Chris frowned—the same look that usually unsettled executives. “That’s not possible. Run it again,” he said, used to the world adjusting itself to him.
She rolled her eyes and swiped it again, slowly this time. The same error. The screen flashed red: INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
For a moment, everything inside him froze.
He—the man who moved millions with a call, who owned buildings that scraped the sky—couldn’t pay for apples, bread, and a bottle of wine. Whether it was a bank glitch or security block didn’t matter. The moment was real.
The mood shifted instantly. Whispers sparked.
“Guess the suit’s for show,” a teenager muttered, raising his phone.
“Big shot can’t even buy groceries,” someone laughed.
The cashier didn’t hold back. She let out a dry chuckle. “So what’s it going to be? You paying, or are you just holding up people who actually work?”
Heat rushed up Chris’s neck. His jaw tightened painfully. Without his bank balance, without his empire behind him, he felt exposed—ordinary, even ridiculous. He lowered his gaze, wishing the floor would open beneath him.
He was about to abandon the cart and retreat to his waiting car when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.
He looked down.