Chapter 215 - 214: Not My Circus, Not My Monkey
He entered what looked like a library—but not the kind where people actually read. No, this was a flex library. Two stories tall with hand-carved woodwork and spiral staircases that seemed specifically designed for dramatic entrances. The kind of place where people casually ’lose’ million-dollar first editions while sipping cognac older than most nations.
Everywhere he turned, something new caught his eye—ceiling frescos with brushstrokes so delicate they probably required therapy after being painted, antique vases that could pay off a national debt, and rugs so soft he felt like apologizing every time he stepped on them.
He passed through a room that seemed dedicated entirely to cigars and whisky. Another room had walls lined with shelves—each filled not with books, but collectible watches ticking in eerie synchronization like the heartbeat of generational wealth.
Next came the formal dining room, which could seat over a hundred guests. The table stretched so long it looked like it had its own zip code, and required GPS to find your seat. Rex half-expected to see carrier pigeons relaying messages from one end to the other.
Then, like stumbling into Gatsby’s secret lair, he found the Art Deco-style bar and billiards room. The lighting had that vintage Hollywood glow, and he could practically hear jazz playing even before the speakers kicked in. It looked like it had been ripped straight from a 1920s noir film, complete with liquor older than the Great Depression and lighting that whispered secrets.
There were more liquor bottles displayed than a five-star hotel minibar, and at least three pool tables made of what he could only assume was unicorn bone—or something equally extravagant.
Rex leaned against the velvet-lined bar, absorbing every absurd detail, from the gold-threaded drapes to the fresco of a Roman feast on the ceiling.
As Rex continued his gleefully judgmental tour, he knew one thing for sure: this mansion wasn’t built for living—it was built for flexing.
Still, he wasn’t done exploring. If the rest of the mansion was anything like this, then he was determined to experience it all—not just out of curiosity, but also so he could one day describe it to broke friends and say, "Ah yes, the western sunroom had slightly better acoustics than the platinum-tiled conservatory."