Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Xenia drifted over with a bright, practiced smile and gave Stan a small wave.

”Young Master Harrison, what a coincidence running into you here.”

Hearing her, Stan knew that it was useless playing dumb

”Yeah Xenia, quite the coincidence,” Stan replied, the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth.

Across the store, Kyle Jennings nearly dropped the shirt he was holding.

His jaw actually fell open. ’What. What the hell?!’

Xenia, the woman who’d just spent the last twenty minutes politely freezing him out of every conversation, was now leaning into Stan Harrison’s personal space with a smile so warm it could have melted the marble floor. She was acting like she’d known him for years. Like they’d arrived together.

This was the same Xenia who, less than an hour ago, had barely bothered to acknowledge Kyle’s existence, despite the three hundred thousand dollars he’d dropped in her livestream room the night before just to buy her attendance.

The fact that her boobs were pressing softly against Stan’s arm was the tipping point for Kyle...

’It should’ve been me!’ He gritted his teeth as he clenched his fist... Despite being so angry, Kyle knew he had to control himself

”Xenia!” Kyle forced his voice back into its usual smooth register and strode over with what he hoped looked like casual confidence. ”Is there anything in here you like? Pick something out. My treat.”

”No, thank you.” Xenia didn’t even glance at him.

Instead, she turned back to Stan with a soft little laugh and, as casually as if they were already a couple, slipped her arm through his and laced her fingers loosely with his own.

Kyle’s entire worldview cracked straight down the middle.

’What is happening. What am I missing. What on earth does Stan Harrison have that I don’t?’

He’d just watched the exact same pattern play out with Maya Zimmerman at the party. And now Xenia, a woman he’d spent serious money courting, was doing it again. Hanging on a bicycle-riding nobody like he was the sun and she was a plant that hadn’t seen light in weeks.

It made no sense. It made less than no sense.

”Stan,” Xenia said, tugging him gently toward a row of designer menswear, ”is there anything in here you like? Let me get you a few pieces.”

She wasn’t stupid. Getting close to a man who routinely dropped twenty million dollars in a single sitting required a little seed money, a small investment, really. A drop of water compared to the ocean of gifts he’d already rained down on her. It was arguably the best ROI opportunity of her entire streaming career.

”This one, this one too, and that one. We’ll take all of these.”

She plucked outfits off the racks with the practiced eye of a woman who knew exactly what a wealthy man should be wearing. None of them were cheap. Most were five figures apiece.

Maya Zimmerman watched the entire performance from a few feet away, and her brow drew together into a small, deliberate frown.

’Stan is here as my guest. What is Xenia playing at?’

She’d seen that look before, the quiet, focused predator-energy a woman gets when she’s decided she wants something. And right now, that focus was pointed squarely at Stan.

’No. I am not losing to her.’

”Stan,” Maya said smoothly, stepping forward, ”let me pick a few pieces out for you too.”

She turned to the nearest attendant and gestured at an entire rack of men’s garments with a single, imperious wave of her hand.

”I’ll take all of these. Pack them up.”

The attendant blinked once, then sprang into action.

A heavy, charged silence settled over the showroom.

Every other guest in the group, every second-generation rich kid who’d spent the last two hours looking down their nose at Stan Harrison, had gone completely silent, eyes darting back and forth between the two women.

Two actual goddess-tier women. Competing. Openly competing. Racing each other to buy clothes for a broke college kid who’d rolled up to a five-star hotel on a bicycle.

The air in the store had taken on the faint, unmistakable crackle of gunpowder.

Stan Harrison was fine-looking. Kyle could grudgingly admit that much. Decent bone structure, a certain quiet confidence when he stood still. But fine-looking didn’t explain this. Handsome didn’t explain this. Nothing on earth explained why two of the most sought-after women in the city were treating a bicycle boy like a trophy they were both trying to claim.

Kyle’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white.

’What does he have. What does he have that I don’t.’

He finally couldn’t hold it in any longer. With as much dignity as he could scrape together, Kyle stepped forward and, in a voice just loud enough to draw attention, said:

”I’d like a piece too.”

Maya and Xenia turned their heads toward him in perfect, terrible unison.

Both of them rolled their eyes.

It was synchronized. It was devastating. Half the store saw it.

Kyle’s face flushed a deep, mortified red.

He tried to salvage the moment by pivoting to Xenia with what he hoped was a casual smile.

”Xenia, how about you and I take a walk through the rest of the mall? Just the two of us. Get some air.”

”No thanks,” Xenia said without even looking at him. ”I’d rather stay with Stan.”

The words landed like a trapdoor opening under Kyle’s feet.

Compared to Stan Harrison, a man Xenia had just realized was sitting on nine figures, Kyle Jennings was nothing. A pocket-sized imitation of a real tycoon. Even if she were a stupid woman, she wouldn’t have walked away from the real thing to keep company with a cheap substitute. And Xenia was not a stupid woman.

Kyle’s face cycled through four different colors in the span of two seconds and finally settled on an ashen, bloodless gray.

The entire plan, the humiliation, the watch, the celebrity entrance, the mall trip, was collapsing around him in real time. He’d come here to crush Stan Harrison in front of an audience.

Instead, he was watching two goddess-level women openly compete to dress the man, while he stood off to the side like an unwanted cousin at someone else’s wedding.

”Enjoy yourselves,” he spat, turning on his heel.

Staying one more second in this store was going to kill him. He’d rather walk out and nurse his humiliation in private than watch another minute of this nightmare unfold.

Maya and Xenia said nothing. But the looks they threw at his back could have stripped paint.

”Hey, don’t leave!” Stan called out cheerfully from across the showroom, his voice dripping with mock concern. ”Keep watching!”

Kyle’s teeth ground so hard something audibly popped in his jaw. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t slow down. He just quickened his pace and stormed out of the store without looking back.

Stan watched him go with a small, genuinely entertained smile.

’I was just getting ready to really let loose, and he bailed on me. How rude.’

The next hour was, by any reasonable measure, the most ridiculous shopping trip Stan Harrison had ever been on.

Maya and Xenia took turns, and sometimes didn’t bother taking turns, piling garments, accessories, and designer watches into shopping bags with his name on them. Suits. Coats. Shirts.

Two different Rolexes. A Cartier bracelet that Xenia insisted would ”look good on your wrist at dinner.”

Maya countered with a Patek Philippe of her own, pointedly more expensive than the one Kyle had brought to her party.

Stan let them.

He let them because it was funny. He let them because every single item being purchased on his behalf was, on some level, a small quiet rebuttal to the man who’d spent the entire afternoon trying to humiliate him.

And he let them because the rest of the guests, the same crowd who’d sneered at his fifty-dollar hairband and his punctured bicycle tires, were standing off to the side watching it all unfold with expressions of pure, silent, dawning horror.

By the time the group finally drifted out of the flagship with half a dozen paper bags apiece, the story was already spreading through the mall via quiet phone screens and whispered group chats.

’Kyle Jennings had come to humiliate a nobody, and walked out humiliated himself.’