Chapter 4: Cut Off and Reprogrammed

The next morning, I woke up sprawled on the floor of a luxury garage.

The air was sharp with the tang of motor oil and the faint, comforting scent of the leather seats—Dad’s prized collection glinting in the early light. My cheek pressed to the cold cement, the smell of motor oil and leather hitting me before I could open my eyes. I blinked up at the rows of gleaming cars, sunlight bouncing off chrome. For a second, I wondered if I’d died and woken up in some weird afterlife for spoiled rich kids.

Mr. Harris, our butler since I was ten, stood nearby, stiff as a soldier, hands folded, tie knotted with military precision. “Mr. Jason, your dad says you’ve made enough of a scene. For now, you’re grounded—from the house, at least.”

I got up, rubbing my aching temples, and habitually asked:

“Any news about Natalie today? Did she eat the breakfast I had sent? Did she eat a lot?”

My voice sounded rough, but old habits die hard. Even with my pride in tatters, I still clung to my routines.

“The weather forecast says it’ll rain and cool down today. If she goes out, is the car ready? And make sure the heater’s on.”

Rain meant she’d need the black BMW, not the convertible. I pictured her shivering at the bus stop, cursing my name.

“Send me her class schedule, arrange a few ‘accidental’ encounters, call the stylist—she’s been watching that show lately, do my hair like the male lead...”

My to-do list for impressing Natalie was as long as a CVS receipt. Sometimes, I felt like a campaign manager, not a suitor.

The butler coughed awkwardly, clearly nervous:

“Sorry, Mr. Jason, I’m afraid that’s not possible today.”

He glanced at his watch, avoiding my eyes.

“Your dad has frozen all your credit cards. He said if you keep chasing after Miss Sanders, you’ll have to take your birth certificate and change your last name.”

His words hit me harder than a hangover. Harris only quoted Dad when things were serious.

I was stunned:

“Wait, didn’t you tell him that if I can’t marry Natalie, I’ll lose it? Does he really want to see his son go before him?”

I tried to sound joking, but the desperation bled through.

The butler stiffly replied, “I told him. He said you keep making a mess of your love life, but without money, you’ll straighten out in a couple of days.”

He pursed his lips, but I could see sympathy in his eyes. Harris had watched me grow up—he knew heartbreak was a family tradition.

...

My head started pounding immediately.

Pressure built behind my eyes, the realization finally crashing down. I was cut off—no more parental bailouts, no more magic credit card.

No more late-night Postmates, no more impulse sneakers. I’d have to survive like a regular college kid—God help me.

When I summoned the system for help, I suddenly noticed the target’s name had changed.

Aubrey Lee.

Natalie’s roommate.