The store Chloe found was a high-end gothic boutique called Nocturne Elegance, which, based on the absurdity of its name alone, screamed expensive as hell. The moment they walked in, Maluck could feel his wallet trembling in fear.
This wasn’t some Hot Crypt mall store selling cheap velvet and tacky plastic lace. Oh no. This was REAL Victorian-inspired gothic fashion. The kind that looked like you were either about to haunt an old mansion or sue an industrialist for your dead husband’s inheritance.
Chandeliers cast a dim, dramatic glow, illuminating racks of flowing black gowns, corset bodices that probably required a degree in mechanical engineering to put on, and lace gloves that served no actual purpose except to say, “I’m richer than you.”
Chloe was in her element. The instant she saw a floor-length black dress with intricate lace sleeves, a corset-style waist, and subtle purple embroidery that made it look like she had just risen from her crypt to seduce a poet, her eyes sparkled in a way Maluck had only seen when he turned in a winning scratcher.
“This. Is. Beautiful,” she whispered, reverently running her fingers over the fabric.
Maluck looked at the insane price tag hanging off it.
$4,500.
He nearly choked on his own soul.
“…Chloe,” he said slowly. “This dress costs more than my first car.”
“Yeah, but I bet your first car was a piece of shit, based on your current car,” she said dreamily, still admiring the gown.
“That’s not the point!” Maluck hissed. “For that much money, that dress better come with a personal butler, a will that guarantees me an estate, and at least one ghostly ancestor offering cryptic warnings.”
Chloe ignored him completely, already heading for the changing room.
A few minutes later, she emerged—and Maluck had to admit, it was worth every damn penny.
She looked like a vampire duchess who had just poisoned her fifth husband for his fortune.
The dress fit like a dream, hugging her waist, flowing dramatically as she moved, and making her look ridiculously expensive.
Maluck blinked. “Okay, yeah. You might be able to seduce Dracula in that.”
Chloe smirked. “Good. I heard he’s loaded.”
Maluck sighed and pulled out his credit card of pain.
‘Time to sell that comic book.’
***
Maluck stared at the soul-crushing number on the receipt.
Between Chloe’s gothic aristocrat ensemble and his own ridiculously overpriced suit ($3000), he had burned through his cash reserves faster than a sketchy offshore crypto exchange.
‘What the hell happened?’
He had been rich. Well, rich by his standards. That was before he had started acting like a king, throwing money at clothes, five-star meals, and luxury hotels like he was a trust-fund baby with no concept of budgeting.
And now?
His bank account was looking at him like a concerned parent watching their kid fail basic math.
Yeah, definitely time to liquidate some assets—aka, sell that XXX-Men #1 comic book he’d picked up at a pawn shop for a literal dollar.
That, or it was casino time.
He checked his inventory, and there it was—the Probability Charm, practically begging for attention.
“Use me… feeeeed me LPs…”
Maluck swore it was whispering to him like some kind of cursed artifact from a fantasy novel. The way it just sat there in his inventory, glowing faintly, waiting… it was almost creepy.
But also? Incredibly tempting.
“Alright, alright, I get it,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “Time to feed the beast.”
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
He could pay for dinner with his Visex card, which currently held more debt than a college student, and then use cash for a casino roll.
It was the financial equivalent of digging yourself out of a hole by using a slightly bigger shovel.
And just as he finalized his genius plan, a System Task popped up.
[System Task: Bet Big or Go Home] Your pockets are light, my dude. Time to refill them. Win at least $15,000 in one night. System bonus to be determined based on style and audacity.
Maluck grinned.
Time to make some magic happen.
But first dinner!
***
Maluck felt just a little ridiculous as he pulled up to one of Calgary’s fanciest restaurants in his extremely reliable but absolutely-not-fancy car.
Chloe, looking like gothic royalty in her absurdly expensive dress, raised an eyebrow. “You sure this thing’s gonna make it?”
Maluck patted the dashboard like a beloved but slightly unreliable pet. “She’s a warrior. Been through worse.”
He hoped that was true.
Actually, no, he did more than hope.
Before they left, he had done some preventative maintenance—the System way.
He had checked his BP—sitting at a nervous 12. Not horrific, but definitely high enough to make a breakdown an uncomfortable possibility.
So he had cracked open a few Koala Kolas.
The sacrifice of carbonation and artificial flavoring worked immediately. His BP dropped to 6.
Great!
Except then… he started winning free sodas.
Each time he looked at the tab, he racked up more wins, and the System recognized the good luck.
His BP climbed back up to 8.
He stopped immediately.
Apparently, the Bad Luck tax had a floor, and if he tried to game the system too hard, it fought back.
“Well, that’s good to know,” he muttered, pocketing his stack of free soda tabs.
They pulled into the restaurant’s valet area.
And wow.
The place was so fancy it hurt.
A line of luxury cars stretched along the entrance—sleek black sports cars, opulent Rolls-Royces, and a Bentley that probably cost more than his entire lifetime earnings.
Meanwhile, Maluck’s completely unremarkable ride rolled in like an enthusiastic but underfunded contestant in a high-stakes beauty pageant.
The valet gave it a look that said this is beneath me but still nodded professionally.
“Welcome, sir. May I park your vehicle?”
“Yeah, just… be gentle with her.”
The valet gave him the kind of forced customer service smile that said, ‘I’m getting minimum wage to park Lamborgs, and you’re worried about this junkmobile?’
Chloe snickered as they stepped out.
“Nothing like showing up at a five-star restaurant in a vehicle with a suspiciously squeaky fan belt.”
Maluck sighed. “It adds character.”
A System Notification popped up.
[System Task: Fake It Till You Make It] You may not be rich, but you better act like you belong. Handle this meal like an absolute high roller. System bonuses to be determined based on confidence, class, and sheer audacity.
Maluck grinned.
Oh, he could do audacity.
***
The hostess greeted them with a cheery, professional smile, her eyes sweeping over their outfits with approval.
Good.
That meant she hadn’t seen Maluck’s completely out-of-place car being dragged away by an underpaid valet.
“Do you have a reservation?” she asked politely.
Chloe looked at Maluck expectantly. She knew they didn’t have reservations, the whole thing was her last minute choice,
He smiled, oozing casual confidence. “No, we decided to come last minute.”
The hostess’s smile dimmed ever so slightly.
She glanced at her table chart, then gave him an unfortunate, well-practiced look.
The “Oh, poor thing, you really thought you could just walk in?” face.
“I’m sorry. We’re very full this evening,” she said in a tone dripping with regret.
Maluck nodded slowly, as if he were contemplating the deeper meaning of life and not just trying to get a table.
“No openings at all?”
She gave him a sympathetic shake of the head. “The earliest we could accommodate you would be two days from now at 4 p.m.”
Maluck considered this problem.
This wasn’t a barbecue joint, where flashing a thousand bucks would make miracles happen.
Hell, the average meal here cost a thousand bucks.
His bankroll did not allow for waving around ten grand like a big shot.
But luck was on his side.
Because just out of the corner of his eye—
He spotted his brand-new rich asshole friend.
Jackpot.
Maluck snapped his fingers like he just had an epiphany.
“Wait a second, I believe a friend of mine is here.”
The hostess raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Mind if I call him?” Maluck asked.
She kept her professional smile, but the doubt was written all over it.
“Be my guest.”
Then, her voice dropped slightly.
“But call him. Don’t walk up to his table.”
Damn.
He was totally planning on casually strolling over like he owned the place.
Whatever.
He pulled out his phone and shot a message to Jonathan.
Maluck: Hey! Coincidentally at the same restaurant. No reservation. Any chance you know someone here?
Meanwhile…
Jonathan had been in the middle of telling his dinner companions a very exaggerated tale about his most recent “business deal.”
AKA: The wine bottle safe fiasco.
And his friends were eating it up.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the message, did a double-take, and immediately started grinning.
“Oh my goodness. You guys won’t believe who just texted me.”
“Who?” one of his friends asked, sipping their glass of wine.
Jonathan dramatically held up his phone.
“The guy who saved my wine.”
A chorus of “No ways and laughter filled the table.
Jonathan, loving the attention, leaned back.
“And he wants a table.”
His friend, a bored-looking hedge fund guy, smirked. “Help him out then. Consider it a reward for services rendered.”
Jonathan nodded, messaging back quickly.
Jonathan: Give me a sec.
He walked over to the hostess, who was still standing at the podium, watching him.
“Hey, darling, can you do me a favor?”
She immediately perked up. “Of course, Mr. Alroquette.”
Jonathan gestured toward Maluck. “This guy—he’s with me. Find him a table.”
The hostess’s entire demeanor shifted.
“Right away, sir.”
She turned back to Maluck with a perfectly polished, VIP-welcoming smile.
“We actually just had a table open up. Right this way.”
Maluck grinned at Chloe as they followed her inside.
“See? Told you I’d make it happen.”
Chloe rolled her eyes.
***
