bantayden Chapter 157: Infinite Budget (double length)
Chapter 157: Infinite Budget (double length)
The Central Galleria was a towering monolith of tinted structural glass and architectural white gold, housing the highest density of elite flagship boutiques in the entire province. Compared to the Sun-Shine commercial district, this was a sight to behold.
As the Audi RS 6 pulled up to the entrance, the air-conditioned breeze of the mall’s grand atrium washed over them, carrying the subtle, sharp scent of expensive French perfume and freshly polished marble.
Aliya stepped out of the car first, virtually vibrating with excitement. Her vlogging rig was already hoisted, the lens tracking the massive, sweeping glass ceiling before turning sharply to capture her own wide, ecstatic grin.
"Alright, guys, if you’re just tuning in from the last clip, the rumors are one hundred percent true," Aliya whispered rapidly into her microphone, her boots clicking a frantic rhythm as she waited for Jake and Catherine to catch up. "The car purchase is finalized, the orange monster is secured, and now we are officially entering phase two: the infinite account shopping spree. No budget limit. I repeat, zero budget limit."
Jake stepped out next, his expression perfectly relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Catherine walked closely beside him, her fingers still lightly intertwined with his. She looked up at the towering multi-level storefronts—massive facades of Chanel, Hermès, and Louis Vuitton—and felt a familiar, slight tightening in her chest. To her, this wasn’t just a shopping mall; it was a surreal fortress of absolute privilege.
"Aliya, slow down before you trip and cause a scene," Jake said flatly, though an amused glint lingered in his eyes.
"I’m pretty sure you would love that," Aliya replied without turning to look at Jake.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black piece of metal with a minimal silver emblem emblazoned on the corner. It was a Sterling International Bank Black Sovereign Card—an unmapped, high-net-worth card that didn’t possess a pre-set spending ceiling. He extended it toward his sister.
"Take this," Jake murmured. "That way you don’t have to drag me to every single counter just to input a security pin. Buy whatever catches your eye. Just ensure Catherine actually gets what she wants too."
Aliya’s jaw dropped as she stared at the card in her palm, her fingers tracing the heavy, brushed-metal texture. ’Oh my god, it’s the Sovereign line,’ she thought, her heart doing a frantic little flip. ’I’ve only ever seen screenshots of these on high-society forums. It doesn’t even have a card number on the front.’
"Jake... you are officially the greatest sibling to ever exist in the history of human genetics," Aliya squealed, snatching the card and tucking it securely into her designer jacket pocket.
"I’m pretty sure after you are done spending my money you will be saying something different," Jake replied with a smile.
Aliya instantly grabbed Catherine’s arm, pulling her along with a terrifying surge of energy. "Come on, Cath! First stop is Saint Laurent. We need to completely overhaul our wardrobe baseline before we even look at the accessories!"
Catherine stumbled slightly as she was dragged forward, casting a helpless, laughing glance back at Jake over her shoulder. "Slow down a bit, Al."
Jake simply offered a small, encouraging nod, following a few paces behind them at a leisurely, unhurried gait.
The interior of Saint Laurent was a stark, beautifully intimidating grid of black marble and mirrored walls. Aliya didn’t hesitate for a single second. She marched straight toward the ready-to-wear racks, her eyes scanning the silhouettes with the precision of a hawk.
"Look at this tailored grain-de-poudre wool blazer, Cath! I’ve always wanted one," Aliya gushed, pulling a sharp, double-breasted black jacket from the rack and holding it against Catherine’s shoulders. "The tailoring is insane. Try it on. Actually, don’t even try it on, we’re taking it in a size 36 and a 38 just in case. Sir!" She flagged down a pristine sales associate who was already hovering nearby. "We need this blazer, the matching silk-satin trousers, and that sheer georgette blouse from the window display."
The associate bowed elegantly, his eyes instantly tracking the black card sticking out of Aliya’s pocket. "Right away, mademoiselle. I will prepare a private fitting room for the young lady."
"Al, wait," Catherine whispered, her voice dropping as she looked at the minimalist white tag attached to the sleeve of the blazer. ’Ninety-five thousand marks for a single jacket?’ Her mind immediately did the math. That was close to a year of her base salary. "It’s beautiful, but it’s way too much. I can’t just casually wear a hundred-thousand-mark blazer to the office. I’d be terrified of spilling coffee on it."
"Cath, you don’t need to worry about all that," Aliya replied, completely unbothered as she tossed a metallic lamé evening dress into the associate’s arms. "Coffee stains are regular for clothes. If you ruin this, Jake will just buy you a few more. Stop overthinking the price tags. We got an unlimited budget anyway."
Aliya proceeded to tear through the boutique, grabbing anything that caught her eye. For herself, she selected a lambskin leather motorcycle jacket for 115,000 marks, three silk creep-de-chine shirts at 32,000 marks each, and a pair of embroidered velvet slippers for 28,000 marks. For Catherine, she ruthlessly piled on a cashmere knit trench coat priced at 160,000 marks, the silk-satin trousers for 45,000 marks, the sheer georgette blouse for 38,000 marks, and the metallic evening dress for 210,000 marks.
When they reached the counter, the sales associate rang up the final tally, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled up the invoice screen. "That will be two double-breasted blazers at ninety-five thousand each, totaling one hundred and ninety thousand marks. With all remaining garments included, your final total at Saint Laurent is seven hundred and eighty-four thousand marks, mademoiselle."
Aliya casually handed over the black metal card. ’Seven hundred and eighty-four thousand,’ she noted internally, feeling a surge of pure adrenaline. ’We haven’t even hit the shoe section yet and we’ve already spent nearly a million marks.’ The transaction cleared instantly without a single prompt for a PIN.
From Saint Laurent, the whirlwind moved directly into the sprawling, double-story Chanel boutique. The atmosphere here was softer, bathed in warm ivory tones and iconic quilted leather displays. Aliya was entirely in her element, picking out a classic black caviar leather Medium Classic Flap bag priced at one hundred and twenty thousand marks, before turning her sights down the rows of display cases.
"We need classic tweed flats, the signature pearl necklaces, and at least three shades of the Rouge Allure velvet lipstick," Aliya dictated, her camera rig swinging seamlessly to capture the pristine packaging as the staff began stacking glossy black shopping bags behind the counter.
She pointed out a beige lambskin Boy Bag for 135,000 marks, a patent leather vanity case for 85,000 marks, two pairs of the classic tweed flats at 40,000 marks each, and three long-strand signature pearl necklaces priced at 110,000 marks apiece. The lipsticks added a minor 2,500 marks to the pile.
As Aliya turned to inspect a row of lambskin vanity cases, two women in their late twenties walked into the handbag section. Both were draped in prominent luxury logos, carrying designer tote bags and dripping in heavy gold jewelry. They stopped near the central display island, their eyes immediately locking onto Aliya, who was currently holding a miniature pink top-handle bag while animatedly debating a camera angle with herself.
"Look at that," one of the women muttered in a staged, overly loud whisper to her companion, her nose turning up slightly. "She’s literally filming herself holding a classic flap like she’s never seen one before. The influencers these days are getting so exhausting."
The second woman let out a condescending snicker, casting a dismissive glance over Aliya’s casual boots and Catherine’s simple, unbranded linen shirt. "Probably just making a ’wish-list’ video for her followers. She’ll pose with five different bags, complain about the lighting, and then leave without buying a single thing because her credit limit can’t handle the tax. It’s honestly embarrassing to watch."
Catherine froze, her ears turning slightly pink as she heard every word clearly. She instinctively took a half-step back, her hand dropping toward her side.
Aliya, however, didn’t even blink. Her eyes remained fixed on her camera screen as she adjusted the exposure slider, though a small, sharp smirk played at the corner of her lips. ’Oh, you poor, predictable things,’ Aliya thought, entirely amused. ’You really picked the wrong day to try and play high-society gatekeepers.’
Jake simply watched from the sidelines. ’So they chose to mess with Al out of all the people in the store, huh... this is gonna be fun.’
Without turning around to acknowledge them, Aliya casually reached into her pocket, pulled out the heavy, completely unadorned matte-black Sovereign card, and placed it flat on the glass counter right in front of the store manager.
"Excuse me," Aliya said, her voice perfectly clear and carrying across the quiet room. "We’ll take the medium classic flap in black caviar, the beige lambskin boy bag, the patent leather vanity case, and every single ready-to-wear piece my sister just tried on in the back. Open a brand-new corporate profile under Golden Investments, please."
The store manager’s eyes dilated the moment his gaze landed on the unmapped black metal card. His entire posture shifted from polite professionalism to absolute, borderline-reverent subservience.
"G-Golden Investments... Yes, of course, right away, ma’am!" the manager stammered, his hands moving with frantic speed as he swept the card up. "Your final total for the selection, including the leather goods, flats, accessories, and the complete ready-to-wear wardrobe suite from the back room comes to exactly one million, four hundred and eighty-two thousand, five hundred marks. I will personally oversee the packaging and have our white-glove courier service deliver all twenty-four items directly to your residence by this afternoon. There is absolutely no need for you to carry these heavy bags through the Galleria."
The two women by the display island completely choked on their breath. The first woman’s face went entirely pale, her jaw tightening as she stared at the black card, then at Aliya’s smug, radiant grin. Golden Investments was currently the most famous multi-billion marks company along with Aurelia Capitals. The realization that they had potentially just openly mocked a member of the Rivers family made a visible wave of cold sweat break out along the second woman’s neck. They quickly turned on their heels, practically fleeing out of the boutique’s grand entrance without looking back. Jake simply watched them as they passed by him.
Aliya let out a triumphant, delighted laugh, turning her camera back to Catherine. "Did you see their faces? They looked like they just swallowed a whole lemon! I told you, Cath, this card has magical powers."
Catherine shook her head, a genuine, relieved smile finally breaking through her initial discomfort. "You are terrible, Al. You did that on purpose."
"Absolutely," Aliya beamed, adjusting her pink rig. "Now come on, my stomach is throwing a literal tantrum. Let’s get lunch before I pass out on this expensive carpet."
"Well that was disappointing," Jake said with a sigh as they approached him.
"What else did you expect?"
"Well, you know, I expected someone to get a black eye and cops to be called."
"Do I look like a barbarian to you?" Aliya asked him as she stopped briefly to look at him.
"Yes," Jake replied within a heartbeat. Catherine chuckled at their theatrics. "Stop it, you two. Let’s go grab lunch."
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For lunch, they bypassed the bustling main terrace and entered L’Étoile, an ultra-exclusive, reservation-only rooftop dining salon overlooking the central glass atrium. The space was entirely secluded, featuring living green walls, crystal chandeliers, and private velvet booths designed to shield high-profile guests from the public eye.
Jake sat at the head of the marble table, sipping a chilled glass of sparkling mineral water while Aliya and Catherine looked over the gold-embossed menus. Within minutes, the table was covered in an exquisite spread: blue lobster carpaccio drizzled with white truffle oil, seared Wagyu beef tartare served with gold-leaf crisps, and a delicate wild mushroom risotto that sent a rich, earthy aroma drifting through the booth.
"Okay, this lobster is officially a religious experience," Aliya muttered around a forkful, her phone resting against a water crystal glass as she checked her upload metrics. "TikTok is going crazy right now, by the way. A clip of Jake buying the P1 already has four million views. The comments are literally just people begging you to pay off their student loans, Jake."
"When did someone film that?" Jake didn’t look up from his device, his thumb casually scrolling through a real-time financial briefing of movements in Veyra. "Anyway, if they want student loans, they should apply through the standard foundation portal like everyone else."
Catherine watched him from across the table, her expression soft as she took a small bite of the risotto. Even sitting in a casual lunch booth, Jake possessed an unshakeable, dense aura of gravity that seemed to effortlessly warp the environment around him.
"Are you not going to eat much, Jake?" she asked softly, reaching over to lightly touch his wrist. "You’ve been looking at your phone since we left the dealership."
Jake paused, his eyes shifting from the glowing screen to her face. Seeing the quiet, attentive warmth in her gaze, his expression softened, the coldness in his eyes receding by a fraction. He locked his phone and set it face down on the marble.
"Just clearing some administrative backlog," Jake said, picking up his knife and fork. "Don’t worry about it. How are the clothes? Did Aliya actually let you select anything you liked?"
"She forced me to buy an entire wardrobe," Catherine laughed, though her fingers tightened happily around his hand beneath the edge of the table. "I think I have enough silk blouses to last me until the next decade. I still feel a bit guilty about the total invoice, though."
"Don’t be," Jake said evenly, his voice firm and entirely unyielding. "Money is there to be used. If it makes your life more comfortable, it’s serving its proper purpose."
"But that’s not an excuse to be wasteful of it," Catherine replied.
The waiter arrived with the final bill, presenting it in a leather-bound folder. The premium rooftop lunch, complete with the finest imported ingredients, came to a grand total of 18,500 marks. Jake swiped the Black Sovereign card without a second thought.
Once lunch was concluded, Jake stood up, gesturing toward the upper level of the luxury concourse. "There’s one final stop we need to make before we head back. Follow me."
He led them past the high-fashion rows and directly toward the Haute Horlogerie sector—an isolated, heavily secured corridor where the storefronts didn’t even display prices in the windows. They stopped before the grand, brushed-bronze facade of Patek Philippe.
The salon manager, an elderly gentleman with impeccable posture and a pristine monocle-style loupe tucked into his vest pocket, stood up from behind a velvet-lined viewing desk. He didn’t need to check an identification ledger; Jake’s face was currently the most recognizable profile in Veyra’s financial district.
"Mr. Rivers," the manager said, his voice a low, reverent murmur as he bowed deeply from the waist. "It is an absolute honor to welcome you to our private salon. What would you like to look at today?"
"Show us the tier-one novelties," Jake commanded flatly, taking a seat on a plush leather armchair. "Something distinct for each of us."
"Immediately, sir."
The manager returned two minutes later accompanied by two security officers carrying a heavy, velvet-lined carbon-fiber briefcase. When the lid was unlocked and flipped back, three masterpieces of mechanical art sat under the precise halogen spotlights.
For Aliya, the manager presented a Patek Philippe Nautilus Self-Winding Rose Gold, its bezel entirely set with factory-graded baguette diamonds, the dial featuring a soft, undulating waves pattern. It was a stunning, radiant piece that perfectly balanced high-society sportiness with absolute luxury, valued at exactly three million, five hundred thousand marks.
"Oh my god," Aliya whispered, her vlogging rig completely forgotten on the side table as she gently lifted the heavy gold watch, her eyes reflecting the dazzling sparkle of the diamonds. "It’s... it’s so heavy. Jake, this is literally a house on my wrist."
For Catherine, Jake reached into the case himself, his fingers selecting a Patek Philippe Ladies’ First Perpetual Calendar. It was an incredibly elegant, understated masterpiece crafted from platinum, featuring a deep royal-blue sunburst dial and a delicate, flawless diamond bezel. It didn’t scream for attention like Aliya’s rose-gold piece, but the sheer level of mechanical complexity and historical craftsmanship radiating from the dial was breathtaking. It sat at an astronomical valuation of five million, two hundred thousand marks.
"Jake..." Catherine breathed, her heart skipping a beat as he took her left hand, gently sliding the platinum strap over her wrist and securing the deployment clasp. The watch fit her perfectly, the deep blue dial contrasting beautifully against her skin. "It’s too expensive. You don’t need to. I still have the one from before."
"It suits you perfectly," Jake murmured, his eyes lingering on her wrist. "Plus you can’t just have one."
For himself, Jake selected the crown jewel of the collection: a Patek Philippe Grand Complications Sky Moon Tourbillon in black enamel and white gold. The hand-engraved case was a dense, intricate labyrinth of baroque scrollwork, housing a double-faced dial that tracked celestial movements, sidereal time, and a minute repeater mechanism. It was a terrifyingly complex, imposing piece of horological engineering—priced at a staggering twelve million marks.
Jake slid the heavy white-gold case onto his wrist, the mechanical heartbeat of the tourbillon pulsing faintly against his skin. It was cold, clinical, and absolutely flawless.
"We’ll take all three," Jake said flatly, not even looking at the final invoice total as he extended the Sovereign card toward the trembling manager. "Process it immediately."
The salon manager carefully calculated the cumulative figures on his screen, his jaw tightening slightly at the pure, casual scale of the purchase. "The total for the three timepieces comes to exactly twenty million, seven hundred thousand marks, Mr. Rivers. Processing now."
"Right away, Mr. Rivers! Right away!" the manager gasped, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the velvet tray.
As they walked out of the high-end watch district and back toward the waiting security convoy, Aliya was still staring down at her wrist in a complete trance, occasionally lifting it to let the afternoon sun catch the diamond bezel.
"I am never taking this off," Aliya declared solemnly, her voice full of dramatic conviction. "I am going to sleep in this watch. I am going to shower in this watch. If anyone tries to touch my left arm, Kovacs has strict orders to terminate them on site."
Catherine had taken hers off as she feared she might break it or get robbed. ’Five million marks on a single wrist... it’s just too much to carry around casually,’ she thought, carefully placing the leather box into her bag. Jake, noticing this, simply told her that she could keep the watch for special occasions. Catherine said nothing but tightened her grip on his hand.
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