I was sitting on the bed with my laptop, staring at my online banking screen, blinking at the numbers as if that would make them make more sense.
Available Balance: $1,973,152.68
Almost two million still. Even after paying Marcus, buying new clothes, and covering basic expenses.
And I was living in an apartment the size of a generous closet.
"This is ridiculous," I said out loud, looking around the tiny space. The bed took up half the room. The kitchenette took up the other half. The "closet" was basically an exposed rack. And the bathroom? Don't even get me started on the bathroom where I had literally oozed toxic goo two days ago.
But more importantly—I needed space to practice. To eventually record more videos. To have a guitar (which I now knew how to play at an expert level but didn't own) without it taking up half the living area.
I needed a real home.
"Okay," I said, picking up my phone. "Time to be a responsible adult and look for a decent place."
Fifteen minutes of research later, I had found a real estate agency with good reviews—Sterling Properties—and called to schedule a consultation.
The agent, a woman named Diane Chen, had a professional but warm voice. "Absolutely, Miss…?"
"Just Cass," I said. "Cass Echo."
There was a slight pause. "Wait. The Cass Echo? The Wetube singer?"
My heart gave a little jump. "Uh, yes? You saw the video?"
"I did! My teenage daughter is OBSESSED. She played that song like twenty times yesterday." Diane laughed. "Well, this is exciting! Yes, I'd love to help you find a place. How about we meet to discuss what you're looking for? There's a lovely café near our office—Brew Haven. Do you know it?"
"I can find it," I said.
"Perfect! How about tomorrow at ten AM?"
"Works for me."
After hanging up, I flopped back onto the bed, looking at the ceiling with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
I was really doing this. Moving. Leaving this small, safe apartment and going to… well, something bigger.
"Growth," I murmured. "This is growth."
---
The next morning, I spent twenty minutes deciding what to wear to meet a real estate agent.
Too formal and I'd look like I was trying too hard. Too casual and I'd look like I wasn't taking it seriously.
I eventually settled on a middle ground: dark high-waisted jeans, a semi-tucked-in white button-up blouse, and my trusty leather jacket. Added simple earrings and a delicate necklace that Cassandra had had for years.
Natural makeup. Hair down in soft waves.
"Professional but approachable," I told my reflection.
Brew Haven was a boutique café in the financial district—the kind of place with hanging plants, warm wood lighting, and a menu that listed five different types of milk.
I walked in at 9:58, two minutes early, and immediately spotted a woman sitting near the window waving at me.
Diane Chen looked to be about forty, with perfectly styled short black hair, a navy blue blazer over a cream blouse, and the confident aura of someone who had closed a thousand deals.
"Cass!" She stood up, extending her hand. "It's so wonderful to meet you in person!"
"Likewise," I said, shaking her hand.
"I took the liberty of ordering you a coffee," Diane said, gesturing to a latte with elaborate foam art sitting on the other side of the table. "I hope you like caramel? If not, I can order something else—"
"No, this is perfect," I said, sitting down. "Thank you."
Diane settled back, pulling a sleek tablet from her bag. "So! Let me tell you, my daughter—Emma, she's fifteen—was absolutely ecstatic when I said I was meeting you. She made me promise to ask for a photo later." She laughed. "But business first. Tell me what you're looking for in terms of housing?"
I picked up my latte, grateful to have something to do with my hands. "Honestly? I'm living in a tiny apartment right now and need something… more. More space. Somewhere I can practice music without bothering neighbors. Ideally with an extra room I can use as a mini-studio or recording space."
Diane was nodding, making notes on her tablet. "Location? Any preference?"
"Somewhere still relatively central? Doesn't need to be super fancy, but I'd like to be near… well, life. Transport, cafés, that sort of thing."
"Budget?"
I hesitated. "Uh… honestly not sure what's reasonable? Maybe… five hundred thousand?"
Diane's eyes lit up. "Oh, with that budget we can find something really lovely. Are you thinking of buying or renting?"
"Buying," I said, surprising myself. But it made sense. Why pay rent when I had the money?
"Perfect." Diane swiped through her tablet. "Let me show you some options I think you'll like."
She turned the screen to me, showing a series of listings.
The first was a loft in an artsy neighborhood—floor-to-ceiling windows, open concept, exposed brick. Beautiful, but maybe too open? No privacy?
The second was a two-bedroom apartment in a modern building—sleek, minimalist, with a city view. Nice, but kind of… sterile?
The third made me pause.
It was a penthouse—not huge, but spacious. Open living room connected to an updated kitchen. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. And the best part? A small rooftop terrace with a view of the skyline.
"This one," I said, pointing. "Tell me more about this one."
Diane smiled. "Ah, this one is lovely. Two-bedroom penthouse in the arts district. Recently renovated. The living room is great for entertaining, and one of the bedrooms could easily be converted into a studio. The terrace is perfect for… well, anything. Relaxing, inspiration, small gatherings." She winked. "And it's within your budget at four hundred and seventy-five thousand."
"Can I see it?" I asked.
"Absolutely! Let me check the owner's schedule." Diane typed quickly. "How about tomorrow at two PM?"
"Perfect."
We spent the next thirty minutes discussing logistics—the buying process, inspections, timeline. Diane was incredibly professional but also genuinely kind, making everything seem easy.
"Okay," she finally said, packing up her tablet. "I think we have a solid plan. See you tomorrow at two?" She hesitated. "And, uh… would it be awful if I asked for that photo now? Emma will literally kill me if I don't."
I laughed. "Of course! Let's do it."
We took a quick selfie, Diane clearly excited but trying to maintain professional composure.
After saying goodbye, I stayed at the café for a few more minutes, finishing my latte and allowing myself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
I was buying a house. A real house.
---
I was walking down the street twenty minutes later, fresh cappuccino in hand (because one latte wasn't enough caffeine, apparently), casually browsing Wetube on my phone.
The Recommended videos were still on the homepage. My video was there—now with 189 thousand views—but I was curious about the others.
The first one was titled "Baby Kitten Bottle Feeding for the First Time 🍼😻"
"Okay," I murmured, clicking. "That's irresistible."
The video loaded showing the CUTEST kitten—orange and fluffy, tiny, with huge eyes—being bottle-fed by gentle hands. The kitten was making little purring sounds as it drank, its tiny paws holding the bottle.
"Oh my GOD," I whispered, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "What. A. Cutie. How is this legal? Look at the paws! The PAWS!"
I was so absorbed in the video—smiling like an idiot, completely oblivious to the world—that I didn't see the person coming from the opposite direction until it was too late.
BUMP.
I collided directly with someone, my cappuccino exploding out of the cup and—
"SHIT!" A male voice yelled.
Horror filled my chest as I realized what I had done.
Coffee. Everywhere. On a man's expensive suit. On the elaborate bouquet of red roses he was holding.
"Oh my God," I said, looking up to see the damage.
The man in front of me was… well, handsome was probably the word. Mid-twenties. Perfectly styled black hair, sharp features, a jawline that looked sculpted. Wearing a dark gray three-piece suit that probably cost more than my old apartment.
And now it was covered in cappuccino.
The flowers too—the elaborate bouquet stained brown, petals falling.
"I'm so sorry!" I said, grabbing napkins from my bag and trying to frantically wipe. "I was distracted and didn't see and—"
"You think?" He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked at his ruined suit, then at the flowers, then at me with an expression of pure irritation.
I wiped his blazer, which only managed to spread the coffee more.
"Stop," he said, pushing my hands away. "You're making it worse."
"I was trying to help!"
"Help? You just ruined an eight-thousand-dollar suit and destroyed flowers that cost three hundred dollars!" His eyes—dark brown, I noticed—were blazing with frustration. "You weren't even looking where you were going!"
"It was an accident!" I retorted, my own irritation rising. "Besides, who walks down the street with a huge bouquet anyway? That's basically asking to be bumped into!"
"Who walks down the street glued to their phone like a zombie??" He shot back.
"I was watching a kitten video!"
"Oh, well THAT makes it all better then!" He shook the coffee off his suit, brown splatters flying. "A kitten. Of course. Perfectly reasonable priorities."
"Hey, don't be condescending to me!" I said, crossing my arms. "You're acting like I ruined your life! It's just coffee and flowers! I can reimburse you—"
"You think this is about the money?" He said, his voice getting colder. "These flowers were for—" He stopped, seeming to realize he was about to reveal something. "Never mind. Just… stay out of people's way."
"I stay out of the way? You weren't looking where you were going either!"
"I was walking in a straight line! You were meandering like a lost tourist!"
"I was NOT meandering! I was walking perfectly—"
"What a petulant girl," he muttered, turning his back on me.
"Excuse me, what did you say??" I called after him.
But he just waved a dismissive hand, crossing the street toward a huge, elegant building on the other side—glass and steel, probably corporate offices or something equally fancy.
I stood there, still holding my empty coffee cup, watching him disappear through the revolving doors.
"Hot-headed jerk," I murmured, looking at my phone. The screen was still showing the paused kitten video. "He wasn't even that much in front of me. He totally contributed to the collision."
But as I started to walk away, something nudged my memory.
That face. Those sharp features. That air of privileged arrogance.
He looked… familiar?
I sifted through Cassandra's memories—the endless charity balls, corporate galas, family dinners where the elite gathered to congratulate themselves.
And then it clicked.
"Wait," I said out loud, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk (making one person walk around me with an irritated sigh). "Wait wait wait."
I knew that guy.
Not personally, but… by sight. From social events where the young elite mingled.
What was his name? Started with D… no, L…
Liam. Liam Castellan.
Oh crap.
Liam Castellan. Heir to Castellan Industries—one of the biggest tech corporations in the country. Young Martial Master, supposedly Rank C despite his age. Came from an impressive martial lineage.
And more relevant? He was engaged.
Well, not officially engaged. But there was an "understanding" between the families—an arranged marriage agreement.
With Victoria Ashford.
Yes. That Victoria Ashford. One of the three bitches who had cornered me at the mall.
And in the original novel… oh, this was rich.
Liam was completely, pathetically, tragically in love with Victoria. Had been since they were teenagers. Did everything for her. Bought her flowers (hmm, that bouquet made sense now), took her to fancy places, basically worshipped her.
And Victoria? She barely noticed he existed.
She was polite. Accepted the gifts. Attended mandatory family events. But emotionally? She didn't care about him at all.
And then he showed up. The protagonist. Elias Chen.
The damn harem collector managed to make Victoria fall in love with him in like three chapters. She who had been cold and distant her whole life suddenly became all melty and in love.
And Liam? Poor Liam became furious.
How dare he? How dare Elias steal his one true love??
He became a minor antagonist—challenging Elias to duels, trying to sabotage his businesses, basically being the "rich rival can't accept defeat" stereotype.
And of course, being a third-rate villain, he lost. Every. Single. Time.
In the end, Elias not only took Victoria, but destroyed Castellan Industries, publicly humiliated Liam, and basically ruined the whole family.
It was tragic, really. Because Liam wasn't a bad person in the novel—he was just… kind of pathetic? A puppy dog chasing after someone who would never return his feelings.
"What a sad ending," I murmured, looking back at the building he had entered. "He really doesn't deserve what's coming for him."
But then I remembered the condescending way he had spoken to me. That look of absolute disdain.
"Actually," I corrected, starting to walk again, "he kind of deserves a little. Hot-headed jerk. 'What a petulant girl.' As if he's so perfect."
Still, part of me felt a twinge of sympathy.
Because I knew what was coming for him. And it wasn't going to be pretty.
"Not my problem," I said firmly, turning the corner toward the subway station. "I have my own stuff to deal with. Like buying a house. And figuring out my next song. And not getting involved with the protagonist's drama at all costs."
But as I went down the subway stairs, I couldn't stop thinking about that encounter.
Liam Castellan.
Third-rate villain.
Destined to lose everything for loving the wrong person.
"Not my problem," I repeated, though this time it sounded less convincing.
Because something about the way he had looked at those ruined flowers—there had been genuine sadness there, beneath the anger.
Someone really, honestly, trying to do something nice for someone who didn't care.
"Crap," I sighed, swiping my subway card. "Why do I have to feel things about tragic side characters? That's not fair."
My phone vibrated. A message from Marcus:
Marcus: 205K VIEWS BABY!! YOU'RE UNSTOPPABLE!! When are we recording the next one?? 🎵🔥
I smiled, typing back:
Me: Apartment hunting tomorrow, but soon! Got ideas 😊
Marcus: APARTMENTS?? Look at you being a fancy adult! So proud!! ❤️
I put my phone away, feeling my mood lift.
Right. Focus on what mattered.
My career. My music. My future.
Not tragic side villains with romantic problems.
Definitely not.
…Probably not.
Okay, possibly not.
"Ugh," I grunted, getting on the train. "I really need to work on my emotional boundaries."
But as the train started moving, taking me away from that strange encounter, I couldn't help one last look out the window.
"Good luck with that," I whispered to the passing city. "You're going to need it."
And then I turned my attention back to my phone, opening the kitten video again.