Megan wasn't just excited—she was completely exhilarated.
The moment they stepped into the underwater suite, she tugged Jason's hand eagerly, pulling him down the spiral staircase to the lower floor. When her eyes fell on the view, she froze in wonder.
It wasn't just a room. It was an ocean dream.
Outside the massive glass walls stretched a crystal-blue world. Exotic fish, stingrays, and even a few curious sharks glided past, so close it felt like she could reach out and touch them.
Whether sitting on the cushioned window bench or lying on the bed, the ocean was right there, alive and breathing around them.
Megan was spellbound. Even Jason, calm as ever, found himself quietly impressed.
He thought to himself: This really is how the wealthy live first. Most people will never touch this kind of luxury in their whole lives. Imagine working hard for years just to save enough for a single night here…
The two lingered in the suite for a while, then wandered out to explore the resort. Guests had unlimited access to The Dig, the world's largest open-air marine habitat. Glass tunnels wrapped around colossal aquariums filled with sea life from every corner of the globe.
Later, they headed to the resort's massive water park. As hotel guests, they could ride every slide, float through every lazy river, and swim in every pool without limit.
When Megan changed into her swimsuit, Jason couldn't help but notice. If Holly Larson was athletic and toned, and Grace was voluptuous, then Megan was something else entirely—soft curves, fluid movements, and a lithe figure that seemed made for the water. Her back, in particular, was perfect, its graceful line ending at a narrow waist that made her silhouette dangerously alluring.
For her part, Megan caught her first glimpse of Jason without his shirt. She normally valued personality and capability over looks, but even she couldn't deny—her eyes lit up instantly.
Megan: Favorability +2.
That evening, they strolled to the beach. The Bahamian waters were clearer than anything Megan had ever seen, glowing turquoise beneath the setting sun. They lay back on the sand and watched the fiery sky fade into twilight, the waves whispering around them.
The next morning, Jason had arranged a private yacht—worth well over $15 million. It wasn't just a boat, it was a floating party. DJs mixed music on the deck, a violinist played beside the waves, and a private chef served fresh lobster and champagne. A diving instructor guided them into the water, and Megan gasped into her mask as schools of tropical fish darted around her.
Aquariums were one thing. But seeing the ocean alive, right in front of you? That was something else.
The following days were a blur of adventure. They tried everything—wake surfing, parasailing over the glittering waves, a helicopter tour of the islands, horseback rides along the shore, even racing jet-skis at top speed.
Megan was overwhelmed, intoxicated. She had been to beaches before, but nothing like this. Here, money erased every problem, leaving only pure joy.
Her favorability didn't jump as sharply as it had at the start, but it kept rising steadily. +1, +1, +1…
Megan: Favorability 73/80. Only 7 points left.
That night, they moved to another hotel—The Ocean Club, A Four Seasons Resort, famed for its sweeping views of the Atlantic and its exclusive, private beachfront.
After dinner, Jason and Megan sat on the sand, the ocean breeze warm and salty, while Mark approached with a middle-aged man at his side.
"Mr Jason," Mark introduced, "this is Mr. Harris, the regional director of the Everton Society."
Mr. Harris extended a hand politely. "A pleasure to meet you. I hope your trip arrangements have met your expectations? If there's anything you're dissatisfied with, please let me know personally."
Jason gave a small nod. "Yes, everything's been excellent."
Mr. Harris smiled. "Good to hear. Then, if you'd like, I'd like to extend you an invitation to join our Everton Society. For someone like you, membership is automatic. No conditions required."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Everton Society? The name sounds familiar… What exactly is it?"
Mr. Harris chuckled lightly. "The fun Mark handles is just a small part. The Society itself is an exclusive private club. Every member is a top-tier entrepreneur, investor, or leader in their field. Through our network, you'll find opportunities and connections you can't get anywhere else."
Jason leaned back slightly, thoughtful. Clearly, this was about more than just luxury—it was about power.
Old Mark leaned closer to Jason and Megan, his tone more serious than before.
"The Prestige Car League I brought you to earlier? That's just a small circle. Fun, but not serious."
He gave a self-deprecating smile. "In that group, I count as middle-upper at best. Honestly, standing next to you there, I felt a little embarrassed."
"But the Everton Society…" He gestured toward Mr. Harris. "That's a whole different league. In that circle, I'm not even a member—just staff. This is the kind of club truly built for someone like you, Jason. The people here are on your level."
Jason nodded slowly. Money he had. But connections? Those were harder to buy. If the so-called "Car League" already showed the value of networking, then this Society was worth taking seriously.
"Since there aren't any conditions," Jason said evenly, "I'll join."
Mr. Harris's eyes lit up. "Excellent. I'll get your registration processed immediately and add you to our private network."
He tapped quickly on his phone, then gestured for Jason to check his.
Jason entered the group and immediately noticed something: a clear ranking system. At the top were V0 Members, then V3, V2, and V1 at the base. Jason, just added, was listed as V1.
Jason asked calmly, "How do you move up levels?"
Mr. Harris explained, "Two ways—spending power, or capital verification. I hesitated to even bring it up, since some people find it crass. But with your means, moving up will be no issue. It's just a matter of how far you want to go."
Jason knew well enough: class divisions exist everywhere. Even within exclusive clubs, hierarchies form. And if you want your voice to carry weight, you need to stand at the top.
"Then let's do a capital check," Jason said without hesitation.
Mr. Harris adjusted his tone to something more formal. "For capital verification: a verified liquid deposit of $1 million places you at V2. $2 million at V3. And $5 million or more…"
He didn't finish. Jason had already pulled out his phone and slid it across.
The bank app balance glowed.
$20 million. Liquid, available, sitting in one account.
Mr. Harris and Old Mark both froze. Then, almost at the same time, they sucked in sharp breaths.
To most people, "assets" could mean real estate, cars, or investments—none of which equaled real cash in hand. Even billionaires could struggle to free up tens of millions in liquidity.
But $120 million just sitting there? That was a different level altogether.
Mr. Harris's hands trembled as he spoke. "Mr. Jason… I'll upgrade you directly to VIP. Effective immediately."
Across the table, Megan hadn't seen Jason's exact balance, but she'd caught enough. Mr. Harris had been perfectly calm mentioning tens of millions. But the moment Jason showed his number, Harris's face changed completely—frightened, reverent.
It didn't take a genius to realize Jason's wealth was in an entirely different stratosphere.
Megan's gaze softened further, her heart racing. This wasn't just wealth. This was power.
Megan: Favorability +5.
Subtly, Megan slipped out her phone and opened her private "shortlist"—a ranking she kept of men worth investing her time in. Jason's name, which had lingered lower before, she dragged straight to the very top.
The truth was, after Jason had once casually dropped tens of millions to buy a restaurant just to defend her honor, she'd almost placed him there. But something had held her back—he didn't seem easily controlled, and she liked men who fell hopelessly into her orbit.
But now? His strength was undeniable. The kind of strength that made everything else irrelevant.
And Megan loved that feeling.