After Liam finished the last bite of breakfast, he set his fork down neatly on the plate.
Evelyn stepped forward as though ready to ask if he wanted anything else, but he simply gave her a polite nod before walking toward the front door.
Waiting by the door was Mason, the head of his security detail. The man’s presence was solid, almost military-like, with his shoulders squared, eyes sharp, suit pressed without a wrinkle.
While Liam had been eating, he’d taken a call from Captain Harris, the helicopter pilot. Harris’s tone had been crisp and professional, informing him that the Sikorsky was already on standby at the Granworth Executive Tower — the closest helipad in the city where private choppers were permitted to land.
The moment he hung up, Liam had called Mason over.
"Ready the Ghost," he’d said simply. "We’re taking it out."
Now, it was time to leave.
Mason fell into step a pace behind as Liam crossed the marble-floored foyer. Outside, the waiting Rolls-Royce Ghost Black Badge gleamed under the morning light, its polished obsidian paint and dark chrome accents looking more like a statement than a car.
The driver—the second security guard—was already at the wheel.
Mason open the rear door for Liam and he slid into the backseat, while he took the passenger seat up front.
The Ghost’s interior was a cocoon of deep leather and rich carbon fiber trim, the faint scent of cedarwood from the custom detailing still lingering.
"Granworth," Liam said, settling back.
"Yes, sir," the driver replied smoothly, guiding the car out of the mansion’s long driveway and onto the main road.
As the scenery slipped by, Liam let his thoughts drift to the day ahead. The chopper ride would be quick — just enough time to take in the skyline before sweeping out toward the marina. But it was the yacht trip that had him genuinely looking forward to the hours ahead.
The Mia hadn’t left her berth since he’d acquired her. Today, she’d finally sail under his command.
He wasn’t going alone, of course. Stacy, Kristopher, and a few others would be there. A small group, intimate enough to keep things comfortable, but with enough energy to make the day lively.
That was the surface plan. The fun part.
Beneath it was a quieter intention — the debut of Winter’s Heart.
He hadn’t taken the Fabergé egg out of his inventory yet, not since the system had gifted it to him. And he had no intention of revealing it casually. But the yacht trip presented a perfect stage: a relaxed luxury environment, the right kind of audience, and a chance to lean into the identity others had already imagined for him.
He didn’t particularly like the fact that people assumed he came from some deep-rooted, old-money family. In the long term, he wanted his name to stand on his own merit. But for now? Let them think what they wanted. That misunderstanding could be useful.
And he couldn’t shake the feeling that the system was feeding into it on purpose. The consecutive JP Morgan share rewards, the priceless artifacts, the heritage watch this morning... all of it pushed him toward a certain image.
He couldn’t help but wonder who or what is the system exactly. But he could wonder about it endlessly, but the truth was, he wasn’t that curious.
The old saying fit here: ignorance is bliss. Sometimes, not knowing was the safest choice.
Still, Winter’s Heart had another layer to it beyond its prestige — the hidden key inside.
But that was something he wouldn’t be showing anyone. The key was far too valuable to be paraded around in front of others. What he would do was examine it privately later, to see if he could extract more information.
The location of the safe deposit box it unlocked. Maybe even a hint at its contents.
That thought about the key made him pause, as he got curious about something.
System, can I put items back into the inventory after I’ve taken them out? And what about other objects — ones that didn’t originally come from you?
[Yes, Host. Any inanimate object can be stored in the inventory.]
What about the size limit?
[The inventory is unlimited in capacity and size. The only restriction is that the object must be physically lifted from the ground before storage — in your possession, not fixed in place.]
Liam nodded slightly. That worked perfectly. He could display the Fabergé egg in the mansion later for effect—to show off, but keep the key safe inside the inventory where no one could touch it.
With that settled, he let the question go and focused on the passing scenery.
The Ghost’s ride was smooth, its suspension eating up the imperfections in the road. Outside, the city’s heart began to rise around them, glass towers catching the sunlight, the hum of traffic growing denser.
Fifteen minutes later, the car dipped into the private ramp that led into the Granworth Executive Tower’s VIP garage.
Here, the air was cooler and the sound of the city muted to a distant hum. The walls gleamed in polished steel and soft lighting.
The driver brought the Ghost to a slow stop beside the elevator access. Mason stepped out first, coming around to open Liam’s door.
Liam emerged, smoothing the front of his blazer, his platinum watch catching the light in a glint.
Mason and the second security guard, Nick, matched his pace as they walked toward the far end of the garage, where a uniformed security guard waited by a heavy, card-access door.
The guard straightened instantly, swiping them through without a word. Beyond was a private elevator, its walls clad in dark walnut and brushed brass.
The ride to the rooftop was quick but silent. Liam kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the numbers ticking upward. Mason and Nick stood just behind him, still and alert.
With a quiet chime, the elevator doors slid open.
A short, enclosed hallway stretched ahead, lined with wide windows offering sweeping glimpses of the skyline. The air here was fresher, touched with the faint tang of aviation fuel and open air.
At the end of the hall, double doors led directly out onto the rooftop helipad.
Liam stepped through, the morning sunlight washing over him.
And there it was — the Sikorsky S-92, gleaming in deep navy and silver, its rotors idling in a slow, deliberate spin. The chopper’s presence was imposing but elegant.
Captain Harris stood beside it in a tailored flight suit, his helmet tucked under one arm. He spotted Liam and strode forward, offering a respectful nod.
"Good morning, Mr. Liam. She’s ready for departure."
Liam’s gaze swept over the helicopter, taking in the polished glass and the aerodynamic lines.
He smiled faintly, adjusting his cuff.