Chapter Eleven: "One Room, One Yacht, and a Whole Lot of Awkward"

Ethan caught the desk clerk's sly wink and instantly clocked the vibe. Oh, you sneaky little matchmaker. The guy thought he was wingmanning a romantic getaway. Ethan stifled a laugh—him and Sophia Winters, campus Ice Queen, as a couple? They'd barely swapped five sentences! But the clerk's "only one room" stunt turned the air thick with awkward.

Sophia's face went cherry-red, her cool-girl armor cracking. "Uh…" she mumbled, eyeing the exit like it was a lifeboat. The clerk, undeterred, doubled down: "Look, it's late—most hotels are booked solid. One room's a steal, and it's gonna go fast. You two lovebirds'll be fine!" He grinned, tossing Ethan another go get 'er nod.

Lovebirds?! Sophia's blush hit nuclear levels. Ethan wavered between amusement and panic. Any other night, a bro like this would be a legend, but now? Total misfire. "Yo, dude," Ethan cut in, "we're not a thing. And it's three of us—my cousin's coming back."

The clerk blinked, caught off guard. "Oh… uh, my bad!" He glanced at his screen, suddenly all business. "Whoops, silly me—turns out we've got three rooms. Honest mistake!" His acting was Oscar-worthy, but the smirk said he knew he'd fumbled.

"Cool, book 'em," Ethan said. He'd planned two—Abby and Sophia could bunk—but three felt safer. Less chance of more rom-com mix-ups. The clerk swiped their IDs, handed over keys, and Ethan and Sophia parked in the lobby to wait for Abigail "Abby" Carter.

Minutes later, Abby strutted in, toting a bag of mangoes. "Smoothie plan bombed, but I scored fruit!" she chirped. Truth was, she'd almost bailed to give Ethan and Sophia alone time—classic wingwoman move—but chickened out. Sophia's local, with a house in Westfield; she might've bolted home if Abby ditched. Gotta play the long game, Abby thought. Why'd she stick around at PrimeBite earlier? Uh… those truffle fries were too good, okay?

The trio hit the elevators, each claiming a room. Ethan dialed his dorm's RA, faking a cough: "Caught a bug, crashing off-campus tonight." Cleared for the night, he flopped on the bed and pulled out his phone. Dinner and wandering had left him parched. About to chug the hotel's overpriced water, he paused. Flashback: Sophia braving the sun to deliver him water. Clutch move. Maybe she was thirsty too?

"Payback time," he grinned. No water, though—that's basic. Girls love milkshakes, right? He tapped an app, ordered three—chocolate for him, strawberry for Sophia, mango for Abby. Twenty minutes later, delivery arrived. Ethan grabbed Sophia's shake and headed to her room, knocking softly.

"Who's there?" Sophia's voice came, edgy. She was mid-shower prep, towel in hand.

"It's Ethan," he called.

Sophia froze. Ethan? At 11 p.m.? Her mind raced to rom-com clichés—late-night confessions, cheesy tropes. Cheeks flaming, she cracked the door. "Uh… what's up?"

"Just dropping off a milkshake," Ethan said, holding it out. "Figured you might be thirsty. Thanks for the water earlier."

"Oh!" Sophia's tension melted, swapped for sheepish relief. "I… thanks, that's sweet." She took the shake, embarrassed by her overthinking. "Come in?" Ethan stepped inside, setting the cup down. "No biggie," he said, waving off her thanks.

She sipped, about to chat, when another knock hit. "Who now?" Sophia muttered, puzzled.

"It's me!" Abby's voice sang out.

Sophia opened the door, and Abby waltzed in, clutching fruit. "Yo, forgot to—whoa!" Her eyes locked on Ethan. The mangoes hit the floor with a thud. "Hold up—Ethan?! In Sophia's room? At midnight?!" Her jaw dropped like she'd caught them robbing a bank. "Y'all move fast! Morning water, evening cohabitation? Damn, cousin, you're a ninja!"

Sophia's face hit tomato status. "Abby, no! It's not—"

"He just brought a milkshake!" Ethan jumped in, pointing at the cup. "Chill, sis, I'm not proposing!"

Abby squinted, spotting the shake. "Oh… for real?" She crossed her arms, half-convinced. "Milkshake, huh? Sure, buddy."

"Swear! I got one for you too," Ethan said. "C'mon, it's in my room."

He led Abby out, waving to Sophia. "Night, Sophia!" The door shut, and Sophia exhaled, fanning her face. Way too close.

In Ethan's room, Abby grabbed her mango shake and smirked. "Smooth, but you're not that smooth." She left, and Ethan shook his head. "I'm a saint, not a sinner," he muttered. Glancing at the clock—11:45 p.m.—he perked up. Store refresh time.

At midnight, he opened Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest. The shop glowed with new goodies:

Bentley Continental GT, $0.20 Patek Philippe 5074R Rose Gold Watch, $0.30 Elite Driving Skills: Instant Pro Racer, $0.90

Ethan's eyes sparkled. "Jackpot!" The Bentley—$500,000 of luxe muscle—was perfect for hauling friends. The Patek? $600,000 of wrist candy. But Elite Driving Skills? A skill purchase? That was new. At $0.90—triple the villa's cost—it screamed value. "Game's serving Michelin-star upgrades now," he grinned.

He checked his status: Lv1 (5/100 XP), 14 Points, 1 Purchase Left Today. The skills were priciest, so he snagged Elite Driving Skills first. Bentley and Patek can wait—24 hours, and they're mine.

[Purchase Confirmed: Elite Driving Skills Acquired]

A rush hit—memories of gear shifts, apex turns, and drift physics flooded his brain. His muscles twitched, rewired for precision. Ethan wasn't just a driver now—he was Fast & Furious meets Formula 1. "Catch me outrunning pros," he chuckled, flexing his hands.

The Bentley and Patek would join his empire soon. "Kids pick one—grown-ups take all," he smirked, logging out.

Next morning, Ethan texted Sophia and Abby: "Heading out—training calls." He'd catch them later. The day blurred by—drills, sweat, repeat. That night, dorm life felt… small. Then it hit him: Villa #8. His $5 million SkyHigh Estates pad was waiting. "Time to live like a king," he said, grabbing his Ferrari keys.

He punched the address into GPS and roared toward SkyHigh. Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to a gated paradise—Villa #8 loomed, all glass and grandeur. But as he stepped out, headlights flashed behind him. That black SUV—always there—was parked across the street, engine humming.

His phone buzzed:

[Auto-Purchase Detected: Private Island, $10.00 – Acquired]

[Next Suggested Item: Global Bank Shares, $15.00]

[Warning: Reality's Screaming. Duck and Cover.]

Ethan's gut tightened. "Island? Bank shares?" The game was going big—and that SUV wasn't just a fan.