Chapter Nineteen: "Black Card Bombshell and Ferrari Flex"

The Neon Pulse bar buzzed with Westfield's college crowd, but all eyes were on Tyler Grayson's wallet. The Gucci-clad rich kid—rumored to have a trust fund fatter than a TikTok star's ego—had just dropped an LV wallet that screamed "I'm loaded." Limited edition, $10,000 easy. The table gasped. "That's my rent for a year," Lucas "Biggie" Reed muttered, sipping his beer.

Ethan Black's wallet, a $20 relic from high school, sat ignored beside Tyler's. Scuffed, faded, it looked like it had survived a zombie apocalypse. Nobody cared—except Emma Carter (no relation to Abby), the sparkly-topped knockout who'd won the card game. Her eyes flicked to Ethan's wallet, curiosity burning. "What's Mr. Ferrari hiding?" she mused. Checking phones was too invasive for a first hang, but wallets? Fair game. They spilled secrets—habits, status, maybe a crumpled love note.

Lucas, Ethan's high school bro, yawned. "Seen Ethan's wallet a million times—same old junk." But Emma wasn't buying it. Ethan's low-key vibe screamed hidden depths.

Tyler, eating up the attention, cracked open his LV masterpiece. First out: a wad of cash, maybe $2,000. No biggie. Then, a stack of cards that made the table lose it.

"Whoa, how many cards?!" Emma gawked.

"Tyler's flexing harder than a CrossFit bro," a guy named Nate whispered.

Tyler laid them out: four bank cards, six membership cards. The memberships were pure fire—Marriott Platinum, NorthStar Golf Club Gold Card, even a private yacht club pass. "NorthStar's the elite golf spot in Westfield," Tyler bragged. "Billionaires only—my dad's a member." Each card screamed six-figure spending. The table was shook.

Then the bank cards: gold, platinum, and one nobody recognized. "What's this?" Emma pointed at a sleek card with a dragon logo.

"Oh, that?" Tyler smirked. "Chase Diamond Elite. You need $10M in assets and $300K annual spend. No big deal."

No big deal?! The table erupted. $10M? Tyler was richer than their wildest dreams. "Millionaires call this 'easy'?" Nate choked. "I'm out here rationing ramen!" Even Emma, usually chill, looked stunned. Tyler soaked up the worship, grinning like he'd just dropped a mic. Fun fact: The Diamond card was his dad's, "borrowed" for clout. Tyler had been milking it for weeks, and it never failed.

Ethan? Invisible. "Pretty boy's got nothing on this," Tyler thought, tossing him a pity glance. Long live the king.

"Hey, Ethan, your turn," Emma said, snapping the table's focus. Her voice cut through Tyler's victory lap.

Tyler snorted. "What's he got? A Starbucks gift card?" The table chuckled, but Emma's eyes stayed locked on Ethan.

"Alright," Ethan shrugged, flipping open his war-torn wallet. Inside: an ID, a basic debit card, and… a black titanium card, gleaming like it was forged in a sci-fi lab.

The table blinked. "What's that?" Nate squinted. Nobody spoke. It looked… expensive. But next to Ethan's dollar-store debit card, they figured it was some trendy new bank gimmick. No way it topped Tyler's Diamond Elite.

Then a new guy swaggered by—Brandon "Bran" Holt, Westfield's resident trust-fund prince. Fur-lined jacket, $5,000 sneakers, the works. Tyler's eyes lit up. "Yo, Bran!" he called, jumping up like a fanboy.

Bran glanced over, bored. "Tyler? Sup?" His tone dripped I'm above you.

Tyler's the small fry now? The table's jaws hit the floor. If Tyler was a "lesser" rich kid, Bran was royalty.

"Guys, this is Brandon Holt," Tyler said, practically bowing. "Westfield's top dog."

"Sup, Bran," the table stammered, desperate for clout. Bran gave a lazy nod, ready to bounce—until his eyes snagged on Ethan's black card.

He froze. "No… way…" Bran's cool-guy mask shattered. He stepped closer, hands shaking, and picked up the card like it was the Holy Grail. "This… this is yours?"

"Uh, yeah," Ethan said, chill as ever.

Bran's voice dropped to a whisper. "This is an Amex Centurion Black Card."

The table exploded. "BLACK CARD?!" Lucas spat out his beer. Emma's eyes bugged out. Tyler looked like he'd been slapped.

"No freaking way!" Nate gasped. "That's, like, billionaire stuff!"

Bran, still clutching the card, turned to Ethan with respect. "Dude, I'm Brandon Holt. Call me Bran—or, uh, whatever you want." He handed the card back like it was a live grenade.

Bran's fangirling? The table was in shambles. The Centurion Black Card wasn't just rare—it was mythical. Billionaires fought for invites. VIP suites at the Oscars, private jets on speed dial, dinner with Elon Musk if you asked nicely. And Ethan, in his $50 jacket and beat-up wallet, had one?

"Name's Ethan Black," Ethan said, pocketing the card.

"Ethan, my man—mind if I chill?" Bran slid into a chair, all smiles. Tyler's ego deflated like a popped balloon.

"Ethan, bro, toast to you!" Tyler recovered, swapping his beer for juice when Ethan said, "I'm driving." The table flipped from ignoring Ethan to worshipping him. Emma's eyes sparkled—she'd known he was different. "Knew you were packing heat," she winked.

An hour later, Ethan was done. "Catch y'all later."

"Where you headed, Ethan?" Bran asked, desperate to cling.

"Back to my place—SkyHigh Estates, Villa #8," Ethan said casually.

The table choked. SkyHigh Estates was Westfield's billionaire row. Villa #8? The crown jewel—$50M, minimum. Bran, who lived in a "lesser" SkyHigh condo, looked like he'd seen a ghost. "You're that Ethan Black?"

Ethan shrugged, heading out. Lucas tagged along—Ethan offered to drop him at his dorm. Outside, the Ferrari 488 Pista gleamed, $600,000 of pure flex. Bran held the door open like a butler. "Safe drive, boss," he said, saluting as Ethan peeled out.

In the car, Lucas was reeling. "Dude, what's the deal?! Ferrari, villa, black card? You rob a bank?"

"Nah," Ethan grinned, dodging. "Let's just say I got a sugar mama bankrolling me."

"For real?!" Lucas gaped, then squinted. "Wait… with your face? Yeah, I buy it."

As they laughed, Ethan's phone buzzed:

[Purchase Confirmed: x10 Cashback Card (Max $30M) – $1.50]

[Next Suggested Item: Global Energy Grid, $200.00]

[Warning: Reality's Fracturing. Watch Your Back.]

Ethan glanced in the rearview. That black SUV was back, tailing his Ferrari through Westfield's neon streets. Lucas rambled, oblivious. Ethan's Centurion Card had just blown up his cover—and someone wasn't here for autographs.