Urban Harem God: Harem With My Ultimate Copy & Paste System!-Chapter 11 - 64: 3—Entry into a New Life

The lobby didn't just look expensive—it felt expensive. Like the kind of place where even your thoughts needed a dress code.

The floor was white marble, the real kind, not the fake tile shit people slap on their kitchen counters. It gleamed like it'd never known dirt. The chandeliers didn't hang—they dripped. Crystal so sharp and delicate it looked like it could whisper "get broke" at you and you'd feel it in your soul. Somewhere in the background, a live piano track played, soft and elegant.

Not off Spotify. No. This was the kind of ambiance that probably required a whole-ass licensing deal. Just existing in this lobby probably cost someone's rent.

There was no crowd. No foot traffic. No noisy kids or overworked front desk scrambling to check IDs.

This place wasn't busy—it was curated. Like someone personally approved the air itself before letting it in. Jayden stood still for a moment, breathing it in. Cold outside. Warm as sin in here.

Nobody asked him who he was. No clipboard. No suspicious glances.

The man led Jayden across the lobby and down a hallway that didn't even look like a hallway—it looked like part of a luxury watch commercial. Polished wood. Spotless mirrors. Recessed lighting that glowed without ever feeling bright.

They stopped in front of a sleek elevator with no visible buttons.

"This elevator only operates with biometrics," the guard said, voice flat but polite. "Follow me."

Jayden raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. They turned left, then stepped through a glass-panel door into what looked like a goddamn spaceship control room. Screens, panels, security feeds from every angle.

Another guy was inside, sitting at a curved console with touchscreens spread out like a hacker's wet dream.

Together, the two men helped Jayden register his fingerprints and scan his face. The entire process felt surgical—quick, quiet, and precise. Like they'd done this for way more important people. The people who didn't show up in hoodies and boots crusted with sidewalk snow.

Jayden couldn't help it—his curiosity crept up.

"Yo... who does live here?" he asked, glancing around like he was about to see a celebrity jump out of a vent. "Like... mistresses of oil tycoons? Retired assassins? Ghosts with a mortgage?"

The guy at the console cracked the smallest smirk. Didn't answer.

Figures.

They handed him a small black device after that—smooth, rectangular, maybe the size of a thick credit card.

"You can use this to register guests," the guard explained. "Max of two per unit. They'll be granted temporary access to the elevator and your private entry. You can update or delete guest access through the device or the tablet system inside."

Jayden nodded slowly, eyes narrowing at the thing like it might start talking. "Two guests, huh? Y'all really built this place for rich people with trust issues."

No reply. Again.

He sighed and pocketed the device, then made his way back to the elevator. It hadn't moved, hadn't opened for anyone else, hadn't even flinched. He stood in front of it, watched the scanner blink, and didn't even touch anything—but with a soft click, the doors slid open.

He stepped inside, glanced around, and hit the button for Floor 64.

If he had to guess, the panel probably scanned his fingerprint or read his aura or stole his DNA and sold it to a lab or whatever—because it definitely knew who he was.

The ride up was silent. Too silent. No muzak, no voice telling you the floor numbers. Just a slow, smooth glide up through luxury.

And when the elevator doors opened...

The hallway was the kind of quiet that rich people paid for. The air smelled like oakwood, clean metal, and money—not paper money, but that subtle scent of wealth: expensive polish, muted cologne, and fresh air pumped through a system that filtered out all signs of regular people.

His boots tapped gently on the dark, waxed wood. Not a single shoe print in sight.

No voices.

No distractions.

Just doors—tall, perfectly aligned, intimidating in their perfect stillness.

Jayden exhaled through his nose. "Alright, alright..." he muttered.

He hadn't even walked inside yet, but he could feel it.

The line.

He'd already crossed it.

The place didn't feel eerie, just... sterile. Like it had never seen chaos. Just the hush of wealth being too proud to echo. There were only three doors on the entire floor. His was the last one—64:3—tucked into the corner like the city itself had whispered, this one's for you, kid.

He pressed his finger to the smart pad and the door clicked. No dramatic glow, no AI voice welcoming him home. Just a soft hiss and a smooth open, like the building was letting him in because it already knew who he was.

Inside, Jayden froze.

The condo was... yeah. It was insane.

Two levels. Three bedrooms. Two balconies. The layout screamed penthouse living without ever needing to shout it. Smart glass walls wrapped the place, showing off the night skyline like it was part of the décor. Soundproof. Mood-lit. The whole thing pulsed with clean silence and automated warmth. The lights adjusted to him without asking.

The air felt filtered like the building was allergic to stress.

He went upstairs first. Didn't even bother checking the other rooms. The master bedroom was dark-toned, modern, and ridiculous. The bed looked like it cost more than everything he'd ever owned. Smooth marble floors, under-bed lights, blackout curtains.

There was a walk-in closet big enough to get lost in. He didn't even know what to do with that much space—he barely had enough clothes to fill a single drawer.

Then he checked the bathroom.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Black marble everywhere. A sunken tub made for sins, not baths. The skyline stared back at him through the glass like it respected the view just as much as he did.

He didn't say anything. Just exhaled. A little tighter than usual.

Back downstairs, he wandered into the living room again. Neutral tones, slick design, a chandelier hanging like wealth had a personality. The TV had to be over a hundred inches, sound bar built into the wall like it was born there.

When he got closer, he noticed a stack of black folders on the center table—each one labeled, minimal, clean. Manuals. For the entire place.

From the coffee machine to the smart blinds to the ice maker in the damn fridge.

He let out a slow, tired sigh and collapsed onto the couch.

It hugged him like it knew he needed it.

Way too soft. Way too good.

"Damn," he muttered, already feeling his eyes betray him. He wanted to test the system. Dig into everything he'd been given. Push buttons. Trigger updates. Hack reality.

But his body was still that same tired frame from before the money, before the condo, before the world changed.

So he closed his eyes.

Let the warmth bleed into his bones.

And just like that—

Jayden passed out.

Not as a broke kid anymore.

But as a kid who'd just stepped into a war disguised as paradise.

Or it was both.