Dawn slid across the marble like a tide of pale gold. Staff moved quietly, collecting crystal flutes and folding linen, leaving the mansion with the clean perfume of a night well spent.
Cass stood at the window with a black coffee. The morning papers were spread on a silver tray. Headlines blinked up at him. Society columnists purred. The business page tried to sound aloof, but every line reeked of interest.
'Good. They don't know how to name it yet. That means I defined it.'
Elaine padded in barefoot, silk robe tied with the awkward grace of someone unused to luxury. She picked up one paper and tried to read without wrinkling it. After a moment, she gave up and looked at him instead.
"You did it," she whispered. "You really did."
"I have only just begun," Cass said.
She laughed softly, eyes shining as if the chandelier light had finally found a place to rest.
Thomas appeared behind her, hair a mess, tie slung over his shoulder like a trophy from another life.
"Proud of you, son," he said. The words landed with the weight of a medal.
[Title Effect Active: Host of Crowns]
[Effect: Influence +10% with High Society guests for 30 days]
Cass folded the paper and set it aside.
"Eat," he said, already moving for the kitchen. "Today will be busy."
Breakfast was simple on purpose. Perfect eggs. Toast just shy of golden. Tomatoes blistered in a pan until sweet.
He plated for his parents first, for himself last. As he sipped coffee, his phone buzzed. Two messages told the story.
Harrington: Breakfast? My club. Come with an appetite for deals.
Cole: Your event exceeded expectations. We should discuss facilities.
'When a door opens, walk through it. When two open, own the corridor.'
He kissed Elaine on the crown of her head, clapped Thomas on the shoulder, and left to the soft hum of a house exhaling pride.
The Aston Martin purred into the city like an answer to a question everyone had been asking. Outside Harrington's club, older men glanced up from papers and measured Cass with the frankness of predators encountering a younger one who didn't blink.
Malcolm was already seated. Tea untouched. A folder rested on the polished wood between them.
"You move quickly, Vale," Harrington said.
"I moved slowly once," Cass replied. "I didn't like the view."
Harrington smirked and tapped the folder.
"Block of old mill terraces off Deansgate. Owners are split. Debt's messy. Council's twitchy about heritage. Most people see a headache. I see flats, ground-floor retail, and a courtyard that looks expensive, whether it is or not."
"Numbers," Cass said.
"Purchase and clear: £2.6 million. Capex: £1.1. End value north of five."
Cass ran the figures in silence. He had already seen the bones. Location. Pattern of footfall. The way sunlight would hit the courtyard at four in the afternoon, when people were deciding whether to stay and spend.
"Terms?" he asked.
"Fifty-fifty JV. I bring debt and contractors. You bring cash and taste. We both bring our names."
"Taste is worth equity," Cass said lightly.
"It is. Which is why I didn't call anyone else."
Cass let the quiet breathe, then held out a hand.
"Done."
Harrington's grip was solid, satisfied. The kind of shake that wrote itself into the bones of a street.
[Quest Triggered: First Joint Venture]
They spent an hour refining the bones. Phasing. Pre-sales strategy. The kind of velvet pressure that made planning committees feel flattered to approve.
When they stood, Harrington's smile had turned into something rarer. Respect.
"You make people older than you feel like they should hurry," he said.
"That's cause they should," Cass replied.
"Well, you aren't wrong there." Harrington chuckled.
[Quest Complete: First Joint Venture]
[Reward: 50% Equity in Deansgate Mill Redevelopment]
[+£25,000]
[Real Estate Skill Lv.2 Unlocked]
Outside, the air tasted like new metal. Cass checked the time and decided to change gears. The Vintage Car Voucher he'd earned sat unredeemed, simmering like a dare.
He opened the system panel with a thought and scrolled the options until he found the right shade of arrogance.
[Reward Redeemed: 1967 Jaguar E-Type Series 1 — British Racing Green]
[Bonus: Classic Handling Lv.1. Public Presence +5 when arriving at social venues]
The Jag waited in a private garage like history breathing. The bonnet stretched to tomorrow. The interior smelled of leather and old victory.
Cass slid behind the wheel, turned the key, and the engine answered with a grin.
'Perfect. Let them hear me coming before they know why they're turning their heads.'
The E-Type rolled into the university car park, and conversations collapsed like cheap tents. Phones appeared. Mouths opened.
The DB7 had been a statement. This was a thesis.
Cass stepped out in a navy suit that made everyone else look underdressed on purpose. He didn't hurry. He didn't need to.
Rowena found him among the stunned faces. Amusement curved her mouth.
"You brought art," she said, nodding at the Jaguar.
"I brought history," Cass replied. "It pairs well with lectures."
"Careful. You'll have the classics department proposing."
"I'm taken," Cass said. "By my calendar."
She laughed. The sound was clean enough to wash a room.
Sienna stood farther back. Two girls whispered too loudly at her side. Her date from last night looked even smaller in daylight. Impatient. Insecure. A suit that had lost an argument with its tailor.
She lifted her chin and walked toward Cass.
"Cassian," she said sweetly. "About your party—"
"It wasn't a party," Cass said.
She blinked. "I mean the gala—"
"It wasn't a gala either," he said.
She tried another route. "People are talking about us."
"There is no 'us,' Sienna," Cass said evenly. "There's only the last time you mistook a mirror for a window."
Colour rose in her cheeks. Someone choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough.
Sienna shuffled away in shame, cursing in her heart.
[Hidden Ledger Update: Sienna Reed. Debt +5 (Public Check). Total: 70]
Trent soon approached. His expression was careful. His eyes tried to read a room he had never learned the alphabet for.
"Nice car," he said, aiming for nonchalance but missing the mark. "Bet it breaks down."
"If it does, it'll still appreciate faster than your jokes," Cass said.
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd like a decision.
Trent's jaw set. "You think this makes you better than us?"
"No. I am better than you. This makes it obvious."
The laughter sharpened. Even Rowena winced in sympathetic pleasure.
[Hidden Ledger Update: Trent Beaumont. Debt +5 (Status Collapse). Total: 35]
Cass stepped past them and into the lecture hall. The room parted on instinct. He took his usual seat.
The professor's gaze lingered. Not just approval. Curiosity.
When the lecture ended, three students he had never met asked quietly if he would consider advising their start-up. Cass asked one question about their supply chain. By the time they answered, they had already revised their entire afternoon plan.
'Every hour must pay rent.'
By mid-afternoon, he was back in the city. Lydia Cole's bank. She rose when he entered. He filed that under Useful Data.
"Facilities," she said. "What are you actually after?"
"A platform, not a parachute," Cass said. "Private account. No-nonsense FX. Discretion. And when I say 'we close,' your staff moves before the ink dries."
"You'll pay for that," Cole said.
"I'll make you more," Cass said.
They discussed limits, corridor lending, and the kind of relationship that shaved hours off the friction of being new to old rooms.
When they finished, Cole extended a hand.
"Don't waste this," she said.
"I will never waste anything," Cass replied.
Evening had pooled by the time he reached the mansion. Lights glowed along the drive. The quartet's cases sat stacked by the side door.
In the kitchen, Elaine experimented with herbs the chef had left. She frowned with concentration.
"Salt," Cass said gently.
She added a pinch, tasted, and brightened.
"I'm learning," she said.
"You're already killing it," he corrected.
They ate at the smaller table. Thomas told a story about a man at the mill who used to swear the pipes talked back. They laughed in the way people do when the past finally stops being only heavy.
When the plates were cleared, Cass walked the hall one more time. Not because he doubted, but because repetition carved certainty.
In his study, the Hidden Ledger rested on the desk. He opened it and let his eyes rest on the two names that mattered tonight.
Sienna glowed hot. A knot of jealousy and pretended indifference.
Trent flickered. Anger. Humiliation. Poor choices, coming due.
'Debts accrue interest. I will collect on schedule.'
He closed the book. The system breathed one quiet recognition across his vision.
[Passive Skill Advanced: Real Estate Lv.2 — Enhanced Site Vision, Council Sway +5%]
Cass stood at the window again. The lawns were dark. The house was a grid of soft light.
Tomorrow would be deals. The day after would be stories told by people who hadn't been in the room.
Next week, a rumour would surface that he had an old family title. He would neither confirm nor deny. He would just make the rumour look plausible.