Infinite Rebate: I Get Richer Every Time I Spend

Lucas turned his face back toward Gracie.

She was still frozen in place, breathing unevenly, eyes wide as the last pieces of the fight settled into her mind. Nothing in her life ~ not the scams, not the rich men, not the public drama ~ had prepared her for something this raw and violent.

She had watched six armed men walk into the lounge with total confidence... and leave it broken on the floor.

At first, the only explanation her fear could reach for was simple:

He sent them.

It had made sense in the moment. A man that calm, that controlled, that willing to drop two hundred million without blinking ~ of course he would also be capable of setting a trap. She had offended him. She had attacked his platform. People like that did not just smile and move on.

But the truth sitting in front of her now was harder to process.

Lucas hadn’t ordered the attack.

He had ended it.

The same man she thought had come to destroy her had instead taken apart every person sent to drag her away. Even the one who ran had only survived because Lucas didn’t bother chasing him.

That realization brought no comfort.

If anything, it made the fear sharper.

Because if this was what he did for someone he had no real attachment to... then what would happen if he ever decided she was the problem?

Gracie’s throat tightened as the thought settled. She was staring at the same person she had tried to manipulate less than an hour ago.

And now she was seeing, very clearly, what kind of strength had been sitting across from her the entire time.

One wrong move from a man like that, and she would already be finished.

Lucas, for his part, looked completely untouched by the weight of what he had just done.

He glanced down at his hand, noticed the smear of blood near his knuckles ~ the leader’s blood ~ and calmly wiped it away against a relatively clean edge of a toppled cloth napkin from the wreckage.

No rush. No tension in his shoulders. No lingering heat from the fight. He cleaned the stain with the same quiet attention someone might give to brushing dust off a sleeve.

When he finished, there was nothing left on him that suggested violence at all.

He looked almost bored.

Gracie’s lips parted.

She wanted to say something ~ anything ~ but her voice failed her completely. The words stayed locked in her chest, trapped under the pressure of everything she had just witnessed and everything she was now starting to understand.

Lucas finally lifted his eyes back to hers.

For a moment he just looked at her ~ at the shock still frozen on her face, at the way she was staring at him like she was seeing something she didn’t know how to process.

Then he smiled.

It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t warm. Just a small, calm curve of the mouth, almost mild, as if her expression mildly amused him.

After that, he looked back down and continued wiping the last trace of blood from his hand, unhurried, like the ruined lounge and the bodies on the floor had nothing to do with him at all.

Meanwhile, back in his office, Durnik was coming apart.

The screen in front of him was still flooding with notifications ~ clipped videos, laughing comments, mockery stacked on top of mockery. Every refresh made it worse. His face. His voice. His body. All of it being passed around like entertainment.

"That bitch..."

His hands curled into fists against the desk.

"That fucking bitch."

The anger kept rising with nowhere to go. He pushed away from the chair and started pacing, jaw locked so tight it hurt. In his head he could already see her ~ that soft fake voice, that practiced little performance ~ and the image only made the rage sharper.

"I’ll kill her myself," he muttered. "With my own hands."

He raised both arms as if her neck were already between them, fingers flexing in the air, practicing the motion with ugly focus.

The look on his face had gone unstable enough that Lena quietly stepped back, then another step, putting more distance between herself and the man unraveling in the middle of the office.

Durnik didn’t even notice.

"Your time is counting," he whispered to the empty room, a broken little laugh slipping out of him. "Your time is counting..."

---

Across the city, inside the black bus, Tharok was just as far gone.

"Give this fucking bus gas!" he shouted, slamming his hand against the dashboard. "What the hell are you waiting for?!"

The road ahead was blocked with slow-moving traffic, but that meant nothing to him.

"Go forward!" he barked at the driver. "Stop driving like a fucking idiot! I said go!"

When the driver hesitated for even a second, Tharok leaned over like he was ready to rip the wheel out of his hands. That was enough. The driver clenched his jaw and slammed the accelerator.

The heavy bus surged forward and smashed into the car in front of them with a loud, violent crunch. Metal bent. The smaller vehicle jolted hard toward the side of the road as the bus forced its way through, horn blaring, engine roaring under the strain. Other drivers shouted and swerved, but Tharok only cursed harder, eyes locked ahead like nothing else in the city mattered.

By the time they finally reached the street outside the Airbnb, the bus was still carrying that same aggressive speed.

Then the brakes hit.

The vehicle jerked to a hard stop beside the first white bus already parked at the curb ~ the same one that had carried the earlier team. The moment the wheels settled, doors were already opening.

Tharok was first out.

His gun was in his hand before his boots fully hit the pavement. The rest of his men poured out behind him, faces tight, weapons up, no hesitation left in any of them. Someone slammed the back open. Another group moved straight for the lounge entrance without waiting for extra orders.

Whatever quiet the street had left was gone.

They were here now.

And they were not coming in calmly.

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