Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Stan took the new phone from his pocket and held it out.

”What’s up with your sudden interest in phones...?”

The question came out mildly curious, almost amused. He meant it that way. A vampire asking for a slab of glass still sat strangely in his mind, even after the shop, the SIM, the drive.

Camilla accepted the device. Her fingers were pale and sure. She turned it once, studying the dark screen, the slim edges, the ordinary weight of it in her palm. Red eyes moved over it with the same attention she might have given a talisman or a blade.

”I saw many interesting stuffs with my divine sense and got curious.” Her voice was calm, low, unhurried. ”Thank you for getting it for me...”

He watched her thumb rest along the side, as if she were already mapping how a human would hold it. Amusement tugged at him, genuine curiosity about something so ordinary, treated with the gravity of a first artifact. A trace of the earlier fantasy rose and receded: pale skin flushed, white hair on dark sheets, that composed face broken open. He let it pass. This Camilla, in this light, was still all control.

He took out the Uno cards next, then the chess set he had bought earlier. Both looked faintly ridiculous in the elevator’s polish, bright cardboard, folded board, the small seriousness of games meant for tables and evenings. He held them out as well.

She took them without comment. For a moment the three things sat in her hands: phone, deck, chess. Then she turned her wrist. A ring on her finger caught the light, nothing ornate, only a band that seemed to drink the glow rather than throw it back. The motion was smooth, practiced, almost lazy. Phone, cards, and board vanished as she stored them into her spatial ring... Her hands were empty again.

The small wonder of it lingered in the humming car. Items that had weight a second ago were gone. She looked at him.

”Thank you...”

”You’re welcome.”

Silence settled, not awkward, only full. The elevator climbed. City lights slid down the glass in slow streaks. Her white hair shifted when she breathed, a faint movement against dark fabric.

Those red eyes stayed on him a beat longer than politeness required, then dropped, then returned, serious as ever.

After a short pause she spoke again. The formality in her voice was not stiffness so much as habit, the way a person spoke when debts were real and words were contracts.

”I’ll definitely repay you for the stuffs you got for me... I don’t have new age money, so I’m asking what’s the value of the glass toy, the Uno, and the board game... I’ll pay you in accordance with cultivation resources...”

Stan understood at once that she would not accept a refusal. Pride like hers did not take gifts and leave the ledger blank. He had known that on the drive, when he had decided space might serve him better than crowding her. He let out a quiet sigh, already tired of the argument he had not yet had.

”We’ll discuss about that later...”

The words hung between them. She did not nod. She did not smile. She only watched him, luminous eyes steady in the soft light, as if later were already a place she intended to keep. The elevator hummed on.

The city fell away beneath the glass. In the small space the unpaid debt sat as clearly as the vanished gifts, and neither of them pretended it was only courtesy.

The elevator had not yet been called again. They stood in the quiet of the landing, the high-rise’s night hush gathered around them like a held note.

Soft light lay along the brushed steel. Far below, through the glass at the end of the corridor, the city kept its muted gold. Camilla’s Qi lingered in the air, cool, fine, almost scentless, and still impossible to mistake for anything ordinary.

Stan spoke without ceremony.

”I’m heading out. Probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”

Casual. No apology folded into it, no invitation for her to ask more than she wanted to. He

Camilla’s red eyes stayed on him. White hair lay still against her shoulder. The phone was gone into the ring, but her fingers curled once at her side, as if they remembered its weight.

”Where are you going?”

”Next city.” A small pause. ”With my sister.”

The words landed cleaner than she liked.

She wanted to ask the other question. ’Are you going to see a girl?’ One of them. The warm one. The one whose name sat too easily in his mouth.

The thought rose fully formed and she bit her lip, just enough pressure to keep it from becoming sound.

If he admitted it, what could she even say? She had no claim that would survive the saying of it. Pride did not give her the right to tell him not to go. He had mentioned his sister. That was something.

She used it. Things would stay moderate. There would be another person in the room, a witness, a limit. And if she needed to know more, her divine sense could still find him. She did not have to follow. She would wait.

The lip eased. Her face did not change much. Only the faint tension in her posture remained, a stillness a fraction too complete.

Stan noticed it the way he noticed weather, present, not something he intended to name. He did not press.

”Take out the phone.”

She turned her wrist. The ring drank a sliver of light. The device appeared on her open palm as if it had never left, dark screen, slim edges, still faintly warm from his pocket . She held it the way she held unfamiliar tools: carefully, without fuss.

He stepped in just close enough to see the screen with her. Not closer.

”This one.” He tapped. ”Voice call. You pick the name, it rings, you talk. Same as speaking into the air, except the other person has to answer.”

A second tap. The interface shifted.

”Video. You see their face. They see yours. Don’t look at it like a scrying mirror the first time, it’s only a camera.”

Camilla watched his hands, then the glass. She turned the phone slightly, testing the angle, the weight. Luminous eyes reflected a small rectangle of light.