Upper East Side, Villa No. 1.
Eliana stepped inside and saw her parents in the hall, eyes fixed on her.
"What's the deal, guys?"
Eliana hesitated, feeling a little cornered, and took a small step back.
"Elle, did you have dinner? Should I have the housekeeper fix you something light?" her mother asked, voice gentle.
"I already ate,"
"And… with who?" her father asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Darien… and Mr. R—"
"Who's Darien?"
"Dad! Seriously? Stop!" Eliana groaned, feeling grilled.
Her mom waved a hand. "Alright, alright. She's had a long day. Let it go."
But curiosity got the better of her. "Seriously, who brought you back just now? Darien?"
Eliana froze.
"I'm not getting married!"
"Our little girl? Not married? That's not happening!" her mom said, stepping forward and grabbing her hand. "So, what's he like? Nice? Smart? Cute? You don't have to decide, just… notice him a little!"
"Agh! I can't deal with this!" Eliana groaned, covering her face.
…
On the ride home, Darien started thinking—maybe it was time to start a business.
He still had over a million in cash. Not a fortune, but nothing to sneeze at either. Letting it sit in a bank and earn interest felt like a waste.
Better to make the money work for him.
He could deal in antiques from the other world, but flooding the market would tank their value.
Pull too many out, and he'd draw unwanted attention—someone would start watching him.
Starting a company, hiring a manager, and letting it run could create steady income.
The problem? Darien didn't really know much about running a business. To him, being a boss just meant making money—more or less.
By the time he got home, he still hadn't decided what kind of company to start.
Ideally, he'd find a way to move materials between worlds and profit off the difference—but that needed more thought.
Exhausted from the long day, he crashed as soon as he got in.
The next morning, Darien woke early, feeling sharp and ready.
Clenching his fist, he smiled—things were finally moving the way he wanted.
Health, after all, was everything.
With nothing urgent on his schedule, he spent the morning digging into company registration, required documents, and different corporate structures.
By afternoon, the courier called with a large shipment—the cloth he'd ordered. After signing, he tucked it away in his dimensional space.
"Right, can't forget Celeste's mirror," he muttered, remembering the promise he'd made.
He stopped by a shop that specialized in mirrors—everything from small vanities to massive full-length ones. A quick sweep later, he'd picked up a selection, including a few giant floor mirrors.
Mirrors got him thinking about perfume. Those would fetch a good price in the other world.
At the perfume store, Darien didn't know much, but he figured expensive usually meant quality. He focused on top luxury brands, scanning the shelves and tossing the best into his cart.
No wonder people said women could burn through cash—perfume was a money pit.
By the time he was done, the cosmetics alone were worth more than everything else in his stash combined.
He grabbed some gold and silver jewelry too. Sure, the other world had their own, but nothing matched machine-cut precision.
The nobles would go crazy for it.
Another day slipped by. His storage was nearly packed—just waiting on a few more clothes.
On the third day, Darien headed to a quiet courtyard off Manhattan. Pickup day.
He ducked down a narrow alley, rapped on a wooden door.
Knock, knock.
A little girl opened. "You're here. Come in."
She poured him a cup of coffee.
"Thanks." Darien said.
"Wait—my sister's just finishing up," she said.
"No rush." Darien sipped, eyes drifting around the room.
Footsteps sounded.
"She's ready. Sorry for the wait."
Verity stepped out, faint circles under her eyes.
"Ms. Verity," Darien greeted.
"Follow me." She led him inside.
The studio opened up—rows of garments neatly arranged, each one sharp and clean. No need for her to brag; the work spoke for itself.
In the back room, mannequins stood dressed to perfection. Even Darien, no tailor, could see the work was top-notch.
"These were half-done before," Verity said, voice a little worn. "I pushed 'em through with your specs. Two days—otherwise, no chance."
Darien dipped his head. "Thank you." He knew she went past the bare minimum.
"Hey—know any spot that forges real weapons?"
She squinted. "What for?"
"Gift for my cousin. Birthday thing."
"Mm. There's a guy not far, blacksmith runs an online shop. Swords, steel, that sorta deal. Can't vouch for the quality, but he's around."
Darien dipped his head. "Thanks, Ms. Verity."
Verity grabbed her coat. "C'mon, I'll walk you over. It's close."
---
🔍Did you know?
- Perfume has been traded for thousands of years—ancient Egyptians used it in rituals, the Romans considered it a luxury, and by the 17th century, European royals made perfume a symbol of wealth and elegance.
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