The fluorescent lights of Gerald's dormitory room buzzed overhead as he stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror mounted on the wall. His dark, curly hair fell carelessly over his forehead, and his usual attire—a faded gray hoodie and worn jeans—seemed to mock him in the harsh light. The student union party was tonight, and Alice had agreed to be his date. Alice, the beauty goddess of Houston University, the girl every guy dreamed of but few dared to approach.
Gerald's fingers traced the edge of his threadbare jacket. How could he show up to the most prestigious social event of the semester looking like this? The thought of standing next to Alice while she radiated elegance in whatever designer gown she'd chosen made his stomach churn with anxiety.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, followed by Clinton's familiar voice calling out to someone about their party preparations. Gerald glanced at his phone—4:30 PM. The party started at eight, and everyone had already left to get ready at their respective luxury apartments or family estates. Everyone except him.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the group chat messages. Photos of Danny's new Armani tuxedo, Yuri showing off his Patek Philippe watch, Blondie posting a mirror selfie in her shimmering Valentino dress. Even Naomi had sent a picture of her elegant black gown with a simple message: "Ready to steal the show with Alice tonight."
Gerald's jaw tightened. He couldn't—wouldn't—be the only one showing up looking like he'd raided a thrift store. Not tonight. Not when Alice would be there, waiting for him.
He reached into his wallet and pulled out the sleek black card his sister had given him months ago. The weight of it felt foreign in his hands, like holding a piece of someone else's life. "For emergencies only," she had said with that knowing smile of hers. Well, this felt like an emergency.
Twenty minutes later, Gerald stood outside Luxe Mayfair, the most exclusive boutique in the city. The building's glass facade reflected the late afternoon sun, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see mannequins dressed in clothes that probably cost more than most people's cars. The doorman, dressed in a crisp uniform, eyed Gerald's appearance with barely concealed disdain but stepped aside nonetheless.
The moment Gerald crossed the threshold, the atmosphere changed. The air was perfumed with something expensive and subtle, and soft classical music played from hidden speakers. The interior was a study in minimalist luxury—white marble floors, gold accents, and clothing displayed like art pieces in illuminated alcoves.
"Good afternoon, sir." A woman in her thirties approached him, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfect chignon, her black dress impeccably tailored. Her smile was professional but her eyes quickly assessed Gerald from head to toe. "I'm Sarah. How may I assist you today?"
Gerald straightened his shoulders, channeling a confidence he didn't quite feel. "I need a complete outfit for tonight. Something... impressive."
Sarah's expression softened slightly. "Of course. What's the occasion?"
"University student union party."
"Ah, Houston University." She nodded knowingly. "We dress many of their students. Right this way."
She led him through the store, past racks of suits that looked like they belonged in a museum. Gerald's eyes wandered over the price tags—$50,000 for a jacket, $30,000 for trousers. His palms began to sweat.
"Here we have our evening wear collection," Sarah said, gesturing to a section where suits hung like silent sentinels. "What's your usual style preference?"
Gerald was about to admit he didn't have one when his eyes fell on a particular suit. It was a deep navy blue, so dark it was almost black, with a subtle sheen that caught the light. The cut was modern but classic, and something about it called to him.
"That one," he said, pointing.
Sarah's eyebrows rose slightly. "Excellent choice. That's from our latest collection—Italian wool, hand-tailored. The blue complements many skin tones beautifully."
She pulled it from the rack with reverent care. Gerald could see the craftsmanship in every stitch, the way the fabric seemed to flow like liquid. "What's the price?"
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand."
The number hit Gerald like a physical blow, but he kept his expression neutral. "I'll take it."
If Sarah was surprised, she didn't show it. "Wonderful. Now, you'll need a shirt to complement it. May I suggest..."
She led him to another section where shirts were displayed like precious artifacts. Gerald's eyes were drawn to a crisp white shirt with a subtle sparkle woven into the fabric—not gaudy, but elegant, like starlight captured in cotton.
"This piece is quite special," Sarah said, following his gaze. "Hand-woven silk with platinum threading. Sixteen thousand."
Gerald nodded. The numbers were becoming abstract now, just sounds without meaning. "And shoes?"
The shoe section was a temple to craftsmanship. Rows of handmade leather goods gleamed under spotlights. Gerald selected a pair of black Oxford shoes that felt like they were made for his feet specifically. Four hundred thousand.
"A timepiece?" Sarah suggested, leading him to a locked glass case containing watches that looked like miniature works of art.
Gerald's eyes fell on a watch with a black face and gold accents. The band was leather so supple it looked like it might melt at his touch. "That one."
"The Patek Philippe Grand Complication. One point four million."
Gerald pulled out the black card. Sarah's entire demeanor shifted when she saw it—her professional courtesy becoming genuine respect.
"I'll have these prepared for you immediately, sir. Would you like to change here, or shall I have them delivered?"
"I'll change here."
The fitting room was larger than Gerald's dorm room, with mirrors on three walls and soft lighting that made everything look golden. As he slipped into the suit, he felt a transformation beginning. The fabric molded to his body like it had been waiting for him. The shirt felt like silk against his skin, and the watch settled on his wrist with a satisfying weight.
When he stepped out of the fitting room, Sarah actually gasped. "Sir, you look... magnificent."
Gerald caught his reflection in the store's mirrors and barely recognized himself. Gone was the poor boy from the dormitory. In his place stood someone who looked like he belonged in boardrooms and exclusive clubs. Someone who could stand next to Alice without embarrassment.
The transaction was completed in minutes, the black card sliding through the reader without resistance. Gerald walked out of Luxe Mayfair feeling like a different person entirely.
Back at the dormitory, the halls were eerily quiet. Everyone had already left for the party, and Gerald realized he was running late. He checked his appearance one more time in his room's cracked mirror—the contrast was almost surreal. The expensive clothes seemed to glow against the shabby backdrop of his dorm room.
But there was one more problem. He couldn't show up to the party in a taxi or, worse, on foot. Not dressed like this. Not when everyone else would arrive in luxury vehicles that matched their status.
Gerald pulled out his phone and scrolled to a contact he'd never used before—one his sister had insisted he save. Mayor Zachary Wells. Mr. Zack, as he'd told Gerald to call him.
The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered. "Gerald? Is everything alright?"
"Mr. Zack, I need a favor. I need a ride to the Houston University student union party. Tonight. Immediately."
There was a pause. "Of course, son. I'll have something appropriate sent to you right away."
"Thank you."
Twenty minutes later, Gerald heard the sound of an engine purring outside his dormitory building. He looked out his window and felt his breath catch. A Rolls-Royce Spectre sat at the curb, its chrome gleaming under the streetlights like liquid mercury. The car was a work of art—sleek, powerful, and utterly magnificent.
Gerald made his way downstairs, his new shoes clicking against the concrete steps. As he approached the car, the driver—a man in a perfectly pressed uniform—stepped out and opened the rear door with a practiced bow.
"Good evening, sir."
Gerald slid into the backseat, and the door closed with a soft thunk that spoke of precision engineering. The interior was a cocoon of luxury—cream leather seats, polished wood trim, and ambient lighting that made everything glow softly. The silence was complete, the outside world muffled by superior insulation.
As the Rolls-Royce glided through Mayfair City's streets toward Houston University, Gerald watched the familiar buildings pass by through tinted windows. Everything looked different from inside this bubble of luxury. The city seemed smaller, more manageable, like something he could conquer rather than something that intimidated him.
The university's grand auditorium came into view, its neoclassical columns illuminated by floodlights. Cars were lined up for valet service—BMWs, Mercedes, Porsches, even a few Ferraris. But as the Rolls-Royce approached, Gerald could see heads turning. People pointed and whispered, trying to peer through the tinted windows.
The car pulled up to the red carpet that had been rolled out for the evening's festivities. Students in designer gowns and tuxedos clustered around the entrance, their conversations dying as they tried to identify the occupant of the mysterious Rolls-Royce.
Gerald could see familiar faces in the crowd—Yuri adjusting his bow tie, Blondie posing for photos with other socialites, Rick and Ivar engaged in what looked like a heated discussion about something. But no sign of Alice or Naomi yet.
The driver came around and opened Gerald's door. The moment Gerald's foot touched the red carpet, a hush fell over the crowd. He stood slowly, letting the dramatic moment build, and straightened his jacket.
The gasps were audible. Gerald heard his name whispered in disbelief as he walked toward the auditorium entrance. His expensive shoes made no sound on the red carpet, and the spotlight seemed to follow him as he moved.
"Is that really Gerald?"
"Where did he get that suit?"
"That watch... is that a Patek Philippe?"
Gerald kept his expression neutral, channeling the confidence that came with his transformation. He nodded politely to people he recognized but didn't stop to chat. He had someone to find.
The auditorium's interior had been transformed for the party. Crystal chandeliers cast dancing light across the walls, and elegant floral arrangements filled the space with subtle fragrance. The cream of Houston University's social elite mingled in their finest attire, but Gerald noticed that conversations paused as he passed.
He scanned the room, looking for Alice's distinctive silhouette. It didn't take long to find her. She stood near the champagne fountain with Naomi, both women radiant in their evening gowns. Alice wore emerald green silk that hugged her curves perfectly and set off her dark hair, while Naomi was elegant in midnight blue that complemented her statuesque figure.
Gerald approached them slowly, savoring the moment. He could see Naomi notice him first, her eyes widening in surprise. She nudged Alice, who turned around with a polite smile that immediately transformed into something closer to shock.
"Gerald?" Alice's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Ladies." Gerald's voice was steady, confident. "You both look absolutely stunning tonight."
Naomi was the first to recover. "Gerald, I... wow. You look..." She seemed to struggle for words, which was unusual for someone as articulate as she typically was.
Alice continued to stare at him, her lips slightly parted in surprise. "I can't believe... you look incredible. Absolutely incredible."
Gerald smiled, feeling the weight of his transformation settling around him like armor. "I thought tonight deserved something special."
The three of them stood there for a moment, the party swirling around them but somehow distant. Gerald could feel eyes on them from all directions—whispers and stares as Houston University's social hierarchy tried to recalibrate.
Tonight, Gerald realized, everything was going to change.