Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Stan left the branch with a few hours to spare before seven.

The Velaris entertainment district was only a ten-minute walk from the Star Entertainment building, a dense, vibrant section of the city that had gradually shaped itself around the industry it served.

Gaming lounges, production supply stores, private screening facilities, restaurants that stayed open deep into the night because the people nearby rarely worked normal hours. The entire district carried the distinct atmosphere of a place that treated entertainment as a serious profession rather than a fashionable hobby.

Stan slipped into a gaming lounge wedged between a post-production studio and a café. He spent the next hour moving through several rounds of a first-person tactical shooter that had dominated competitive circuits over the past year, and quickly discovered that his reflexes, already sharpened by whatever quiet adjustments the system was making to his physical baseline, placed him far above where he should have been after a two-week break.

He won more matches than he lost and left without drawing attention to it.

While he played, he had made calls.

Grayson first, a short, efficient conversation regarding whatever intelligence could be gathered on the competing attendees of tonight’s talent showcase.

Grayson’s network extended deep into the institutional layers of the entertainment industry, the kind of connections that produced reliable information quickly and without the distortion of public rumor.

Then two other Wanhai shareholders, each connected to different sectors of the industry.

After that, a message to Vivian, asking her to conduct parallel research through the branch’s internal intelligence resources.

By the time Stan finished a light dinner at a restaurant overlooking the district’s central plaza, something simple, eaten slowly at a window table while evening traffic thickened beneath the neon-lit streets outside, a notification appeared on his phone.

It was Vivian. Stan unlocked the screen and opened the message.

She had sent two things: the formal invitation for the evening’s event, and a research summary that was, Stan noted with quiet approval, far more comprehensive than he would have expected given the limited turnaround time.

He opened the invitation first.

The event was being hosted by the Velaris City Film and Media Association, an independently administered industry body with no direct affiliation to any single entertainment company. Stan read the name once, and something immediately clicked into place.

’Neutral ground huh?’ he thought. ’That’s why the rival companies can all attend the same event without turning it into a territorial dispute.’

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth before he moved on to Vivian’s report.

The research confirmed exactly what his instincts had already suggested: tonight’s talent showcase would attract representatives from nearly every major tier of the global entertainment industry.

Netflix. HBO. Warner Bros. Universal Pictures. Amazon MGM Studios. Disney’s talent acquisition division. Paramount’s creative development arm. Alongside them were executives from several influential independent production houses operating across the Asian and European markets.

Stan read through the list without surprise.

Of course they would be there.

An event hosted on neutral industry ground, in one of the country’s premier entertainment cities, was precisely the kind of gathering global companies monitored aggressively. Nobody wanted to be the studio that stayed home while competitors signed the next generation of valuable talent.

The information mattered not because it was unexpected, but because it was precise.

Names. Divisions. Confirmed attendance. Seniority levels.

Vivian had done the work properly.

After a brief moment, Stan typed out a reply.

[Good research. Seven o’clock. Be ready.]

....

At five minutes to seven, Stan pulled the Huracán into the visitor bay outside the Star Entertainment branch.

Vivian was already waiting near the entrance.

She had dressed for the occasion with the careful precision of someone who understood that tonight was both professional and highly visible. The midnight-blue dress she wore managed to strike a balance between elegance and authority, tailored enough to command attention without appearing as though it had been chosen for that purpose. Her hair was styled with the same polished exactness she brought to everything when operating at full capacity.

She looked, Stan thought as she approached the car, exactly like what she was meant to be: the branch manager of one of the world’s premier entertainment companies arriving at a major industry event. Her outfit was very professional, so was his...

Vivian opened the passenger door and slid into the seat beside him, carrying the same composed restraint she had maintained since their meeting earlier that morning.

It was different from the arrogance she used to wear. This was quieter. More controlled. Deliberate in a way that suggested self-awareness rather than pride.

Stan pulled out of the bay without comment.

The city unfolded around them as they drove through the evening traffic, towers lit in bands of neon and reflected glass, crowds spilling through entertainment districts now fully awake for the night.

Neither of them spoke.

Not because the silence was uncomfortable, but because there was nothing left that needed saying.

The important conversations had already happened earlier in the day. What remained now was focus, two people moving toward the next stage of the evening with the calm efficiency of professionals who understood the weight of where they were going.

The Media Convention Arena occupied the central block of the entertainment district, a structure built specifically for events of this scale, this visibility, and this caliber of attendee. Its exterior was a composition of sweeping architectural curves and illuminated glass panels, with the flags of major global entertainment companies displayed along the approach boulevard in deliberate, symmetrical formation, giving the entire venue the atmosphere of an international summit rather than a simple industry gathering.

As Stan drove toward the entrance, the scale of the event became immediately clear.

This was not local. This was something far larger. The approach road was controlled chaos.

Vehicles moved through the drop-off lanes in a constant supervised flow, production company transports, executive sedans, chauffeured luxury vehicles, private supercars. Along the designated press barricades, camera crews and paparazzi operated with the sharp, territorial efficiency of professionals who had secured positions early and intended to capitalize on them. Between them, live streamers maneuvered with extended phone rigs and portable lighting setups, broadcasting directly to online audiences in real time.