"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Armani," a female sales associate greeted, bowing slightly as Liam stepped into the store.
The polished interior glistened under warm lights. Everything smelled like cologne, luxury, and quiet confidence.
Without hesitation, Liam spoke. "Please get me some clothes, shoes, and the necessary accessories. I want something simple. My budget is $30,000."
The associate's brows lifted just slightly, the professional smile never leaving her face. "Understood. Please follow me, sir."
She turned and led him toward a private waiting room, where clients of a certain status were usually seated.
***
Inside, Liam relaxed in a plush, cream-colored chair, scrolling through his phone while waiting. His mind wasn't on social media or random videos. It was on his future.
He now had a system—a mysterious power promising to make him the most powerful and wealthiest man alive. And honestly, he had no plans of chasing grand ambitions. Not yet.
For the past four years, while others his age partied and dreamed, Liam was buried in double shifts and manual labor. He worked through sickness, slept through hunger, and existed more than lived. Every penny he earned vanished into bills, loans, and the debt his parents dumped on him like trash.
Now he had a chance to breathe.
A chance to live.
And that's all he wanted for now.
If the system wants to make me powerful, then fine. But for now… I'm going to enjoy this ride. For once, I'll let life be easy.
His thoughts were interrupted when the associate returned, arms full with curated selections. She laid out the clothing, shoes, and accessories with practiced grace.
"These were chosen to your budget and request. Do let me know what you think."
Liam looked over the neatly presented pieces—tailored suits, casual designer wear, handmade leather shoes, wristwatches, belts. All neutral tones. Clean cuts. Nothing flashy, but everything screamed wealth.
"I'll take all of it," he said.
"Of course. I'll prepare the packaging and payment terminal."
A few minutes later, bags in hand, Liam left the store. He opened the door to his red Maserati GranTurismo, tossed the bags onto the passenger seat, and slid in behind the wheel. The leather welcomed him like a throne. He started the engine and drove back toward his penthouse in Palm Ville Estate.
***
Back in the penthouse, Liam walked straight into his bedroom. He placed the shopping bags on the bed, undressed, and stepped into the marbled bathroom.
Warm water poured over him, washing away more than dirt. It felt like it was rinsing off every bad memory, every unpaid bill, every insult, every time someone told him he wouldn't make it.
After the bath, he dressed in one of his new outfits—a dark navy dress shirt tucked into light grey slacks, paired with matte black leather shoes and a matching belt. He chose a simple silver wristwatch to complete the look.
He turned to the full-length mirror by the closet and paused.
The reflection looking back at him almost startled him.
He was eighteen, with short dark hair neatly combed to the side. His face wasn't the most handsome, but it was well-shaped and clean. His ocean-blue eyes, normally dulled by exhaustion, now looked sharp and alert.
His body still looked skinny and tired but that would change very soon.
As for new clothes? It hugged him perfectly, outlining his slim frame with precision. He looked elegant, rich, and capable.
It was hard to believe he was the same guy who, just yesterday, had been cleaning dishes and getting screamed at by customers.
"It's true what they say," Liam muttered. "Clothes really do maketh the man."
He gathered his old clothes—worn, torn, and stained—and tossed them into the trash.
He wasn't going back to that version of himself.
Ever again.
***
Liam walked into the living room, planning to lounge on the sofa and watch a movie. Just as he reached for the remote, his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
It was his former boss—the same man who had fired him just earlier today.
Liam stared at the name for a few seconds, then pressed the lock button and placed the phone face-down on the couch. He wasn't in the mood for whatever excuse or insult the man was ready to spew.
Instead, he scrolled through the streaming options and picked a random action movie. The loud gunfire and explosions on-screen felt oddly soothing.
Hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon. The city skyline shimmered through the penthouse windows.
By the time Liam turned off the TV, it was well past 9 p.m. He picked up his phone again and checked it—seven missed calls and three messages, all from his ex-boss.
He opened the messages. As expected, they were a mix of excuses and veiled accusations.
"We can't process your severance now. Business has been terrible. Especially after what happened with that woman. She's threatened legal action."
"You shouldn't have said what you did. You know the rules. Don't make this harder than it already is."
Liam chuckled dryly.
He hadn't expected to receive the money anyway, but the way the man twisted the situation into his fault still made his blood simmer.
Almost a year of working under that petty tyrant. Always walking on eggshells. Always having his pay cut for the most minor "infractions." Always being threatened with dismissal like it was a sword over his head.
A bitter memory surfaced—his boss once deducting half his salary because a customer complained he didn't smile "warmly enough."
Liam gripped the phone tightly.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
And tossed the phone onto the couch.
Let it go, he told himself. He's no longer worth your anger.
If he sought revenge on every person who used or stepped on him, he'd spend the rest of his life chasing shadows.
That wasn't living.
That was a different kind of prison.
But as for his parents?
He would never forgive them.
Not now. Not ever.
---
The next morning, Liam woke refreshed. The sunlight poured into the penthouse through the full glass windows.
The system's daily sign-in hadn't appeared yet, but Liam was already anticipating what reward might come next.
After a quick bath, he dressed in another new outfit—white sneakers, slim dark jeans, a fitted charcoal polo shirt, and a new black leather wallet in his back pocket.
He wanted to pick up groceries today. It might sound odd to some—why cook when you could order anything? But Liam had always wanted to cook in a beautiful kitchen, not the cramped fire hazard he used to rent.
The elevator ride was smooth, silent. He felt calm.
But as the elevator door slid open, he was startled to find someone standing directly in front of it.
It was a familiar face.
Stacy's.