Ding!
[Transaction Completed!]
[One hundred and fifty million dollars have been deducted!]
[You're now the owner of Macbeth Furiosa!]
Selene leaned back against the plush leather of her brand-new Macbeth Furiosa, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The car was absurdly high-tech—screens everywhere, buttons that didn't look like buttons, and a control panel that required a PhD to operate.
She had driven taxis, delivery trucks, and even an old beat-up minivan when she was desperate. But this? This was an alien spaceship disguised as a car.
[System Alert! Vehicular Incompetence Detected!]
[Would you like to spend 50 Star Coins to unlock Super Advanced Driving Skill?]
Selene raised a suspicious brow. Fifty Star Coins were worth fifty million dollars. What special driving skills would amount to that much?
But hey, it was all free money!
She shrugged and accepted.
Ding!
[Super Advanced Driving Skill Unlocked!]
[You can now drive all Earthly inventions!]
[Bonus Perks: Unnecessary Tokyo Drift tendencies! You will also have a 12% chance of summoning a street race wherever you go!]
Selene suddenly felt a rush of warmth coursing through her veins. Her fingers deftly tightened around the steering wheel, and in an instant—woosh! The Machbeth ran over the highway like a wild horse!
Before Selene could even register the traffic and police, her reflexes kicked in, and she swiftly dodged any obstacles.
Her heartbeats picked up.
Then, she glanced at the countdown in her peripheral vision.
[Time Remaining: Four and a half hours.]
Selene grimaced.
"System, what happens if I fail this quest?"
She had already spent an outrageous amount of money, buying up William's legacy and leaving him one bad day away from an aneurysm. And yet, she still had a stupidly large amount left to burn.
The system responded in its usual dry, slightly ominous tone.
[Failure Consequence: All transactions will be reversed.]
[Properties? Gone.]
[Money? Poof.]
[Prestige? Vanished.]
Selene narrowed her eyes. "Okay, that's bad, but—"
[Even Blackie may be at risk.]
She froze.
The kitten might be at risk?
Then, without thinking, she slammed the brakes. The Maybach screeched to a halt so violently that Ricky, sitting in the passenger seat, let out a strangled yelp and clutched his seatbelt like it was his last lifeline.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BLACKIE MAY BE AT RISK?!"
[The system does not offer exceptions for feline dependents.]
Selene felt her world tilt.
"Oh, hell no," she muttered. "I am not losing this quest. If I have to personally buy every grain of sand on this planet, so be it."
She slammed her foot down on the accelerator, sending Ricky flying back against his seat.
"Miss Sinclair—!"
"Shut up, Ricky. I need a plan."
Back at Crystal Avenue, Ricky barely had time to recover before Selene gracefully stepped out of the car, adjusting the cuff of her expensive new blazer. The city lights reflected off her diamond bracelet as she approached the newly acquired building.
Ricky followed quickly, still looking slightly winded. In his mind, there were a thousand racing thoughts. 'What's wrong with the Sinclair heiress?'
'Why is she recklessly buying everything? Why is she speaking to herself?'
Ricky kept his thoughts to himself.
Regardless of his doubts, he always knew better than to question those who could easily make him go bankrupt. He cleared his throat, went straight to the CEO's office, and returned to Selene half an hour later.
"Miss Sinclair. The deal has been finalized. Crystal Avenue now belongs to the Hamilton Group." He informed calmly.
Selene turned to him with a slow, satisfied smile. "And, as of today, I am the Hamilton Group."
Ricky opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He simply gave a small bow of acknowledgment.
Smart man.
Inside, Selene walked through the pristine lobby with the confidence of someone who had owned the place for years rather than just a few hours.
She reached the top floor and pushed open the doors to William Sinclair's office without so much as a knock.
He was lounging in his chair, whiskey in hand, completely oblivious to the financial hurricane about to destroy his world.
Then he saw her.
For a full three seconds, he just stared.
The Selene Sinclair he knew was supposed to be a desperate nobody, clinging to the fringes of high society. But the woman standing before him now?
Hair styled to perfection. Clothes that whispered old money. A presence that demanded attention.
She looked like she belonged.
And his heart almost dropped. Has his stupid brother really taken Selene back into the family? His eyes darkened. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Selene smirked. "Just checking in on my new property."
His laughed loudly, "Has all those years of poverty finally made you lose your mind?"
She let out a soft, pitying sigh. "Oh, William… you really should pay attention to the fine print."
With a practiced flick of her wrist, she dropped a thick stack of documents onto his desk. "You sold Crystal Avenue to Hamilton Group, remember?"
His fingers clenched around the whiskey glass. "That has nothing to do with you."
Selene's smile widened. "Actually, it has everything to do with me. Because I'm Hamilton Group's biggest shareholder."
Silence.
The kind of silence that stretched, suffocating, as realization dawned on him like a very slow, very painful sunrise.
"You—"
"Yes, me," she said sweetly, enjoying the way his face twisted with disbelief. "And do you know what that means?"
She let the moment breathe, drawing it out, savoring it.
"You're fired."
It hit him like a physical slap.
William shot up from his chair, his face turning an impressive shade of red. "You can't fire me! I own this company!"
Selene blinked at him. "Owned. Past tense." She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper. "But don't worry. I am hiring. Maybe janitorial work is more your speed?"
His entire body tensed. His jaw locked, fists clenched at his sides.
Through gritted teeth, he spat, "My brother will hear about this."
Selene simply shrugged.
William stormed out, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass walls trembled.
She had never heard a more satisfying sound.
By the time Selene reached her newly acquired penthouse, she was on a mission.
She now had four hours left to burn an absurd amount of money.
Selene started by making calls.
The white, minimalistic penthouse started undergoing a full renovation to restore the place exactly as it was when she was a child.
Her next purchase were a few private islands.
A world-class chef, previously employed by actual royalty.
A custom indoor playground for Blackie.
Ding!
[Three hundred million dollars have been deducted!]
Ding!
[One hundred million dollars have been deducted!]
Ding!
[Five dollars have been deducted!]
And yet—not enough.
She glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes.
Her stomach twisted.
"System, give me ideas!"
[Here are the next possible purchases in different industries to minimalize suspicions: A fleet of vintage sports cars. A rare diamond collection. A private concert featuring a retired rock legend.]
Selene agreed to all of them.
The Insta-pay app instantly made payments.
[Time remaining: Forty Minutes.]
"Ugh, not fast enough!" She groaned. "Charities! Let's do them!"
The app instantly showed a list of available charities where she could spend as much money as possible. At the bottom of the screen, there was an option to "Donate All". She pressed it right away.
Ding!
[You have donated a hundred million dollars to the Children's Hospital!]
Ding!
[You have donated a hundred million dollars to Animal Welfare!]
Ding!
[You have donated a hundred million dollars to Carnivorous Rights!]
Ding!
[You have spent five hundred million dollars in total! Fifty percent progress complete!]
And yet, still not enough.
Selene stared at the countdown. Fifteen minutes.
Her mind raced. There had to be something—anything—left to buy.
Then, suddenly—
Ding!
.
.
.
.
In a subterranean command center beneath the World Bank, a series of red alerts blinked across twelve different digital vaults.
A technician with a PhD in Financial Systems and a noob in existential dread stared at the screen.
"Sir," Warren whispered. "We've just had five hundred million dollars vanish. Simultaneously. From twelve institutions. All traced to internal movements. No withdrawal records. No recipients. Just… gone."
The senior analyst—a man who hadn't taken a vacation in seventeen years because he didn't trust other people with "the buttons"—removed his glasses slowly.
"Is this a cyberattack? Someone hacked into our vaults?"
Warren smiled painfully. "No, sir. It's... it's like the money politely asked to leave, and the vaults agreed to let it go.""
They both stared at the flickering anomaly report. On every screen, one word repeated over and over in corrupted code:
"FINAL ASCENSION INITIATED."
The room suddenly started to feel colder.
Someone, somewhere, had just poked a tiny hole in the global economy.
And that someone was curled on a custom velvet couch, eating instant ramen in a diamond-encrusted bowl, completely unaware of the avalanche she'd just started.