Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

He and Sophie had barely made it three steps past the entrance when a voice called out from behind them.

”President Harrison?”

Stan turned.

A middle-aged man in a pressed charcoal suit was approaching with quick, measured steps, the particular stride of someone who had recognized a very important person and was trying to reach them before they disappeared into a crowd. His posture was deferential, his expression alert and respectful.

”I’m sorry to bother you, sir. My name is Cindigo Flick, I’m the general manager of this shopping center.”

Stan studied him for a moment. ”Have we met?”

”No, sir, we haven’t had the pleasure. But I recognized you from the company briefings.” The manager inclined his head slightly. ”This shopping center is a property of the Wanhai Group, which makes me, in effect, your subordinate.”

The words landed quietly, but their weight was considerable.

Sophie, standing at Stan’s side, went very still.

She’d known Stan was wealthy. The building in Four Seasons Garden had made that abundantly clear. But there was a significant difference between wealthy and the largest shareholder of a conglomerate so vast that the general manager of a major shopping center introduces himself as your subordinate.

Her eyes moved from the manager’s respectful bow to Stan’s composed, faintly puzzled expression, the expression of a man who had genuinely forgotten that he owned a piece of this building, and something in her understanding of him quietly recalibrated.

”Why didn’t you notify us you were coming, sir? I would have arranged a proper welcome, a private shopping experience, reserved floors, anything you needed.”

”That won’t be necessary,” Stan said easily. ”I’m just here with a friend. Nothing formal.”

”Of course, of course.” The manager produced a business card from his breast pocket and presented it with both hands. ”Please don’t hesitate to call me directly if there’s anything at all I can do. Anything.”

Stan accepted the card with a nod, and the manager withdrew with another small bow, melting back into the crowd as discreetly as he’d appeared.

Sophie waited until he was gone before she spoke.

”Your subordinate?” she said, her voice carefully neutral, one eyebrow raised by approximately two millimeters.

”Technically,” Stan said, casually slipping the card into his jacket pocket.

Sophie looked at him for a long moment, at his relaxed posture, his unhurried manner, the complete absence of any desire to explain or impress, and felt the last faint residue of the forum post’s influence dissolve like frost in morning sun.

’This man owns part of the building we’re standing in. And he took a taxi here.’

She shook her head once, very slightly, and a small, private smile touched her lips.

They found Felix inside a high-end jewelry store on the second floor.

He was standing at a display case with his arms folded, examining a row of diamond pieces with the territorial air of a man who had claimed this particular patch of retail space as his own. The moment he spotted Stan and Sophie walking past the storefront, he straightened up and intercepted them at the entrance.

”Well.” Felix’s smile was bright and sharp. ”You took the taxi before me, and I still got here first. Funny how that works.” He glanced at Sophie with practiced concern. ”Sophie, honestly, leave him. A man who can’t even afford a car has no business taking you shopping.”

Stan let out a short, quiet laugh.

”Felix.” His voice was calm but direct. ”Instead of following us around trying to pry Sophie away from me, you should probably just leave. Save your energy. Nothing you say is going to change anything here.”

Felix’s expression shifted. He hadn’t expected that, the bluntness of it, the absolute certainty behind it. He’d assumed the forum post, the bad reputation, the Ferrari, the obvious wealth gap would have been enough to make Stan defensive, insecure, eager to prove himself. Instead, Stan was looking at him the way a man looks at a waiter who’s brought the wrong order, mildly inconvenienced, entirely unintimidated.

Felix’s eyes darted to Sophie, searching for a reaction. A flinch. A flicker of doubt. Anything.

Sophie said nothing. She didn’t step away from Stan. She didn’t correct him. She didn’t so much as loosen her grip on his arm.

’She’s actually invested in him,’ Felix realized, the understanding landing like a cold stone in his stomach. ’She genuinely wants to be here. With him.’

He couldn’t comprehend it. The man had a ruined reputation. He’d arrived in a taxi. He was wearing clothes that probably cost less than the display case Felix was leaning on. And Sophie Youngs, Sophie Youngs, was clinging to his arm like he was the only person in the building.

For a long, uncomfortable moment, Felix couldn’t find a single word to say.

But giving up wasn’t in his vocabulary. If anything, the impossibility of the situation only sharpened his resolve. This was a challenge now. A personal one.

”Get lost,” Stan said flatly, already turning to leave with Sophie.

Felix ignored the dismissal. He pivoted toward the nearest display case and pointed at a diamond ring sitting under the glass, a brilliant-cut solitaire, catching the store’s overhead lights in sharp, fractal bursts.

”Sophie,” he said, his voice shifting back into charm mode with practiced speed. ”Do you like this ring?”

Sophie glanced at the display case, then at Felix, then back at Stan. She understood the game being played, Felix was trying to outspend Stan in front of her, using jewelry as ammunition.

”No,” she said simply. ”I don’t like it.”

Felix’s composure dipped for a half-second before he recovered. He turned to Stan with a knowing look.

”Come on. She’s being polite. We both know she likes it, what woman doesn’t like diamonds?” He gestured at the ring. ”Aren’t you going to buy it for her?”

Stan glanced at the price tag. A little over ten thousand dollars.

Ten thousand. With a six-times rebate active, spending ten thousand would net him sixty thousand in returns. Respectable on paper, but laughable compared to what he could earn if he held out for something genuinely expensive. Blowing his weekly rebate charge on a ten-thousand-dollar ring would be like using a rocket launcher to open a can of soup.

”No,” Stan said.