sister, Cath," Aliya replied proudly, already adjusting her lighting settings. "You have to strike while the wallet is open."

The heavy glass doors of the executive wing swung open, and the general manager walked out at a brisk, hurried pace. He was holding a high-end tablet, his face slightly flushed as he approached the trio.

"Mr. Rivers," the manager said, bowing slightly to clear his throat. "I managed to get a direct line to our primary owner and chairperson, Rachel Morgan. She is currently attending an international summit in Europe, but when I informed her of your presence and your specific... proposal, she requested to speak with you directly via video call. If you don’t mind?"

"I don’t mind," Jake said evenly. "Connect it."

The manager tapped the screen, turning the tablet around to face Jake. The high-definition display flickered for a fraction of a second before a luxurious private suite appeared on screen.

Rachel Morgan who looked to be in her early thirties appeared on the other end. Her sharp, elegant features framed by perfectly styled asymmetrical dark hair. She wore a tailored white blazer over a silk blouse, a delicate diamond necklace catching the light as she leaned back against a plush leather armchair. When she saw Jake’s face appear on her screen, her eyes sparkled with an immediate, intense curiosity, a slow, alluring smile spreading across her lips.

"Mr. Rivers," Rachel murmured, her voice smooth, carrying a playful, rhythmic cadence that immediately set a distinct tone. "The famous Gold King in my own showroom. Good morning. I must say, not in my wildest dreams did I think I’d get the opportunity to speak with Veyra’s most elusive executive."

"Good morning, Ms?" Jake replied, his voice flat and entirely unaffected by her tone.

"Please, call me Rachel," she purred, shifting her weight slightly and leaning her chin on her hand, her eyes locked onto the camera. "My manager phoned me in quite a panic. He tells me you’re currently standing in my rotunda, looking at my absolute favorite toy, and offering to drop double its valuation just to take it home today."

"As long as you’re willing to part with it, I’m open to taking it off your hands," Jake said, keeping his hands in his pockets.

Rachel let out a soft, low laugh on the other end of the line, her fingers idly tracing the rim of a crystal glass on her desk. "You’re very direct, aren’t you? You see, that P1 has a lot of history for me. It was the very first rare collectible I secured when I took over the chairmanship of the Morgan dealership Group. It took me six months of negotiations with a collector in London just to get the title deed transferred. It’s incredibly special to me."

She paused, tilting her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with a sharp, testing gleam to see if she could push the young billionaire into a corner or extract a bit more leverage.

Jake didn’t let her finish the sentence. "Ms. Rachel, I don’t need the background history of the vehicle. I’m prepared to transfer thirty-eight million marks directly to your corporate or personal account within the next three minutes. If you aren’t interested in parting with the car, you can simply say so, and I’ll take my leave."

Rachel stared through the screen, her smile faltering for a split second before widening into a look of genuine appreciation. Her heart gave a sudden, heavy thud. She wasn’t used to men completely cutting through her charm with such cold, clinical efficiency.

’He’s exactly like the headlines say, she thought, her mind rapidly weighing the variables. Thirty-eight million marks is an absurd amount of money for a P1. But keeping the car means missing a direct, personal link to Golden Investments.’

"You really don’t waste time, do you..." Rachel smiled, her tone dropping into a slightly more guarded but highly calculated register. "Fine. Let’s make a deal. But I won’t take thirty-eight million marks from you."

The general manager’s head snapped up. Aliya blinked in total confusion.

"I will sell you the McLaren P1 today for exactly twenty-five million marks," Rachel announced smoothly.

A collective murmur broke out among the sales consultants who were listening from the desks. They were utterly baffled. Why would anyone willingly turn down an extra thirteen million marks on a car sale? "Is she crazy? Why would she turn down so much money?"

Jake, however, didn’t show a single trace of surprise. He understood her intentions perfectly. By refusing the absurd double-valuation price and giving him a ’discount’ closer to market value, Rachel Morgan was ensuring that he owed her a professional courtesy. She was trading immediate cash for a future favor from the country’s youngest billionaire.

"Twenty-five million," Jake repeated flatly. "Agreed."

"Wonderful," Rachel smiled, her eyes returning to their previous, flirty spark. "On one condition, of course. I’m hosting an exclusive, private exotic car exhibition at my estate on the Aurelia coast next month. I expect you to be there. With the P1, preferably."

"I’ll think about it," Jake said.

"I’ll hold you to that," Rachel purred, leaning closer to her camera. "Let my manager have your personal number, and I’ll text you the private coordinates and the digital entry passes myself later tonight."

Jake didn’t hesitate. He took the manager’s phone and dialed a ten-digit number with a completely straight face. "Done."

"Perfect. I’ll contact you soon, Jake," Rachel said, blowing a subtle, playful kiss toward the screen before the call disconnected.

The general manager immediately stepped forward, taking the tablet and phone back with a deep bow. "Mr. Rivers, the title deed transfer documents and the secure bank wire routing sheets will be prepared in our private lounge immediately. If you’ll just follow me..."

Ten minutes later, the financial transaction was finalized. The volcano-orange McLaren P1 officially belonged to Jake’s personal ledger, scheduled to be moved via secured covered transport to the Zenith garage by 6:00 PM.

As the three of them walked out of the glass showroom doors and stepped onto the crisp, sunlit pavement toward the waiting vehicles, Aliya immediately stepped closer to Catherine, her face a mask of dramatic suspicion.

"Cath, are you seriously okay with that?" Aliya asked loudly, pointing a finger back toward the dealership. "Did you hear how that Rachel girl was talking to him? She was practically throwing herself through the screen! And then he just casually gives her his phone number right in front of you!"

Before Catherine could even open her mouth to respond, Jake reached out, his hand coming down to lightly tap the side of Aliya’s face, effectively shutting her up.

"Stop spewing nonsense," Jake said, his voice completely calm as he kept walking. "I gave her Alice’s number. Besides, if I’m to go to a car show, of course I’m taking my girlfriend."

Aliya blinked, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Oh. Well... okay, that’s actually hilarious. Never mind."

Catherine remained entirely silent as they reached the car, her eyes fixed on the pavement. Though her expression was neutral, Jake’s sharp eyes caught the subtle, tight line of her jaw and the way her fingers were tightly gripping the strap of her handbag. Aliya’s careless comment had definitely shaken something deep inside her. The sudden reminder of the world Jake now commanded—a world where elegant, powerful women like Rachel Morgan would willingly drop millions just to establish a connection with him—was a heavy, silent weight in the air.

Jake reached out, his fingers sliding smoothly into Catherine’s hand, squeezing her palm firmly. She looked up, her eyes meeting his cold, unyielding gaze, but as he looked at her, his expression softened by a fraction.

"The mall is just two blocks away," Jake said softly, his voice for her ears alone. "Let’s go."

Catherine took a short, quiet breath, her posture relaxing slightly as she squeezed his hand back. "Okay."

---