Chapter 8: New Beginning: A Condo, Cash and Harem God Card!
[Ding! Start-up mystery box opened>>
Host has received: A fully furnished condo in Tribeca, Manhattan>>]
Jayden blinked.
Nah. Nah, for real?
A condo? In Tribeca? Like that Tribeca? The one from Instagram flexes and Forbes articles and those YouTube videos where rich kids tour apartments with wine cellars bigger than his entire house?
He exhaled, chest rising like the disbelief physically weighed something. Shit like this didn't just happen. Not to him. It was one thing to read about it in those lowkey addictive urban system novels—the ones with dumbass titles like IGot a Condo and Now I'm God—but to live it? To feel the universe just drop a real estate miracle on his head like it owed him back pay for every goddamn trauma he'd swallowed and never spoken about?
The evidence was there...
He looked at the papers. Just... looked. There was something obscene about them. Something too clean, too glossy, too final. Like destiny had signed a lease in his name without bothering to ask if he was ready. They were spread across his lap, bold typeface and high-quality ink, legal jargon wrapped around one truth:
Get the hell out.
Out of the moldy walls, out of the neighbors who screamed more than they spoke, out of the mornings where hunger was a normal feeling, not a crisis. The papers weren't just documents. They were war declarations against the version of him that had accepted mediocrity as survival.
And the location? It was just far enough from school to keep his new life separated from the mess, but close enough to reach by train or some sleek Uber he wouldn't be ashamed to take anymore. Tribeca. Business titans. Legacy students. Instagram models who lived like luxury was hereditary.