The Little Things

Jack stepped into the kitchen, taking in the sleek, marble-topped counters.

The space looked more like a showroom than anything meant for actual cooking—stainless steel appliances, and a stovetop that gleamed under the morning light.

The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air—he hadn't brewed any, but the machine was state-of-the-art, pre-programmed for convenience.

Jack exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. Alright. Food. Shouldn't be hard.

He pulled the fridge door open, expecting the usual—maybe some frozen meals, basic groceries. Instead, he was met with an overwhelming selection of high-end ingredients. Organic vegetables, marbled cuts of meat, imported cheeses, and sauces in neatly labeled jars.

Jack frowned, staring at it all. "Right."

Who stocked this? Did the penthouse come pre-loaded with food?

His stomach growled again, breaking the thought.

Jack reached for a pack of eggs, then stopped. How the hell do I even start?

His brows furrowed as he set the carton down. Crack them? Scramble them? Do I need oil first?

He turned toward the sleek induction stove, staring at the control panel. There were too many settings—power levels, heat adjustments, even preset recipes.

A thought crept into his mind, something so painfully obvious that he let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

I've never cooked a meal in my life.

It wasn't just that he didn't know how—he had never even tried.

He ran a hand through his hair. That wasn't normal. Even people who never cooked knew how to—at least instinctively. He should've at least made instant noodles at some point, right?

No point dwelling on it now.

He turned on his heel, walking out of the kitchen into the living room. Grabbing his watch off the center table, and stepped into the elevator.

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Jack stepped out of the building, stretching. He glanced at his watch. 01:58 PM.

A black, high-end sedan idled at the curb, its engine humming softly.

Approaching it, he pulled the door open and slid into the backseat, the smooth leather cool beneath his palms. The driver, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes, glanced at him through the rearview mirror.

"Where to?"

Jack exhaled, adjusting his sleeves. "Somewhere with good food."

The driver smirked, shifting into gear. "Got just the place."

The car eased into traffic, gliding through the pristine streets of Vanguard Heights. Sunlight reflected off glass skyscrapers, painting shifting patterns across the dashboard. Jack leaned back, watching the city move past in a blur. As the sedan glided through Vanguard Heights, moving effortlessly past luxury boutiques and high-rise buildings bathed in the afternoon sun.

Jack leaned back in the seat, exhaling. Maybe it was time to buy a car. But then—again. He had never driven before.

Wait, I worked as a valet. Chuckling lightly at the thought.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "You ever been to The Vespari?"

Jack blinked. "No. Should I have?"

The man smiled. "Best food in Vanguard. Real exclusive—only the kind of place where money and name get you a table."

Jack smiled lightly. "Sounds perfect."

The driver nodded and pulled up to the curb in front of a sleek, understated building. No neon signs. No flashing lights. Just a polished black entrance and a golden emblem above the door—an elegant V intertwined with a laurel.

Jack stepped out, smoothing his top. The scent of something rich and seasoned lingered in the air. Whatever The Vespari served, it smelled expensive.

As he approached, a sharply dressed hostess greeted him with a professional but warm smile. "Welcome to The Vespari, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

Jack hesitated. Shit. He hadn't thought of that. "No, I don't. But can I make one now? I'll pay double if needed."

The hostess didn't so much as blink. "That won't be necessary, sir. However, we do offer an alternative—The Vespari VIP membership grants priority seating at any time. No reservations required."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Let's the do that then, oh and how much would that cost?"

"It depends on the tier." She tapped on her sleek tablet, turning the screen toward him. "Would you like to see the options?"

Jack nodded, scanning the options.

Gold Tier – Priority reservations, exclusive seasonal menus, and members-only wine selections.

Platinum Tier – All Gold perks + private dining access and event invitations.

Black Tier – Unlimited access, personal chef consultations, and a dedicated concierge service.

Jack let out a forced smile. Ridiculous. But fitting.

He tapped the Gold Tier without hesitation. "This one." Reaching into his pocket and her handing her the debit card

The hostess's smile widened as she accepted the card, her demeanor shifting ever so slightly. "An excellent choice, Mr. Vales."

With a few swift motions, she processed the transaction. A moment later, a confirmation chimed on his watch.

She said smoothly. "Right this way."

As he followed her into the restaurant, Jack glanced around—the place exuded quiet opulence. Luxury without the need to flaunt it.

I could get used to this.

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Sitting at his table, Jack glanced at the menu, the content on It was ridiculous—extravagant dishes with names he barely recognized. Ingredients sourced from across the world, each plate priced like a luxury car payment.

When the waiter arrived, Jack hesitated. He didn't know what half of this stuff even tasted like.

"Do you have a chef's special?" he asked, closing the menu.

The waiter nodded. "Indeed, sir. Today's special is pan-seared venison with truffle reduction and saffron-infused risotto."

Jack arched a brow. "Yeah… sure. I'll take that."

Minutes later, the dish arrived—artfully plated, the aroma rich and complex. Jack took a bite, expecting something pretentious. Instead, it was good.

Better than he thought it would be.

He chewed slowly, letting the flavors settle, but something nagged at him.

A prickle at the base of his neck. Accompanied by the subtle feeling of being watched. And yet, when he glanced up… nothing.

Jack casually glanced around the restaurant. Everything seemed normal—couples chatting, businessmen nursing expensive cocktails, servers moving between tables with polished grace.

No one was looking at him.

But that did little to make the feeling go away.

After eating, a notification popped up on the restaurant's glass table. Jack barely glanced at the total before tapping Confirm. He stood up, glancing around one last time. Still nothing. But the feeling remained.