Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Now alone, with no teacher breathing down his neck and Maya conveniently outside, probably plotting something, Parker cracked open his laptop. The moment the screen glowed to life, though, he felt it—the buzz.

It was that annoying, clingy energy that spread like gossip in a place like this. Kids were already circling him, subtle at first, but then in full force like vultures. Some whispered his name. Others straight-up hovered too close, pretending to check their phones but obviously dying to start a conversation.

A few bold ones—mostly Annabelle and Maya's friends—took the initiative, asking questions like:

"Hey, Parker, what are you working on?"

"Dude, you good? You've been super quiet lately—what's up?"

"Omg, you have two phones?"

Parker didn't even look up. His fingers stayed frozen on the keyboard as he muttered, voice colder than winter in New York: "Not interested. Move."

Did that stop them? Of course not. Rich kids at a fancy school didn't understand the concept of personal space. They just giggled like it was part of his whole mystique. Some even tried sitting at the table like he'd magically warm up and join their fake deep talks about luxury car specs and which influencer threw the better yacht party.

'Yeah, nah.'

Parker slammed his laptop shut with a sharp clap, packed it smoothly into his LV monogram Eclipse backpack—a sleek black designer piece that cost more than most people's rent—and slung it over his shoulder. The way the metal buckles clicked felt final.

"Seriously. Fuck off."

He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer ice behind those words hit like a gut punch. A few of the guys backed off immediately. Some of the girls? Not so much. Annabelle's friends were especially relentless, practically hanging on his every move like moths around a flame.

Of course they were. Half of them had probably already imagined some billionaire romance scenario where he'd sweep them off their feet, all brooding and mysterious. Read exclusive content at My Virtual Library Empire

Not happening.

Parker turned on his heel, ignoring the hushed whispers and stares, and stalked through the halls. The school, of course, wasn't just expensive—it was straight-up ridiculous. Think marble floors polished so smooth they practically glowed, massive art pieces worth more than most cars, and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in way too much natural light for his current mood.

Even the lockers looked custom. Some were made of brushed steel with individual keypads. Others? Leather-lined. Freaking leather.

Because apparently, being born rich meant you needed luxury for your backpack storage.

He passed the indoor botanical garden (yes, they had one) and the private spa suites (not joking) before reaching the library. But this wasn't just a library—it was a statement.

Mahogany shelves stretched to the ceiling, with books that smelled faintly of old paper and money. Everything felt custom-designed to flex. Gold accents, glass-paneled study rooms, and those plush, velvet armchairs that screamed, I cost more than your future.

At the front desk, a male student in a tailored blazer and Rolex sat like he was guarding the Gates of Knowledge.

Parker barely acknowledged him, just pulled out his school ID—black, matte, and embedded with a chip—and flashed it with the kind of practiced ease you only learned when you belonged here.

The guy nodded without a word, tapping a screen, and the security gates slid open with a soft ding.

Parker didn't bother with the main study area where the posers hung out for aesthetics. Nope. He headed straight for the farthest corner—way past the pretentious philosophy section and into the niche historical archives where nobody but overachievers and the truly antisocial dared to sit.

The chair he chose wasn't just a chair—it was obscenely comfortable. Plush. Like the kind of thing you'd expect in a billionaire's private theater room.

With a quiet sigh, Parker sank into the seat, dropped his LV bag beside him, and pulled out his laptop again, he also placed both his phones next to eachother.

"Let's crack some secrets, shall we?"

He cracked his knuckles. That slow, dramatic flex you'd see in those hacker movies where the genius types like a demon on five cans of Monster.

Except this wasn't a movie.

And he wasn't some script nerd.

He was just pissed off.

The whole "Origin Families" thing rubbed him raw, like an itch under his skin that wouldn't go away. It felt wrong. Like there was some ancient web tangled around him, and no matter how much he pulled, it just kept knotting tighter.

He wasn't the type to sit around waiting for answers to fall into his lap. So, if the system wasn't going to give him shit?

He'd find them himself.

Cassidy had given him a link to the Ether Community once—a darknet circle where supernatural families, factions, and rogue mystics traded info, artifacts, and, occasionally, threats.

Parker didn't just log in.

He hacked in.

The first layers peeled back easily. Basic encrypted sites, hidden servers. Like cracking open a digital egg.

But the deeper he went?

Firewalls.

Encrypted mazes stacked on top of each other. Tripwire codes designed to fry his connection if he pressed too hard too fast.

"Damn... this might be tougher than the Pentagon."

But tough didn't mean impossible.

He worked faster, lines of code flashing across his screen, bypassing, rerouting, digging deeper—until finally...

ACCESS GRANTED.

And there it was.

The Origin Families.

Parker exhaled, staring at the screen as the names unfolded before him. The deeper Parker dug, the worse it got.

At first, it felt like cracking open some ancient vault, dust and all. Names older than the country itself, but still controlling everything like modern royalty playing pretend. And right at the top—just like he expected—were the Voidhowls, hiding behind the Blackwood name in the mundane world. Robert's face stared back at him on the screen, sharp, proud, and unreadable. Classic. No surprise there.

The Zhang Family was next, and while he recognized their name, it was just as vague. An old patriarch's face stared back at him—expression unreadable, ancient in that way where power didn't need to be loud. But that was nothing compared to what came next.

The Ravencroft Family. Maya's dad was right there, bold as day, his face listed alongside the others. That alone made Parker's stomach tighten. Then came the Shadowmire Family, and the man in the photo—the same one he'd seen lurking at those weird gala events, half-hidden, always watching. But the real shock hit with the Draven Family.

This one made him pause. The picture didn't show Scarlett, though.