2025-04-21 07:34:22After everything that went down at Crimson & Crown, Gerald didn’t have the time, or luxury to revel in his win. He spent the rest of the day being advised, measured, and prodded for a perfect wardrobe fitting.
Steph was exceptional at her job, and while shopping was not something he had interest in, he enjoyed the attention and respect he got during the entire process.
After that, he'd signed the documents making him the new owner of the most prestigious luxury clothing brand in the country.
Uncle Sam called not long after to offer his congratulations, although it came wrapped in a reminder that the family was still in desperate need of his help. But right now, none of that mattered. He was planning to have the most relaxing night he'd had in a very long time. The VC's birthday party was the perfect occasion.
Gerald barely had enough time to dash home, take a quick shower, and throw on something clean. He wasn't one given to flashy appearances, so most of the clothes he'd gotten today were very simple. He pulled on a plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, and fresh sneakers. Simple, quick, and decent enough. The irony, though. No one would be able to guess at a glance that he was a walking bank account. Though his outfit screamed “ordinary” it was worth nearly a hundred thousand dollars. A t-shirt that could buy a car. Sneakers that cost more than most people’s rent for a year. Jeans that could pay off student loans. That was the Crimson & Crown difference. Same styles, but a whole different world of value.
But Gerald wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about Juliet. About showing up to an event of hers and finally not giving anyone a reason to mock her for inviting a nobody.
He figured showing up in a private car would raise too many questions. Miss Steph had already offered to send one—twice. He turned her down both times, opting instead to take his scratched, banged-up bike.
He didn’t want to be flashy.
He didn’t want to be late.
By the time he arrived at Juliet’s place— a sprawling 20 million dollar beachfront mansion that looked like it belonged on a billionaire bachelor’s P*******t board— he was already sweating slightly from the evening heat. Still, he was proud of himself. He was on time, well-dressed—even if no one else knew the price tag—and armed with a thoughtful gift for the VC, Mr. Dalton.
But fate wasn’t done with Gerald just yet.
He’d barely taken off his helmet when a sleek black Porsche rolled up beside him. The driver’s door opened— quickly and carelessly— and slammed into his already bruised bike.
“Come on, now! Not again!” Gerald groaned, throwing his arms up. “What is it with people and hitting this bike today?”
He turned, prepared to unleash a storm of words on the careless driver. But then… he saw her.
A leg stepped out first, perfectly toned and impossibly smooth, wrapped in a slit of scarlet silk. His anger stalled as his eyes traveled up the designer dress, clinging to curves sculpted like artwork. The gown was daring, dramatic, and screamed red-carpet royalty. She hadn’t even emerged fully yet, but Gerald was already speechless.
And then she stood.
The dress was cut so that it was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. Yet she was still the epitome of perfect. Her breasts were perfectly perked up, her posture elegant. Lips painted in bold red. Hair styled into effortless curls. She looked like a model torn from the pages of a high-end fashion magazine.
Gerald’s mouth went dry. He suddenly wished he’d taken Miss Steph’s offer for a new ride. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel so… ordinary.
But then, there was something else– a sliver of familiarity.
His world froze.
“Gerald?” she said.
He blinked, still frozen and speechless.
She said his name again.
He snapped out of his haze just in time to answer her this time.
“Amara…?”
Amara Lockhart. His high school crush. The girl who used to eat from the same cracked bowl as him during lunch. He couldn't believe it. Amara had been just like him, her family had barely scraped by, they'd stuck to each other like gum. He'd always thought that maybe she had feelings for him too but he couldn't bring himself to ask her out because he knew he didn't have what it would take to make her happy.
Her father had bagged a lucky investment and been catapulted into wealth and they'd moved out of his crummy neighbourhood. He hadn't heard from her again, except news about how she was now living the life of a millionaire's daughter.
And now? Now he could stand toe to toe with her.
Gerald took a step forward, smiling, arms outstretched to hug her.
But before he could get close, one of her friends stepped in like a bodyguard and shoved him back.
“Excuse you,” the girl snapped, eyeing him and his bike with unmistakable disdain.
Gerald stumbled a little, stunned. He looked at Amara for some help, some recognition. Something.
She stared at him blankly, her eyes scanning his outfit and pausing on his shoes. Then his shirt. Then his face.
"You don’t look bad,” she said finally, her tone more curious than complimentary. But just as she spoke, another friend gasped and pointed at the battered bike behind him.
And just like that, her entire demeanor changed.
The little glimmer of familiarity in her gaze dimmed. Her curiosity turned to dismissal. She blew out a resigned breath, disappointment colouring her features.
“Still riding that?”
Gerald wanted to explain. That it was a new bike. That it got wrecked earlier today—twice. That he wasn’t who they thought he was.
But before he could get a word out, Amara tossed her hair, and strutted toward the house with her friends, heels clicking against the polished stone.
Gerald stood there, blinking at her retreating back. The pain was sharp, but not unfamiliar. He’d been overlooked, dismissed, and pushed aside most of his life. But this time? It felt personal.
Still… he wasn’t giving up. Not yet.
Not when his heart beat like a drum just from seeing her again.
He took one last look at his crooked bike, then reached for the wrapped gift in his backpack.
Juliet’s dad would be impressed.
And maybe, just maybe, Amara would find out who Gerald really was before the night ended.
He smiled to himself and walked toward the mansion.
Let the games begin.
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“Don’t you dare,” he warned.Her eyes widened, she'd not expected resistance.Alex stepped forward. “Let go of her.”Gerald released her hand and stepped back, glaring at both of them.“You both had better apologize now.”Susan narrowed her eyes. “Who do you think you are now?”The noise drew attention faster than flames drew moths. The head of security came striding toward the scene, eyes scanning the tension in the air like a general assessing a battlefield. As soon as he recognized Alex Lambert and Susan, his posture shifted. He softened his approach, gave a quick salute of acknowledgement, and immediately began apologizing for the "unfortunate incident."“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, bowing slightly. “Please don’t worry, sir. The store will take full responsibility for the damage done to your car.”Susan looked smug, arms folded like a queen expecting her tribute. Alex gave a curt nod, soaking up the attention like it was his birthright. But before they
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Chapter 2
Gerald was left there lying in the grass. The crowd dispersed, people crossed over him, no one offered a hand. The laughter echoed in his ears like his own personal humiliation playlist.It wasn’t just the betrayal or the beating—it was the shame, the mockery, the way Susan had looked him in the eye and denied knowing him like he was some worthless stray.His friends—Terry and Juliet— soon came, harried and frantic. They pushed through the crowd, panicked and breathless, only to find their friend on the ground, bloodied and silent.“Gerald! Oh my God! Gerald, can you hear me?” Juliet cried out as she cradled his head.Gerald couldn't respond. His head was spinning, his vision blurry, his hearing distorted.Terry didn't waste time, he flagged down a cab and together, he and Juliet got him to the hospital. His wounds were cleaned and stitched, but still Gerald said nothing. He lay there staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind spiraling into a thousand places at once— but always returni
