Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The sun barely peeked over the horizon when Parker woke up, the soft glow slipping through the blackout curtains of his massive suite. For a second, he just stared at the ceiling, collecting his thoughts. Today was gonna be... different. School. After everything—the deal, the power growth, the awakening—he was going back to Silverbrook High like some regular-ass teenager.

Except he wasn't regular. Not anymore.

A deep exhale left his chest as he sat up, the sheets slipping down his toned torso.

Shoving the thoughts aside, Parker climbed out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. Cold shower. Steam fogged the mirror as the water hit his skin, sharp and invigorating, forcing him awake completely.

When he came back out, towel wrapped around his waist, he stopped short.

His uniform—crisp, pristine, and obviously tailored to perfection—was laid out neatly on the bed. White dress shirt, navy blazer with the Silverbrook crest, dark slacks that looked custom-fitted for his build. A black tie, too.

Had to be Naomi. Maybe Elena. Either way, the timing was perfect.

He got dressed in silence, the fabric smooth and expensive against his skin. Shirt tucked. Tie sharp. Jacket folded over his arm. Then came the accessories—essentials.

He slid on a sleek, stainless steel Rolex Sky-Dweller, subtle but worth stupid money. Pocketed both his phones—one personal, one secured. His cologne? A few sprays of Creed Aventus, subtle and clean but rich. Then the sneakers—limited edition Dior B23s, flawless white with just a whisper of branding. The kind of kicks people whispered about when they saw them.

Last detail? The black leather bag. Custom-stitched maybe. Heavy, but not from books alone—his tablet, custom secure drives, and the very real possibility of enough cash to buy someone an entire apartment in Greece if he felt like it.

He grabbed the Phantom Spectre key. No hesitation.

Descending the grand staircase, the scent of breakfast hit him first—eggs, bacon, maybe some kind of toast? Naomi's work. It had to be. The girl was a machine.

When he stepped into the dining area, Naomi was already there, sitting at the counter with a coffee, scrolling her phone like she hadn't just cooked a five-star breakfast.

Her Silverbrook uniform matched his but... a little different. The blazer fitted snug, sharp as hell. But the skirt? Yeah, it was on the shorter side, showing just a sliver of her lower thighs. Not unprofessional—just enough to be noticeable. And damn, she pulled it off.

Her long dark hair was neatly tied back, a slim black bag resting against her chair.

She noticed his stare and raised a brow. "Problem, boss?"

Parker shook his head, smirking. "Nope. Just making sure you can keep up today."

Across the room, Elena stood near the window, arms crossed, watching them with her usual calm, professional smile. She didn't wear a uniform, obviously, but her tailored black blazer and pencil skirt combo screamed 'executive.'

The food tasted as good as it smelled. Eggs perfectly seasoned. Bacon crisp, not burnt. And the toast? Cinnamon French toast, slightly sweet but balanced. Parker didn't comment, but Naomi noticed the slight nod of approval as he finished the plate clean.

When he stood and grabbed the key fob from the table, Naomi rose too, grabbing her bag.

Elena tilted her head. "Range Rover, sir?"

Parker shook his head, holding up the key. "Spectre."

Naomi blinked. "Wait, the Rolls-Royce Spectre? Since when—?"
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Elena's eyebrows raised slightly. "You're...sure, sir? That's—"

"Yeah. You're driving."

Elena blinked again but nodded, her composure slipping just enough to be noticeable. "Of course."

In the garage, the Spectre sat like a damn work of art. Jet black, pure luxury with that signature pantheon grille and Spirit of Ecstasy gleaming like it belonged in a museum. No engine roar when Elena pressed the ignition—just a soft hum, smooth and quiet, like it was whispering power instead of screaming it.

The cabin? Unreal. Pure leather. Night sky starlights glowing faintly overhead. The scent of premium materials filled the air, rich but not overwhelming.

Parker slid into the back seat, cool as hell, while Naomi took the front passenger side next to Elena. Elena adjusted the wheel, glancing at the controls with a slight nod of approval. "This... drives itself?"

"Fully electric. But you're driving," Parker said, voice calm as he lounged back, one ankle resting on his knee.

Elena pressed the pedal. Smooth. Silent. The mansion gates opened automatically, and as the Spectre glided onto the main driveway, the sensation shifted—like the entire world softened around them.

Naomi shifted slightly in her seat, glancing back. "Okay... yeah, this definitely isn't a regular car." Elena just nodded, her grip firm but relaxed. She'd driven the Range Rover plenty. But this? This was something else entirely.

No one spoke as they drove out onto the streets. The only sound was the soft electric whir beneath them and the faint pulse of low classical music playing through the hidden speakers.

Silent. Controlled. Perfect.

****

Silverbrook High wasn't just expensive—it was obscene. The kind of school where tuition could fund a small family for a year or two. Every inch of the place radiated wealth, from the pristine stone pathways lined with cherry blossom trees to the massive iron gates that towered over the entrance. The students? All perfectly polished. Designer bags, luxury watches, pressed uniforms so crisp they looked like they were straight off a runway.

This was where the kids of CEOs, actors, and old-money heirs got their education—and made sure you knew it.

The morning drop-off was a parade of privilege. Bentleys, G-Wagons, a few Ferraris—it was the usual lineup of expensive rides flexing in the circular driveway. But then it pulled up.

The Rolls-Royce Spectre. Jet black. A silent predator of a car, all curves and presence. It didn't just blend in with the other luxury vehicles—it owned the lot. No roaring engine, just a low, menacing hum as it glided to a stop.

*****

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