SkyHigh Estates sat perched around the pristine SkyHigh Lake, a postcard-perfect slice of Westfield where the air smelled like money and the views screamed luxury. It was the go-to spot for the city's elite—think CEOs, trust-fund brats, and that one guy who won the lottery and immediately bought a yacht. Villas there didn't come cheap. Most clocked in at $3-4 million, but the crown jewels—Villas #1, #6, #8, #11, and #18—were the biggest and baddest, each tagged at a cool $5 million.
In Westfield, a sleepy little nowhere town, $5 million for a house was bonkers—like dropping a spaceship in a trailer park. And Ethan Black? He'd just snagged Villa #8—one of the priciest pads in the joint—for thirty cents.
Staring at his phone's search results, Ethan's jaw hit the floor. "SkyHigh Estates, Villa #8," he muttered, still processing. He'd figured the game's "Luxury Mansion" would be some decent $2 million crib—nice, but not this. "Five million bucks for pocket lint? This app's basically Robin Hood, but I'm the only one getting rich!"
The math blew his mind. With the $600,000 Ferrari SF90 already in the bag, his net worth had skyrocketed from a measly grand to over $5.5 million—all for fifty cents. "That's, what, a 5,000-times jump?" he cackled. "Eat your heart out, Wall Street. I'm halfway to a billion!" SkyHigh staff would call soon to seal the deal, but the Ferrari? That baby was parked on campus now. No way was he skipping a peek at his first ride.
He patted his pocket—yep, the SF90's keys were there, sleek and real. "First car's a supercar," he grinned. "Most guys start with a rusty Honda. Me? I'm living the Fast and Furious dream!" Good thing he'd nabbed his license over summer break, or he'd be stuck drooling from the sidelines.
Ethan bolted to the parking lot, heart pounding. There it was: a cherry-red Ferrari SF90, gleaming like a predator among a herd of dented sedans. Its curves screamed speed, power, and "look at me." He unlocked it with a beep, slid into the leather seat, and inhaled that new-car smell. "Oh yeah," he said, gripping the wheel. "This beats my mom's minivan by a light-year."
After a few minutes of pretending he was in a car chase montage, he locked it up and hit the cafeteria. He'd earned those tacos. Back in the dorm, though, his roommates—Jake, Mikey, and Tim—were huddled like conspiracy theorists, buzzing about something big.
"Dude, Old Larry just texted," Jake said, eyes wide. "He saw a supercar in the lot!"
"No way!" Mikey gasped. "A real one? Here? I thought that was just movie stuff—rich kids flexing in college."
"Right?" Tim chimed in. "I've only seen Lambos on my Xbox. Now we've got one IRL? Insane!"
Their envy was palpable—supercars were the ultimate guy fantasy, right up there with dating a pop star. Then footsteps echoed, and in swaggered Brad "Big Man" Harrison, the king of humblebrags.
"What's the buzz, losers?" Brad asked, smirking like he'd just won a free buffet.
"Oh, nothing," Jake said, turning. "Just—get this—there's a supercar on campus. Old Larry spotted it."
Brad's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. "A supercar? Sweet! I've only seen one from, like, a mile away. Let's check it out!"
"Yeah, but it's blazing out there," Mikey groaned. "Morning training roasted us. How about dusk?"
"Good call," Tim nodded, then texted Old Larry. "Yo, did you snap pics? I need proof!"
"Whoever owns that thing's a legend," Jake sighed. "College and a supercar? That's my whole bucket list!"
"For real," Mikey added. "We're out here eating ramen, and this dude's living my GTA fantasies."
Ethan stayed quiet, smirking internally. But Brad? His face twitched into a sly grin, the kind that screamed "watch me flex."
"College kid with a supercar," Brad mused, stepping into the circle. "Pretty badass, huh? Wonder who it is?"
"Man, if I could just meet that guy," Jake said. "Even a handshake would level up my cool points!"
Brad coughed dramatically, puffing out his chest. "Well, hate to break it to ya, but… that supercar's mine. I was tryna keep it low-key, you know, stay humble." His "humble" face looked more like a peacock mid-strut.
The room froze. "What?!" Jake choked. "You?!"
"No freakin' way," Mikey stammered. "You're the supercar king? Since when?!"
Brad soaked it in, grinning ear to ear. After Sophia's water stunt had dunked on his girlfriend flex, he'd been itching for revenge. His family wasn't mega-rich, but they had enough to spoil him. When he got his license, they'd planned a sensible BMW—until Brad begged for a Porsche 718. Base model, sure, but at $80,000 (he rounded it up to "near a million" for clout), it was still a status beast.
He'd called home during training break, had his dad drop it off, and rolled it onto campus like a conquering hero. Lunch was just a pit stop to plot the perfect reveal. This dorm chat? Golden opportunity.
"Yep, Porsche 718," Brad bragged. "Cost me a cool mil—well, almost. Entry-level, but it's got juice. You guys wanna ride sometime? I'm generous like that."
"No way!" Jake squealed. "A Porsche? I'd kiss the tires!"
"Count me in!" Mikey beamed. "This is unreal!"
But Tim frowned, squinting at his phone. "Hold up. Something's off." He'd just gotten Old Larry's reply. "Brad, your ride's a Porsche 718, right?"
"Yeah, duh," Brad nodded, still basking.
"Then we've got a problem," Tim said, holding up the screen. "Larry says it's a Ferrari SF90—$600,000 minimum!"
Brad's smug mask cracked. "Wait, what?!"
Ethan, leaning against the wall, coughed to hide a laugh. "Oops," he muttered under his breath.
The room erupted. "A Ferrari?!" Jake yelped. "That's not just a car—that's a spaceship!"
"Forget Porsche," Mikey said, turning on Brad. "You've been dethroned, dude!"
"Who's the real baller then?" Tim wondered, eyes darting.
Brad floundered. "Uh, maybe Larry's blind! Mine's a Porsche—red, shiny, you'll see!" But his voice wavered.
Ethan's phone buzzed. He peeked:
[Purchase Confirmed: Armored Limo, $1.25 – Auto-Activated]
[Next Suggested Item: Private Island, $2.50]
[Warning: Reality's Shifting. Buckle Up.]
His smirk vanished. "Auto-activated again?" he whispered. First Sophia's "premium" water, now a limo? Outside, a horn blared—deep, loud, like a tank rolling in. The guys rushed to the window. There, behind the Ferrari, sat a sleek, black armored limo, tinted windows gleaming.
"Holy—" Jake gasped. "A limo and a Ferrari? Who's this guy?!"
Brad's face went pale. "That's… not mine."
Ethan swallowed hard. The game was spiraling—and someone was still knocking at his door from last chapter. "Uh, guys," he said, edging back. "I'll catch you later."