Chapter 1
St. Michael's Infirmary. Tollbridge Hall. Leonard Hawthorne was in a cold sweat, his fingers racing over the Stonebridge Bank app again and again. But the balance stubbornly remained at zero. “This can’t be happening. I scraped and borrowed a million bucks for this surgery—where the hell did the money go?” Desperation twisted in his gut, the weight of uncertainty crashing over him. He remembered—aside from him, only his wife, Eleanor Abernathy, knew the password to that bank card. He dialed her number, urgency lacing his voice. “Eleanor, what happened to the money in my Stonebridge account? It’s gone. Do you know anything about this?” Silence stretched on the other end for half a minute before she finally responded, her tone flat. “Leonard, I used the money for the down payment on the house.” “That was my lifesaving money! Why would you use it for a house?” “Leonard, this isn’t up for discussion right now. Please come home at noon. We need to talk about getting a divorce.” “Divorce? What are you talking about? Wait! No—” The call ended abruptly, leaving him with nothing but a hollow beep in his ear. The betrayal cut deep, a jagged shard wedged in his chest. His wife had used his lifeline, and now she wanted out. He recalled the doctor’s words, chilly and dire—“Mr. Hawthorne, you need surgery immediately. Without it, you may not see another three months.” Was this it? Just waiting to die? Feeling like a ghost, Leonard wandered to Grand Park next to the hospital. He plopped down by the shimmering lake, where the gentle breeze danced over the water and swayed the blooming lilies. It was a pretty scene. But his life felt tainted, overshadowed by the certainty of death looming over him. “No. I can’t let this be it.” Rallying a flicker of resolve, Leonard decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He would confront Eleanor and get back what was rightfully his—his lifeline. Just then, a young woman approached, phone in hand. “Hey there! I’m Rosamund Kingsley from Griffin Broadcasting,” she chirped, her voice light as a bell. Leonard turned to face her, taken aback by her radiance. She was the epitome of vibrant youth in a snug athletic tee and a sky-blue denim skirt that showcased her toned legs. Her features were sharp and striking, reminiscent of a second-tier celebrity. “Nice to meet you, Rosamund. What’s up?” he replied, feeling a little jumpy. As a married man well into his thirties, interacting with another woman felt fraught with stress. Eleanor's controlling nature had conditioned him to avoid any female contact altogether. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my live stream? It’ll only take a couple of minutes.” Rosamund gave a polite smile that almost disarmed him. Leonard hesitated. He’d seen these kinds of live questions before—they often had a humorous twist. Curious despite himself, he nodded. “Sure, go ahead.” In the live chat, a few scattered comments began to pop up. “Wow, the host is lucky, this guy’s a total catch!” “Is he okay? He looks a little down.” “Rosamund, I love you! Show us more of your legs!” Against the backdrop of such attention, she began her questioning. “So, do you do any charity work?” “Actually, I do. I donate goods and money to kids in underprivileged areas each month,” Leonard replied, feeling a bit of pride swell in his chest. “Wow, that’s really generous of you! If you had a billion dollars, how would you spend it? How much would you give away?” Leonard couldn’t help but chuckle at the cliché question. It brightened the dark shadows overtaking his mind, reminiscent of a joke he’d heard before. Looking straight into the camera, he replied earnestly, “I’d put a million aside for medical expenses and donate the rest.” Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind: [Ping. Detected host’s compassion, perfect life system activated.] [Please sign in.] Leonard glanced around, bewildered. Was someone playing a prank on him? His heart raced, excitement mingling with disbelief. A system? He was not unfamiliar with this concept—after all, he consumed enough web novels to know its implications. Earlier, he had been drowning in worry over the staggering cost of his surgery, and now this absurd possibility emerged. Following the system's instructions, he whispered inwardly, “Sign in.” [Congratulations! You have signed in at Grand Park. You’ve received a cash reward of one billion dollars!] [Beginner’s gift activated: Superhuman physique.] What a twist of fate. Leonard chuckled to himself, realizing how perfectly timing aligned with his situation—promising a million for treatment while the billion appeared out of nowhere. Naturally, it had to be spent for a purpose—donations could not be avoided now. His attention narrowed solely on the cash reward as he noticed a hardness forming in his pocket. A quick reach revealed a bank card. So, this billion was indeed on this card. Meanwhile, Rosamund observed him, a hint of concern etched on her face. She had caught hold of the tense answer he gave earlier, the implications weighing heavy in the air. “Hey, do you have a serious illness? Is that why you need so much for surgery? Do you need help?” she asked tentatively, genuine compassion lacing her words. Leonard shook his head, a warmth blooming in his chest despite the dire straits. The kindness of strangers could be surprisingly uplifting, even if fleeting. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be okay for now,” he replied, heartened by the gesture. As she prepared to leave, he sensed her hesitation lingering in the air. “I—I can help you with $500 if you really need it,” she blurted out, as if it was the hardest thing she had ever had to say. The words plunged, and she immediately regretted it. Five hundred bucks? That was a third of her living expenses. Don’t say yes, don’t say yes! Suddenly flustered, Rosamund’s cheeks bloomed a vivid red. Leonard, taken by her earnestness and unexpectedly charmed, decided on the next course of action.
Chapter 2
“Hey Isabella, why don’t I hammer out a fan badge for you while I’m at it? Maybe throw some gifts your way?” Leonard suggested, an easy grin on his face. He’d seen enough live streams to know the basics. Toss a few bucks at a streamer, and boom—you’ve got a fan badge. That badge meant you could comment in any room you swung by, showing where you came from. It was kind of like a VIP pass. An important part of gauging if a streamer was doing well involved eyeballing who was in the chat and how many fan badges they had. Bigger badges, bigger bucks. So it made sense that streamers cared about their numbers; the rise and fall of fan badges could make or break them. Isabella blinked, taken aback. “Wait, I wasn’t trying to fool anyone—I actually meant to help out. The guy is just so good-looking and seemingly so genuine!” “Look, if you’re feeling under the weather, you could use the cash more. No need to rush into getting a fan badge,” she advised. “Nah, six bucks is no big deal,” Leonard said, already downloading Griffin Broadcasting and punching in “Isabella” to see her stream. Just as he expected, it wasn’t exactly packed. Poor girl was struggling. After sending six virtual lollipops her way to earn that fan badge, he turned to leave. “Where you heading, hotshot?” she called after him. “Going to drop some cash at Hope Charity House.” Donating? That caught Isabella off guard. Leonard continued, “I promised myself, from my million, I’d pocket a hundred grand for the surgery and donate the other nine hundred grand.” Isabella was left speechless. Meanwhile, the chat exploded with question marks. “Wait, what?” “Did he just say he’s donating? Someone chase him down!” “There’s no way. Sounds like he’s just bragging. I could say I’m donating ten billion!” “Dude, chill. My mom works at Hope Charity House. I’ll find out if any big donations went through once she’s back. If the numbers match up, he’s legit.” With a bit of drama, Isabella’s page saw a spike in viewers, hitting around five thousand. At Hope Charity House, the staff was buzzing with disbelief. A handsome guy had just waltzed in, whipped out his card, and said he wanted to donate nine hundred grand. At first, they’d thought he was joking—but he kept insisting. Once they fired up the POS machine and input the amount, a soft beep confirmed the transaction. Everyone was ecstatic, practically vibrating with excitement, but just as they printed out the donation receipt, the guy was already gone. What was that about? Beatrice, a regular staffer there, watched it all with wide eyes, reminded that good people still existed in this self-serving world. She thought about her daughter, Alice, who was interning at Skyward Automotive. She quickly picked up her phone to call her. The donor? Leonard. With a system backing him, he had the hundred grand for his surgery in the bag. Honestly, he didn’t care much about the money Eleanor Abernathy had squandered on their house. But he needed to understand what was going on. Slamming the door behind him, he stormed back to Rosegarden Manor, fueled by a mix of anger and disbelief. When he had married Eleanor, he’d handed her family a hefty dowry. They’d never bought a place together and had just kept renting. The complex was new enough and featured solid amenities. There was a lovely lotus lake next door, charming in summertime, but the rent was a killer. Leonard had suggested they could save money by renting a smaller place if they wanted to buy a house sooner, but Eleanor wouldn’t hear it. She insisted they needed a nice place, even if it meant Leonard worked himself to the bone just to pay the bills while trying to save. All the grinding led to serious wear and tear; his heart began to fail him. And if it hadn’t been for regular checkups at work, he might’ve collapsed at his desk one day. Knowing that he had to take action, Leonard opted to stop working and borrowed money from everyone he could to afford the surgery. But shockingly, when he went to make the payment this morning, his account was wiped out. Without the system's help, he would've been staring death in the face today. Now, he stomped into his home, seething, looking to confront Eleanor. Inside, the room was silent. Eleanor sat calmly on the couch, flanked by her parents—Walter and Agnes—and her brother, Arthur. Leonard’s heart sank as he took in the scene. It was clear Eleanor’s family was fully in on her decision to take his life savings and funnel it into a house. They glanced at him with steely seriousness. Agnes spoke first. “Leonard, we’ve done some research on your heart condition. It's going to be costly, like a bottomless pit. A hundred grand for your initial surgery? That's just the start. You’re not guaranteed recovery; they’re going to keep bleeding you dry for this.” “Eleanor’s been out of work since we got married—it’s all on you to provide. Now, you get sick, and she’s got no way to help.” Leonard rubbed his chin, feeling drained. “That’s all well and good, but why doesn’t she consult me before plopping down my money on a house?” “Twenty grand in that account was mine. The rest? I borrowed,” Eleanor piped up, her tone defensive. “We can’t sit and whine about money all day, Leonard.” “Spending my life savings? Are you serious?” Agnes attempted to argue, but Eleanor cut her off. “You need to stop yelling at my mom. She's my family!” “Well, I decided I’m filing for divorce. Let’s consider that one million as a ‘you wasted my youth’ payout.” Leonard’s voice was laced with bitter determination. He couldn’t believe the day had come that he’d ever consider leaving the woman he once cherished. They had been college sweethearts, and he had always tried to tolerate her whims—even when they had to shell out a fortune for the Abernathy family. This time, however, he wouldn’t stand for it. Eleanor’s indifference gnawed at him. She wasn’t merely irresponsible—she was selfish, recklessly putting her needs far above his well-being. He cursed himself for the blind trust he’d placed in her. When Eleanor heard Leonard’s determination to split, a triumphant smirk crested her lips. She pulled out a divorce agreement document she had clearly prepped earlier, her pride palpable. “Alright then, Leonard, since you’re on board, let’s sign this and head over to Regal Law Chambers.” Leonard’s eyes went cold. Of course, she had this all ready. He grabbed the paper and scanned it. It only stated two things: 1. Leonard and Eleanor agree to a no-fault divorce. 2. Any shared property belongs solely to Eleanor, leaving all of Leonard’s assets and debts separate. He could hardly believe it.
Chapter 3
Leonard Hawthorne couldn't help but smirk inwardly. Eleanor Abernathy was determined to wash her hands of him completely—she was draining their shared bank account dry and leaving behind a mountain of debt for him to choke on. It was as if she wanted him to suffer in silence, to wither away under the weight of it all. Little did she know, there was a clause in that divorce agreement that he had been waiting for. With his newfound “Perfect Life System,” Leonard could access vast amounts of assets with each sign-in. But if those assets came from their marriage, a portion would have to be handed over to Eleanor post-divorce. Now that she had decided to draft that divorce agreement, he could hardly ask for more. Anything he obtained moving forward would be completely off her radar. As for the house they had bought with a hefty hundred grand down payment? Let her have it. Leonard could afford to wait. He had a surgery scheduled, and once he was back on his feet, he’d make sure Eleanor was left with nothing but her own empty promises, and a debt-laden future. Walter Abernathy and the rest of Eleanor's family shifted nervously under his cold gaze. They feared he might cling to Eleanor, delaying the separation she had initiated. Agnes Blackwood piped up again, trying to interject some sense of comfort into the hostile air. “Leonard, sweetheart, we all know you and Eleanor share a deep love. You don’t want to see her suffer, do you?” He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. “Enough of this nonsense, Agnes. Spare me the platitudes. Just shut your mouth.” Agnes’s face turned red with indignation. “How dare you speak to me like that! You’re not a child anymore, Leonard.” Arthur Abernathy, Eleanor’s brother, jumped to his feet, ready to confront Leonard. But Leonard’s ice-cold glare silenced them all. “Let me have my say, will you? It won’t cost you a dime,” he scoffed, a wicked smirk pulling at his lips. “This divorce agreement is actually pretty solid. I’ll sign it.” And with that, he scribbled his name on the dotted line with an ease that visibly deflated Walter’s family. They were parasites, and he could hardly contain his disgust as he stood up. “Let’s get this over with.” He grabbed Eleanor’s hand, pulling her towards the door. “Hey, Leonard, you’re hurting me—slow down!” she protested, but he ignored her complaints. His heart was as hard as stone toward her. The last thing he wanted was to maintain any connection with this woman he had once loved. Their first stop was the notary to finalize the divorce agreement. Then they continued to the courthouse. The officials glanced at the notarized paperwork and, seeing the property was already divvied up, didn’t bother to probe further. It didn’t take long for the divorce to be processed. Standing outside, Leonard looked down at the bright red divorce papers in his hand, exhaling a long-held breath of relief. He was finally free of Eleanor and her leech-like family. Eleanor, however, was staring at him with confusion. “You look so... relieved,” she said, a hint of disbelief in her tone. “I’m moving out of Rosehaven Estate. Can you handle taking care of the lease?” she asked, her voice sweet but laced with a hint of entitlement. Leonard shot her a baffled look as if she were speaking a different language. “I’ve been paying that rent. You don’t work; do you think you have the means to cover it?” “Come on, Leonard, help a girl out,” she purred, wrapping her arms around his. “Once my new place is ready, I’ll move.” He recoiled, disgust twisting in his gut. “I’m not your husband anymore. We’re divorced, so either start acting like it or get lost. You're making me sick.” Her cheeks flushed with anger; she didn't expect him to stand up for himself like this. Just a few months ago, he’d been obedient, easily swayed by her whims. Without wasting any more time, Leonard hailed a cab and left. He could feel her presence burning into his back as he walked away, but he didn’t care. Alone in the aftermath of their split, Eleanor fumed, pulling out her phone. She snapped several selfies, refining the best nine until she danced her fingers across the screen to post in her social media. “Just turned 25 and back to being single! Life's a ride, but I feel brand new,” she captioned it, with a photo of the divorce certificate at the center of her post. Back in their college group chat, the response was immediate. Simon Cunningham wasted no time screenshotting Eleanor’s post and shot it out into the group. “Breaking news: the golden couple, Leonard and Eleanor, survived their breakup post-graduation but couldn’t survive married life.” Edward Ellsworth chimed in, “No way! Eleanor is single again?” Thomas Fairchild added, “Hey guys, this is the perfect opportunity — go for it!” Margaret Greenwood shot back, “Can we not? This is real-life heartbreak, and you’re treating it like a joke. Have some class.” Matilda Harrington hopped in, “Eleanor, don’t be too sad about it. It’s just bad luck. Come here for a hug.” Eleanor responded, “Who’s tagging me?” Isabella Ashford mused, “Eleanor, why do you look so worn out? Were there signs of trouble in paradise? Leonard seemed so good to you. What did he do?” Isabella threw in a tag for Leonard, but soon the floodgates opened, shifting the narrative to blaming him for their split. Leonard’s phone buzzed relentlessly. He stilled, glancing down at the flurry of notifications lighting up the screen. A quick scroll revealed it was all idle gossip from their old college days. He rolled his eyes, annoyed that everyone was so invested in drama that didn't concern them. Back in the group chat, Eleanor reassured them, “Honestly, it’s mutual. We parted ways amicably; don’t blame him. We both have our faults.” Then she sent a sullen emoji, as if to strengthen her facade. “No need to fret, Eleanor. Bad guys are everywhere. You just had a stroke of bad luck,” Matilda said. “Group hug?” chimed in Isabella. Challenge accepted. This was about to blow up in a way few were prepared for. Edward, playing referee, went to quiet the brewing chaos, but Leonard was done watching from the sidelines. A system notification rang in his mind, signaling his opportunity. [ Ding. Unfairness detected. Please choose.] [1. Suffer in silence, rewarded with the Green Hair Turtle title.] [2. Speak the truth, rewarded with an extravagant Pegasus Windspire.] Leonard snorted. Choices? With a swift move, he dashed off a few screenshots into the chat while typing furiously. “[Diagnosis Report],” he claimed, the digital nothingness bouncing in the chat. “I'm critically ill, waiting for cash to save my life. Eleanor absconded with my hundred grand and has pushed for this divorce so I can literally wait to die.” “The truth—she initiated everything and left me with nothing. What do you have to say to this?” He hit send, and the reactions were immediate. Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog; the tables had turned dramatically. Eleanor hadn’t just left him; she had forged her path with ruthlessness he had never anticipated. Matilda chimed in again, “@Leonard, what are you saying? You’re saying she should have stayed by your side while you wither away? After all those years? Shouldn’t you compensate her?” Isabella couldn’t help but add, “You can’t expect her to be a martyr; she’s got her life to think of, too.” Leonard felt the pain of betrayal surge through him, coupled with confusion about how easily they turned on him. Meanwhile, Edward swiftly muted three people, trying to restore order as he shifted the topic away from the wreckage of their lives—both Eleanor's and Leonard's.
Chapter 4
Edward Ellsworth glanced around the crowded chat room, his tone firm yet calm. “Everyone, chill out. This ends here. Leonard Hawthorne and Eleanor Abernathy made their choices. Let’s not add to the noise.” “Hey, long time no see, everyone. How about a get-together? We could collect some donations for Leonard. I just saw him, and things aren't looking too good. He really could use some cash for his medical bills.” The response was sparse. The very people who had just rallied against Leonard fell silent, as if they’d forgotten their own harsh words. A few of the more enthusiastic guys kept the conversation alive. Simon Cunningham chimed in, “I’m all for it. We should hang out again.” Edward added, “Let’s do it at Riverview Tower. My uncle manages the place, so we can snag some discounts.” “Alright, you plan it, I’ll just follow your lead,” Thomas Fairchild replied. Edward smirked, “Thomas, if you really want to follow me around, I can talk to my dad about getting you a job at his company. You’d be my colleague.” “Wow, I’d owe you one for that,” Thomas said, brightening. “Hey, @Eleanor Abernathy, our goddess, you should come too. I’ll cover your share,” Edward extended his invitation. Eleanor, still on a rollercoaster of emotions post-divorce, replied, “Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on going out, feeling kind of down. But since you asked so nicely, I’ll take the subway.” “I’ll swing by in my BMW to pick you up. No way I’m letting you take the subway,” Edward insisted. Eleanor sent a shy emoji response. “Wait, what model of BMW? Those things cost a fortune,” Simon exclaimed. Thomas laughed, “Come on, Simon. That’s the 7 Series—easily over a hundred grand.” Margaret Greenwood watched the chat roll by, bewildered by how quickly the tide had turned. One moment they were furious with Leonard, and now they’d forgotten their anger. Leonard, now muted in the group chat, couldn’t speak up. He received a message from Margaret. “Hey, are you okay?” “I’m fine. There are too many people here. I think I’ll log off soon,” he messaged back. Margaret pressed on, “Are you coming to dinner tonight? We want to fundraise a bit for you. You must really need the money right now.” “No, thanks,” Leonard replied bluntly. Margaret assumed he was just saving face, too proud to face his ex-wife and this fickle group of classmates. “Leonard, your health comes first! Don’t let pride stand in your way. You’ve got to come.” Leonard hesitated, recalling Margaret had actually spoken up for him. He decided it would be a nice gesture to oblige her. As for the money, he didn’t need it. He had more than enough set aside for the surgery, and any follow-up treatments would be covered by the system he had in place. He typed “Fine,” and left it at that. At that moment, the system notified him that he had completed his task. A reward was dispatched. “Ding! Congratulations, host! You’ve spoken the truth. Reward: Zephyr the Wind Deity.” Leonard felt something hard land in his pocket. A dry smile crossed his face—this system sure had a unique way of delivering rewards, straight into his pants. “Hey, driver, could you stop at the Imperial Plaza? Thanks.” The system had also shared the location of Zephyr with him, and he knew exactly where to go. Most of the car park at Imperial Plaza was underground, but there were a few prime spaces above ground reserved for luxury cars. Here, dozens of supercars lined the lot. A crowd gathered around one in particular, snapping photos. A young guy with a hip style was animatedly explaining, “This here is my Zephyr the Wind Deity. Only ten were made globally, and there’s only one in the entire Greatoak region.” The crowd collectively gasped as he announced, “This beauty? A cool fifty-eight million.” With that price tag, the crowd erupted in awe. One woman, dressed to impress, quickly approached, “Hey there! Mind if I grab your Messenger? Let’s go for a ride sometime!” Another chimed in, “I want to add you too!” The young man, Henry Cunningham, reveled in the attention, pulling out his Messenger QR code. “No rush, ladies! One at a time. I’m always up for making friends!” Leonard couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle. Strolling over to one of the women, he said, “Excuse me, could you let me through?” She turned, taking in Leonard’s cheap gym wear with a scowl. “Do you even know how this works? There’s a line to add Cunningham.” Henry, catching sight of Leonard, strutted forward, puffing out his chest. “Hey, buddy, what do you think you’re doing? Back off! You don’t see my car, do you? Zephyr the Wind Deity—worth fifty-eight million. You really don’t want to mess with me.” Leonard met his gaze, bemused. “So, you’re the ‘Cunningham’ everyone’s talking about?” Henry smirked. “What can I say? Guess you’re a fan. Consider this a warning—stay in your lane next time.” Leonard shook his head, bemused by the bravado. “You really are something.” “Is that your car?” he scoffed. Henry suddenly hesitated, swallowing hard. Uncertainty crept over him as Leonard’s confidence loomed. The crowd surrounding them started to murmur in indignation. “Who are you to question Cunningham’s credibility?” “Cunningham, show him! Open the door! We want to see the wings!” Embarrassment flickered across Henry’s face. He tried to regain control. “Whoa, ladies. Just so you know, this is my dad’s car. I left the main key at home—it was an oversight.” Leonard laughed, “You’re lying.” “Wanna bet? I’ll call my dad right now,” Henry snapped back, defensively. Leonard patted Henry’s shoulder and pulled a sleek key from his pocket. “I don’t have a father like yours.” With a swift press, the Zephyr’s butterfly-wing doors opened smoothly. He slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting it comfortably before taking off, leaving the crowd in stunned silence. The women, realizing they’d been played, turned on Henry, demanding answers. “What gives, Henry?” A sense of shame washed over him. “I didn’t mean to deceive you!” Then someone shouted, “Ladies, let’s show him what we think!” The uproar followed, and Leonard drove into the future, leaving echoes of drama behind him.
Chapter 5
Leonard Hawthorne sped down the highway in his brand new Pegasus Windspire, the rush of wind whipping through the open windows. As the engine roared beneath him, a warm rush surged through his limbs. It felt as if the car had been programmed into his very muscle memory, every curve and throttle adjustment suddenly second nature. With a supercar like the Windspire, Leonard thrived, pushing the limits as the landscape blurred past him—a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors and shadows. The power at his fingertips was intoxicating. Meanwhile, in a Lamborghini Veneno, William Underwood—a stout, overindulgent figure—leaned back in his seat and broke the silence. "Cedric, how much did you shell out for this beauty?" Cedric Ellsworth, his sunglasses reflecting the asphalt and sunshine, casually replied, "Oh, about thirty million. You won't find anything that comes close in the Kingsport hypercar scene. This baby outperforms everything." “Can’t blame you. A fine horse deserves a fine saddle. You and this ride? Perfect match.” William chuckled, knowing full well the egos surrounding the motorsport world. Drawing a smirk, Cedric retorted, “Please, save the clichés for someone who cares. ‘Perfect match’ is for me and Isolde." "Right, right," William nodded, trying to play along. "Guess I’m just a bit uncultured." Cedric stomped on the accelerator, the Lamborghini tearing through the streets. He passed car after car, not a single competitor in sight. The world around them vanished in a blur, leaving just the thrill of speed. Then, in a flash, a car cut through like a bullet, leaving Cedric in its dust. The sleek elegance of the Pegasus Windspire blazed past them. Cedric's face twisted into a scowl. "Who the hell does that?" The chase was on as Cedric slammed down the gas pedal, pushing himself to catch up. Though he carried the weight of a wealthy family as Somerset's second son—fully aware he'd never claim the family fortune—he channeled his energy into racing, carving out a reputation within the local car club. His skills were sharp enough to race with professionals. But no matter how hard he tried, the Windspire just kept pulling away. Frustrated, he hollered, "Damn it, William! You’ve gotta lose some weight! Do you realize I couldn’t keep up because you’re dragging us down?" William, alarmed, quickly responded, "I got it, Cedric! Let me flex my connections and track that guy down. We have to find the owner and settle this properly on a racetrack.” Cedric nodded, fuming yet hopeful. “Yeah, get on it.” --- At Riverview Tower, the private dining room dedicated to the local universities buzzed with anticipation. The names of Kingsport's six top schools adorned the walls, reinforcing the pride of education in the area. Edward Ellsworth had reserved a nice big table for their gathering, inviting twenty people, including his loyal friends Simon Cunningham and Thomas Fairchild, who stood by to greet the arriving guests. With a glimmer of ambition in his eyes, Edward drove his BMW 730 to pick up Eleanor Abernathy. She had recently gone through a messy divorce and was putting on a demure front, light makeup designed to emphasize a more innocent look. As he caught sight of her, Edward felt a rush of excitement. “Eleanor, don’t let it get to you. Plenty of fish in the sea. If Leonard can’t appreciate you, that’s his loss. You’ve got a life to live—some incredible possibilities ahead.” Eleanor faked a sniffle, “Thanks for coming to get me, Cedric. I hope I’m not putting a damper on your vibe tonight.” “Not a chance! I run this show," he grinned. “Riverview’s manager is my uncle, so just relax. I’ve got this.” Edward was intentionally parading his influence and wealth—strategically positioning himself to win Eleanor's affection. The knowledge of her three-year marriage to Leonard added fuel to his ambition. As they arrived at Riverview Tower, known for its lively atmosphere and delicious cuisine, parking became a struggle. Finally, they spotted an empty spot but as Edward turned the corner, he froze. A Pegasus Windspire was parked nearby, pristine and menacing in its shine. He gasped, “Oh no—how do you expect me to park next to that?” It was worth over fifty million! A tiny ding could cost him more than his entire car was worth. The truth was, the BMW wasn’t even his but his father’s—Edward rarely dared to flaunt it, using it only for moments like this. “Uh, Eleanor? This space looks a bit tight. Let's find another one,” he stammered, trying to maintain his cool. Eleanor raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled. “But there’s plenty of room.” She sensed something was off, his anxiety nonexistent behind his seemingly collected demeanor. “You know best, Cedric.” Edward smirked, pleased she trusted his judgment. They finally found a less stressful parking spot and made their way inside to the banquet room. As people settled in, Edward’s heart skipped a beat when he spotted Leonard, a thorn in his side, sitting at the table with Margaret Greenwood. Their familiar banter reeked of intimacy, and Eleanor noticed the atmosphere shift the instant she laid eyes on Leonard, the awkward silence thickening. The evening wore on—drinks flowed and laughter echoed. Edward, feeling boisterous from the drinks, clinked his glass to grab attention. “Everyone, let’s raise our glasses to this reunion!” Simon and Thomas chimed in, echoing his enthusiasm, and soon everyone stood to drink in support. The drinks varied as typical; boys went for hard liquor while the girls preferred beer. Except for Leonard, who held up a glass of juice. “Hey, Leonard!” Edward called out, striding over. “The class president offers a toast, don’t be disrespectful!” Leonard glanced at him, deadpan. “Doctor said no alcohol for me, heart issues and all.” Determined, Edward pounded his fist against the table. “Come on, you’ve got to drink if we’re going to celebrate. It's just a beer, lighten up.” Uncomfortable energy rippled through the room as an unfamiliar voice piped up, “Come on, Leonard, don't ruin the mood.” From beside Eleanor, Matilda chimed in with sarcasm, “Some people just don’t get it. Poor Eleanor wasted her time with him.” Margaret cut in, irritation flashing in her eyes, “Edward, what’s your problem? Leonard’s health is serious. Why’re you trying to cause drama?” Edward waved a bottle of beer, pouring a cold brew into an empty glass. “One’s not too much to ask. Just a cup of beer, Leonard—consider it a courtesy.” “Give me at least some credit here.”
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