Chapter 9: When The Poor Pay in Millions
1174 Words
Chapter 9: When the Poor Pay in Millions
Dylan stood in front of the creaking wooden door of his studio apartment. The building reeked of damp walls and stale smoke—the kind of place where broken dreams clung to the cracked paint and refused to die.
He pushed the door open. The hinges whined in protest, the sound echoing down the narrow hallway like a sigh.
For a moment, he just stood there, taking it in. The tiny room. The water-stained ceiling. The single window that barely let in light. The old fan was still hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if exhausted from years of use.
His lips curved into a grin. *Finally, I’m done with this place.*
But the grin faded almost instantly.
Something was wrong.
The boxes against the wall were stacked neatly. His clothes hung in a perfect line on the rickety hanger. Even the bed—small and thin as it was—was made tight, the corners tucked like a hotel room.
Dylan hadn’t done any of that. He’d left in a rush for the island job, barely remembering to lock the door behind him.
His stomach tightened.
Grace.
She’d been here.
His jaw clenched. The same woman who’d looked him in the eye and called him nobody. The same woman who’d been in another man’s bed. And now she was sneaking into his apartment to clean up? To play the faithful girlfriend?
Why?
Was this her idea of an apology? Straighten his things, spray some perfume, and hope he'll come crawling back—like the foolish lover he used to be?
“Grace Bennett,” he muttered, her name bitter on his tongue.
He stepped further inside. The faint scent of her perfume hung in the air—delicate, sweet, unmistakable. The apartment was poorly ventilated. Scents lingered for days here. This one was fresh.
She’d been here recently.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his mind a storm of memories. Grace laughing beside him on late nights when they had nothing but each other. Grace crying when she thought he’d given up. Grace whispering “We’ll make it someday.”
And now she was the one he didn’t recognize anymore.
Dylan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should thank her,” he said to the empty room. “At least she reminded me what being used feels like.”
He dropped his bag on the bed and pulled out his phone. Half the apps refused to open. No messages. No browser. Just endless glitches.
Only two icons worked: the bank app and the system.
He opened the bank app and stared at the balance. All those zeros, lined up like soldiers.
A year ago, he couldn’t have imagined this. Hell, a week ago, he couldn’t have imagined this.
He chuckled under his breath. “It’s real.”
His mind flashed back to the boutique—Caleb’s face when the card went through. The whispers. The gasps. The shock.
That wasn’t a dream. That was a victory. That was real.
He looked around the tiny room again. The peeling paint. The dripping faucet. The weak lightbulb was flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to give up or not.
“And this,” he said quietly, “is no longer my life.”
He pocketed his phone. First thing tomorrow, he’d buy a new one. This phone would stay with the system. The other would be for everything else.
He could already picture it—a sleek penthouse apartment with glass walls and a view of the city. No leaky ceilings. No broken fans. No one calling him “boy”.
Bang!
Dylan’s head whipped around. A weak shove hit his back, barely enough to make him stumble.
“You dimwit!”
The voice was old, squeaky, furious.
Dylan turned, already rolling his eyes.
His homeowner.
“You have nowhere to run today!” The old man pointed a shaking finger at him. “You’ll pay me my money!”
Dylan straightened, biting back a laugh. For a year, he’d been dodging this man—sleeping at Grace’s place, sneaking out early, pretending not to hear the knocking.
But that was before.
Now, he could pay ten times over without blinking.
“Did you just smile?” The homeowner stomped further into the room, slamming the door behind him. “Do you think this is funny? You’ve avoided me long enough. Today, you pay everything, or I'll drag you to the police myself!”
Dylan opened his mouth to respond, but the man wasn’t finished.
“No more excuses, Daniel or whatever your name is!” He waved his bony arms dramatically. “Your girlfriend came by this morning. I had to force her to admit she didn’t even know where you were. Now you’re here, and you’re not leaving until I get every dime!”
Dylan’s jaw tightened at the mention of Grace. Again. Her scent in his room, her name on people’s lips. Why couldn’t she just disappear?
“Okay,” Dylan said calmly. “I’ll pay.”
The homeowner froze mid-rant. “What?”
Dylan pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons.
The old man blinked, confused. He’d expected another argument, another promise. Instead, Dylan’s thumb hovered over the send button with absolute calm.
“You… you’ll actually pay?”
Dylan didn’t answer. He just hit Send.
A moment later, the homeowner's phone chimed.
The old man fumbled for it, unlocking the screen with trembling hands. His eyes widened as the numbers appeared.
“Ahh!” The sound that came out of him was almost a squeal. “Dylan?”
Oh, now he remembered his name. A minute ago, he’d called him a dimwit. Pretended not to know him. But the moment money showed up, suddenly he knew exactly who Dylan Chase was.
“Dylan! What is this?” the homeowner stammered. “Your rent is twelve thousand a year, and you just sent me one hundred and twenty thousand! Ten times the amount! Where did you get this kind of money?”
Dylan stepped forward, clapping the old man on the shoulder. “It’s nothing, sir. Think of it as… compensation for your patience all these months—even though you’ve made it quite uncomfortable.”
He glanced around the studio one last time. The cramped space. The peeling walls. The broken window latch that whistled whenever the wind blew.
“But it’s time I moved somewhere that actually reflects my status.”
The homeowner stood frozen, clutching his phone like it might vanish if he let go. His knees trembled. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
Dylan’s grin widened. “Will you help me with that, sir? Finding a new place?”
For the first time in years, Dylan didn't feel the weight of this place pressing down on him.
He was done being poor.
And the world was about to find out what that meant.
- Writer
