Jeff stared at the favorability number ticking down on the holographic panel.
Ava Reynolds: Favorability -1
Ava Reynolds: Favorability -1
It dropped another two points. From -45 to -47 now. Pure disgust, and climbing.
She looked at him like he was a bug.
Ava was striking up close: long, glossy dark hair that fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, full lips painted a bold red, and smoky eyes that could cut glass. She wore a cropped white tank that hugged her toned midriff, high-waisted black leather pants that accentuated her long legs, and chunky gold hoops that caught the light every time she tilted her head in annoyance. Her posture screamed confidence, like she knew every eye in the store was on her—and she expected it.
Jeff stood there in his worn hoodie, shorts, and flip-flops, hair still a mess from the morning sprint. He knew he looked like a broke college kid who hadn't slept in days. Thin frame, tired eyes, the classic internet-addict vibe. His entire outfit probably cost less than fifty bucks at Target.
Ava Reynolds was one of the top girls in the NYU Tisch arts program. Guys lined up from Washington Square Park to the East Village just to get her attention: frat stars, finance bros, even a few trust-fund kids with private drivers. She had a reputation for playing the field hard, stringing along rich guys, collecting backups like trophies. Jeff had heard the stories. She was a pro at turning simps into ATMs.
"What are you staring at, loser? Pretending to be loaded now? You really think I'd give my Insta to someone who looks like he lives in his mom's basement?" Ava crossed her arms, voice dripping with contempt, her red nails tapping impatiently against her bicep.
Jeff felt the old panic rise, but the black card in his pocket weighed heavy. Ninety billion in simp fuel. Confidence hit different when the numbers were that big.
"Gorgeous, don't shut it down so fast. Adding me costs nothing. Agree, and I'll cover everything you buy today. No strings."
The crowd around the convenience store started murmuring.
"Isn't that Jeff Thompson? The simp who used to run breakfast to Lindsay Summers every morning?"
"Holy shit, he just got dumped in front of Starbucks like an hour ago. Now he's trying to flex on Ava Reynolds?"
"This guy's lost it. Ava's a straight-up gold-digger. She'll bleed him dry and laugh about it later."
"Remember how she played those finance interns last semester? This simp won't even last a week."
Jeff ignored the whispers. He straightened his back. Money talked louder than shame.
Ava smirked, eyes narrowing. "You sure about that?"
"Dead sure."
"Fine. Let's see how deep your pockets go. Everyone here," she called out to the line of students, "snacks, drinks, whatever you want. Jeff's paying. Go wild."
After all the people grabbed their items, the female cashier rang it up. Jeff pulled out his phone and scanned the cashier's code without hesitation.
The electronic voice rang out clear and loud: "Payment received: fifty thousand dollars."
The store went dead silent.
Fifty grand. Dropped like it was pocket change.
No rich kid in a Lambo jacket. Just Jeff Thompson, the campus simp everyone had roasted minutes ago.
Ava's smirk faltered for half a second. She hadn't expected real money. Not from him. Her perfectly arched brows lifted slightly, the first crack in her armor.
The crowd erupted into chaos. Phones came out. People had grabbed armfuls of Red Bull, chips, energy drinks, candy. The cashier looked stunned as the total kept climbing. She was even more amazed some guy in a shirt and flip-flops paid it off.
"Now can I add your Insta?" Jeff asked calmly.
Ava recovered fast. "What's the rush? The day's just getting started. Come with me."
Thirty minutes later they were at the SoHo flagship Gucci store on Broadway.
Ava pointed to a sleek black handbag in the display case. "I've had my eye on this one. You wouldn't mind picking it up for me, right?"
Jeff smiled. "Not at all."
This was exactly what the system wanted. Spend big. Flip the script.
He stepped inside and froze.
Lindsay Summers stood by the mirror, modeling the exact same bag. She looked every bit the ice queen: platinum blonde hair pulled into a high, sleek ponytail that showed off her sharp jawline and swan-like neck, flawless porcelain skin glowing under the store lights, cat-eye liner that made her green eyes look even colder. She wore a fitted cream blazer over a silk camisole, paired with a short black skirt and sky-high heels that made her legs look endless. Even when pouting, she carried herself like she belonged on a runway.
Blake Harrington leaned against a display, arms crossed, looking bored in his tailored navy blazer, crisp white shirt, and Rolex glinting on his wrist.
"Babe, it looks amazing on you," Blake said lazily. "But Dad's been cutting my allowance. Says I'm too flashy. He's only wiring me like eighty grand a month now. I'm trying to be frugal. Let's come back next time, yeah? I'll get it for you then."
Lindsay pouted, lips glossy and full. "But I really want it..."
Blake's face hardened. "Linds, I don't want a girlfriend who's all about material shit. I want someone who likes me for me, not the wallet. You get that, right?"
Lindsay forced a smile, nodding quickly. "Yeah, of course. I'm not like that. Forget it."
She started to take the bag off.
Then she saw Jeff.
And Ava right behind him.
Lindsay's eyes widened. "Jeff? What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me? I told you we're done. You're seriously disgusting."
Jeff felt the rage flare hot. Three years of putting her on a pedestal, and she still talked to him like dirt.
He stepped forward. "I'm not following you. I'm here with Ava. We broke up. What I do now is none of your business."
Lindsay laughed, sharp and cruel. "With Ava? Please. She'll chew you up and spit you out worse than I did."
Before Jeff could fire back, the voice cut in, low and amused.
Target acquired. Unlucky mark: Lindsay Summers.
Age: 21. Looks: 8.0/10. Current vibe toward you: -15 (she's still pissed and smug).
Reversal bond re-locked. Push her favor past 95, flip the dynamic, and she becomes yours to toy with. Reward: 10% of vault spends on her, plus 20 Reversal Points.
Twenty points. Four times what Ava offered.
Jeff almost laughed out loud. Deep down, some part of him still wanted to make her regret it. Badly.
I'm such a jerk, he thought. But maybe that's what it takes.
Ava tugged his arm, her red nails grazing his sleeve. "Come on. My bag first."
Jeff nodded, eyes locked on Lindsay for a second longer.
The reversal game was heating up.