Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 289: Parker Being Parker, Tessa Being… Wilder. Cassandra’s Obsession.

The VVIP lounge wasn't just some exclusive rich people's retreat—it was Tessa's spot.

Her territory.

Before Parker came into the picture, this was where she spent her time when she wasn't at school, home, or out with friends. If Tessa wasn't with someone, she was here. If she disappeared off the grid? She was here.

And it looked like it.

The massive space was a whole different world—dim golden lighting, plush velvet seating, expensive bottles displayed like trophies, and the kind of privacy that screamed "you can commit a felony here and no one would know."

Atalanta sank into one of the ridiculously soft chairs, stretching her legs as she flipped through the VVIP edition of Torque & Tycoons—a magazine so exclusive that even billionaires couldn't get their hands on it unless they were directly in the industry.

And, wow.

The Wilders didn't just sell cars. They decided what rich people drove.

Each page was practically a flex—new hypercars, custom models, one-off commissions that made normal Ferraris look like rental Civics.

Yet…

That one car? The beast Tessa showed them? Not. Fucking. Here.

Atalanta frowned, flipping back and forth. She'd seen stupidly expensive cars, military-grade hypercars, even stuff that probably needed government clearance to own—but not that one.

Was it a secret?

She glanced up at Tessa and Parker, who were locked in some serious-ass conversation in hushed tones. No jokes. No flirting. Just straight business.

Atalanta wasn't about to ask.

She didn't want to know.

Instead, she tossed her phone on the table, exhaling. That's when it buzzed with a message.

Atlanta leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, lazily scrolling through her phone while a server quietly placed a fresh drink next to her. The VVIP treatment was kinda addicting.

Across from her, Parker and Tessa were locked in conversation, Parker as composed as ever, Tessa flipping her hair with that spoiled billionaire daughter confidence, her voice dropping just low enough that Atlanta couldn't eavesdrop. Annoying.

Her phone buzzed.

Cassandra: Where are you?

Atlanta smirked, fingers tapping lazily.

Atlanta: With Parker.

Instant bubbles.

Cassandra: EXCUSE ME?? WHERE.

Atlanta took a slow sip of her drink, barely holding back a laugh.

Atlanta: Damn, why you sound like I just said I'm with your man? Relax.

Parker shifted, leaning back against the couch, his movements stupidly smooth, like everything he did was on purpose. Next to him, Tessa picked up a tiny pastry from a gold-plated tray, barely glancing at it before taking a bite. Billionaire kids ate like the world was their buffet.

Cassandra: BITCH, I AM RELAXED. WHERE IS HE.

Another tray of snacks appeared, like magic. Atlanta grabbed one, humming in satisfaction.

Atlanta: Somewhere expensive. Too expensive for you. Like, the kinda place where even the air costs money.

Cassandra's aggressive typing bubbles popped up so fast.

Cassandra: FIRST OF ALL, FUCK YOU. SECOND OF ALL, I HAVE MONEY.

Atlanta snorted. Across the room, Tessa tucked her legs under her, still deep in conversation with Parker, her expression shifting between charming and dead serious. She had that billionaire negotiation face on. Interesting.

Atlanta: Sweetie, you're rich, but this is old money rich. You walk in here, and a butler would kindly tell you to use the back door.

Cassandra's next text came in violent.

Cassandra: DROP. THE. LOCATION.

Atlanta licked pastry crumbs off her fingers, glancing at Parker. His elegance was just so unnecessary, the way he sat there like he owned the world, while Tessa spoke with the kind of ease that only came from never hearing the word no in her life.

Atlanta: Why? So you can embarrass yourself in front of the 1%?

Cassandra: NO. SO I CAN SEE PARKER. UNSUPERVISED. WITH YOU. SUSPICIOUS.

Atlanta grinned.

Cassandra was obsessed with Parker in a way that was borderline unhinged. Not like she had a crush—no, this was seer obsession.

Like, she saw some weird prophetic shit and now Parker was her favorite documentary series.

Atlanta: You sound like a jealous girlfriend.

Cassandra: I AM NOT JEALOUS. I AM CONCERNED.

Atlanta: Right. And my hair is naturally this perfect.

Tessa grabbed another snack without looking, Parker shifting just slightly, his gaze flicking over to Atlanta for half a second before going back to Tessa. Okay, nosy.

Cassandra: SHUT UP AND DROP THE LOCATION.

Atlanta: Say please.

Cassandra: FUCK YOU.

Atlanta: That's not "please."

A second passed, then—

Cassandra: Please, you whore.

Atlanta cackled, making a passing attendant glance her way.

Atlanta: Awww, see? That wasn't so hard. But no.

Cassandra: I WILL KILL YOU.

Atlanta: Babe, you can't afford my funeral.

A pause. Then—

Cassandra: I hate you.

Atlanta: No, you don't. Now go be creepy somewhere else.

Cassandra: This isn't over.

Atlanta grinned, locking her phone as a fresh round of drinks arrived. Across from her, Parker murmured something that made Tessa smirk, her nails tapping against her glass. Whatever they were plotting, Atlanta wasn't about to ask.

She was having way too much fun already.

*

Parker had dug deep into the Wilders the day Tessa showed up at school and then somehow ended up moving in with him. Like, obviously, he wasn't just gonna take that at face value—that was some mafia-tier shit if you thought about it. So he spent the night researching the fuck out of her family, figuring out exactly who they were, what they did, and why the hell they were so damn powerful.

And yeah—they were a big deal.

The Wilders didn't just sell luxury cars—they controlled the entire market of high-end, custom, "so-exclusive-even-billionaires-have-waitlists" type vehicles. If a man had a stupid amount of money and an ego to match, chances were, he bought from the Wilders.

Fast forward to now—post-awakening, post-insane shit going down—and before the girls disappeared into the Training Space, Parker had brought it up to Tessa. They were lying there, still tangled in the aftermath of round one, and Parker, because he was Parker, casually said—

"So, I'm thinking about buying some cars."

And just like that, Tessa lit up like fucking Christmas.

She'd been waiting for this. Apparently, she'd wanted to talk to him about it too, but things had been moving so fast, she never got the chance. But, of course, Parker had brought it up first.

Because he's him.

And Tessa? She was so happy that Parker, being the absolute menace that he was, had to fuck her again in the bathroom just to make the point.

Now, here's where shit got interesting. Apparently, Tessa hadn't just waltzed into Parker's life and decided to move in with him like some rebellious rich girl cliché. No, no—she had to negotiate that shit like a corporate merger. And why? Because—shocker—her dad was not having it.

Like, at all. Dude straight-up refused. Shut that shit down before it even left the driveway. Probably sat there in some ridiculous handmade Italian suit, sipping whiskey in a gold-trimmed glass, and said something dramatic like, "Over my dead body." Typical overprotective billionaire dad energy.

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But here's where it gets spicy—her grandfather stepped in. And the thing about the Wilders? When Grandfather Wilder speaks, shit happens.

So Tessa's dad—who probably thought he was the boss of the family—had to sit his ass down while the actual boss made the call. And yeah, sure, Grandpa Wilder gave the green light for her to move in with Parker. But, obviously, there was a catch. Because there's always a fucking catch.

The Condition!

Tessa had one month to do something. And not just anything—something that the Wilders themselves thought was "too much" for her. Which was crazy, because… she's a fucking Wilder. The same Tessa Wilder who could probably drive a Bugatti before she could walk and hustle billionaires out of their money with a single smile.

Like, what the hell did they think was "too much" for her? Selling a car to the Pope? Driving blindfolded? Outsmarting her own family? Whatever it was, it had to be some top-tier, life-changing, blood-oath-level type of deal. And if she didn't pull it off? She had to go back home. No discussions. No negotiations. No extensions.

And—most importantly—no Parker. Which, let's be real, was not fucking happening.