Chapter Eightteen: "Mall Hugs, Black Cards, and Bar Bets"

Sophia Winters tapped out a WeChat to Ethan Black: Thanks for tonight—you really saved my butt. Goodnight (❤️). She hit send, then slammed her phone facedown, cheeks flaming. A heart emoji? From the Ice Queen? That was a plot twist even M. Night Shyamalan couldn't dream up. First time she'd ever sent a guy "goodnight," let alone with a cutesy vibe. What is wrong with me?

Her bedroom door creaked open, and Eleanor Winters poked her head in. "Soph, ankle's sore—get some rest, no doomscrolling."

"Got it, night, Mom," Sophia replied, tucking her phone away. As Eleanor turned to leave, Sophia hesitated. "Uh, is Dad home yet?"

"Not yet," Eleanor sighed. "Big client dinner—company stuff. He'll be late."

Sophia's dad, a corporate heavy hitter, was always out schmoozing. Late nights were the norm, and Sophia and Eleanor were used to it. But Sophia had another worry. "Mom… can we not tell Dad about Ethan? Like, at all?" Her voice was soft, almost pleading.

Eleanor raised a brow. Sophia's dad was a human lie detector—strict, no-nonsense, the kind to run a background check on any guy within 10 feet of his daughter. If he caught wind of Ethan's mall-hero antics, he'd have Ethan's life story on his desk by morning. "Alright, my lips are sealed," Eleanor said, smirking. For now. She wasn't about to let her husband's FBI vibes ruin Sophia's first crush.

"Thanks, Mom," Sophia exhaled, relieved.

At Villa #8, Ethan pinged Sophia back: Night, rest up. He didn't linger—girl needed sleep, not late-night chats. Sprawled on his Fendi couch, he killed time on X, waiting for the Monthly Pay $3,000, I'm the World's Richest store refresh. At midnight, the app glowed:

[Store Updated]

Master-Level Piano Skills, $0.80 x10 Cashback Card (Max $30M), $1.50 Amex Centurion Black Card, $2.50

Ethan's eyes lit up. Piano skills? Cool, like tickling ivories at a gala to flex. His Elite Driving Skills had already proved clutch—shaving 8 minutes off Sophia's hospital run. But the x10 Cashback Card? Spend $3M, get $30M—netting $27M profit. His old x1000 card capped at $5M, earning "only" $4.9M. This was a $22M glow-up. "That's a yacht and a private jet," he whistled.

But the Centurion Black Card? That was the main event. The "King of Cards"—a status symbol for billionaires, celebs, and shadowy elites. Nine-figure net worth minimum, $25,000 opening fee, $10,000 annual dues. Perks? Insane: VIP seats at the Super Bowl, private club access in NYC, Tokyo, Dubai; free nights at Ritz-Carltons; F1 track days; 24/7 concierge who could probably book you on a SpaceX flight. Oh, and you couldn't apply—only invites from existing cardholders or Amex's secret council.

"Billionaires beg for this, and I'm snagging it for pocket change," Ethan grinned. "$2.50? That's a Starbucks latte."

He prioritized: Black Card first—too rare to pass. Tomorrow, the Cashback Card, then piano skills. He tapped Buy for $2.50.

[Purchase Confirmed: Amex Centurion Black Card – On Your Desk]

Ethan glanced over. A sleek black card sat on his desk, next to Amex paperwork—activation docs, all legit. He flipped the card, its titanium weight screaming power. "Hello, beautiful," he said, sliding it into his wallet. Time for bed—training awaited.

But Westfield's X feeds, group chats, and forums were exploding. That mall hug pic—Ethan cradling Sophia—had gone nuclear. Posted at 9 p.m., it was still trending past midnight. "Ethan Black HUGGED Sophia Winters?!" one post screamed. "No way they're not dating!"

Water deliveries? Car rides? Small fries. But hugging the Ice Queen without her icing him out? That was proof—Ethan had cracked her fortress. "Freshman pulls the untouchable goddess in weeks?" a guy wailed. "Bro's a legend!"

Skeptics clung to hope. "It's just their backs! Could be Photoshop!" they argued. The girls who snapped it stayed silent, regretting their viral bomb. But even doubters envied Ethan. Plastered with Sophia in a rumor? Most guys would frame that X post. Tomorrow, "friendly" dorm visits were planned—Ethan's fanboys and haters wanted answers.

Next morning, Ethan jogged around SkyHigh Lake, bumping into neighbor Maya Quinn—glasses, flawless, basically a runway model in leggings. "Round two, champ?" she teased. They lapped the lake, chatting Westfield gossip, then parted ways. Ethan showered, grabbed his Bentley, and rolled to campus.

At the training field, every head turned. Ethan's hug pic had made him a myth. Girls who'd mobbed him yesterday hung back, wary—Is he taken? But the guys? They were in awe. "Bro, you're the GOAT," Jake whispered.

"Thought you struck out with Sophia," Mikey said. "Now you're carrying her like a Disney prince?"

"Spill, man—y'all official?" Tim pressed.

Ethan groaned, checking X. The blurry hug dominated feeds. "This again?" he muttered. He'd dodged the "public enemy" label yesterday, but now? He was Enemy #1 and Campus Casanova. "I just wanna play my game and be a trillionaire," he sighed. "Why am I the Ice Queen's fake boyfriend?"

That afternoon, his phone pinged—Lucas "Biggie" Reed, high school buddy, now at a nearby college. Yo, hit a bar tonight? Been too long. Ethan grinned—Lucas was a riot. Bet, 8 p.m.

Post-training, Ethan hit Villa #8, swapped camo for a sleek jacket, and grabbed his wallet—Centurion Card included. He took the Ferrari for flair and met Lucas at Neon Pulse, a trendy Westfield bar. Lucas, round and loud, waved him over, joined by five classmates—three guys, two girls.

"Bro!" Lucas bear-hugged him. "You're lookin' like a movie star!" The guys nodded coolly, but the girls—especially one in a sparkly top—lit up. Cute guy alert.

Lucas introduced everyone: Tyler (Gucci shirt, try-hard vibes), Emma (sparkly top, flirty), and others. They kicked off with a card game, drinks flowing. Ethan and Tyler lost a round to Emma, who smirked. "Penalty time, boys. Let's see your wallets—whatcha hiding?"

Tyler shrugged, tossing out an LV wallet like it was no big deal. "Go nuts." Ethan pulled his beat-up $20 wallet from high school, setting it beside Tyler's. The table's eyes locked on Tyler's designer flex—Ethan's looked like it survived a war.

Emma grabbed Tyler's first, fishing out $200, a gym card, and a platinum Amex. "Not bad, Gucci Boy," she teased. Then she opened Ethan's. Her jaw dropped. Nestled between a crumpled $5 and a gas receipt? The Centurion Black Card, its black titanium glinting like a secret weapon.

"Holy… is that real?" Emma gasped. The table froze. Lucas choked on his beer. Tyler's smug grin vanished.

Ethan shrugged. "Yeah, it's mine."

The bar's vibe shifted. Ethan's $20 wallet just stole the show—and that black SUV outside? It wasn't here for the drinks.