Javier

The automatic glass doors glide open before you even reach them, the air inside instantly wrapping around you both—cool, scented with expensive citrus polish and faint hints of luxury perfume, and so quiet compared to the busy main mall that your footsteps echo softly on the polished marble floors.

Javier steps through first, then slows just enough to let you catch up, and before you can say a word, he slings one arm loose and easy over your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side like this is a habit he’s had for years. His grin is bright, unapologetic, and so ridiculously confident it would fool anyone who didn’t know for a fact that his wallet last saw actual cash three days ago, and that the only thing stocked in his pantry right now is five different flavors of instant noodles and a single sad can of soda.

He doesn’t even blink before slipping fully into the role, his posture straightening just so—relaxed, effortless, the kind of poise that says he’s had everything he’s ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter since the day he was born. He glances around the grand lobby, tilts his head like he’s inspecting something beneath his notice, and speaks in a warm, carrying tone that sounds entirely sincere.

“Ah, there we are. Welcome back, darling. I do hope the management remembered our note about the lighting—this place simply won’t do if it doesn’t show off the architecture properly.” He pauses playfully, squints at the grand marble fountain dead ahead, and clicks his tongue softly, shaking his head like he’s been personally offended. “Hm. Disappointing. They’ve moved the fountain nearly two inches to the left. Absolutely unacceptable. Have someone speak to the architect first thing tomorrow—this kind of carelessness won’t stand.”

He nods gravely at an empty stretch of floor, as if a whole team of assistants is standing right there taking notes, then leans down closer to you, his voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial murmur, his breath warm against your ear.

“Stick close, yeah? We’re billionaires today. Old money, the kind nobody dares question. Just act like every shiny thing here is something you already own three of, and if anything surprises you, pretend it’s only because it’s worse than what you have at home. Natural. Easy.” He playfully whispered knowing you both shares the same brain and funny ideas.

Barely ten seconds pass before he freezes dead in his tracks, eyes lighting up like he’s just spotted a long-lost pet. Right in the center of the wide promenade, perched on a raised velvet platform behind a thin rope barrier, sits a sleek, glossy luxury sports car—bright silver, so shiny it reflects the glowing chandeliers overhead, and so expensive even the staff standing nearby keep glancing at it like it might vanish if they look away too long.

Javier’s mouth falls open in a perfect, overdone show of delight, then quickly twists into something that looks almost bored. He lets go of your shoulders to circle the platform slowly, hands clasped loosely behind his back, head tilted this way and that like he’s deciding whether to buy it or send it back for a refund.

“Oh, look at that,” he says, loud enough for a passing couple to glance over. “They finally delivered the spare I asked for. Took them long enough.” He stops by the driver’s side door, taps one manicured finger lightly against the glass, and hums a long, low note of disappointment. “Mmm… no, I don’t think so. The stitching on the seats is passable, I suppose, but look at these cup holders. Shallow. Flimsy. Completely poor quality. What if I want to bring my favorite imported tea along? It’ll spill all over the upholstery.” He sighs so deeply his shoulders slump, like this is the greatest tragedy he’s faced all month. “A shame. It’ll never do for me. I suppose we can gift it to the head butler—he’s been complaining his old car doesn’t have enough legroom. It’ll keep him happy, I suppose.”

He waves the car away like it’s nothing more than a trinket, and keeps strolling until he’s pressed shoulder to shoulder with the floor-to-ceiling glass of a luxury watch boutique. Inside, cases gleam with gold and silver, faces dotted with tiny diamonds, and price tags that probably have more zeroes than he’s ever seen in his life. He leans in until his nose almost touches the glass, eyes wide and soft with genuine awe for half a second, before he clears his throat and schools his face back into that haughty, unbothered look.

“Those are nice,” he says, nodding at a delicate rose-gold piece strung with pearls. “Very pretty. Very… charming.” He pauses, then shrugs, turning away like he’s already bored. “For peasants.”

Three seconds later, he leans right back in, squinting at the tiny tag tucked in the corner of the display.

“…Actually,” he whispers, glancing around like he’s afraid a salesperson will hear before leaning close to your ears, “do you think they run any promos? Or maybe a first-time buyer discount? I’ve got a loyalty card somewhere—wait, no, that’s for the milk tea shop.”

He clears his throat so loudly it echoes across the hall, standing up straight and smoothing down his shirt like he’s just been caught doing something scandalous. “Ahem. Discounts are not for the average wealthy person, obviously. But… sensible billionaires know a good deal when they see one. It’s called fiscal responsibility. Yes. That’s what it is.”

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and spots a uniformed security guard watching the two of you with a confused little smile. Without missing a beat, Javier lifts one hand and waves—slow, regal, the kind of wave a royal gives a crowd.

“Good afternoon to you too!” he calls out, beaming. “Excellent work keeping this place so safe and tidy. We appreciate the effort—makes shopping so much more pleasant, doesn’t it?”

The guard blinks, then nods quickly and gives a little bow. As soon as he’s turned away, Javier leans in close again, whispering so loudly people three meters over definitely turn their heads.

“If anyone asks,” he hisses, “we own three private islands. No, wait—make it four. I forgot about the one my grandfather left me. Don’t mention the one with the mango farm, though—we’re keeping that one secret.” He said with chin held high while trying so hard not to laugh.

He’s just about to say something else when his nose twitches. He stops dead, tilts his head, and inhales deeply like he’s sniffing out a rare treasure. His eyes go wide, and for the first time all afternoon, his rich-person act drops completely.

“Oh,” he breathes, “the caviar and imported truffles can wait. I know that smell.” He gasps dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest like he’s overcome with emotion. “Is that… is that salted egg fries? And extra crispy potato wedges?” He turns to you, eyes sparkling, and drops his voice back to that posh drawl, though he’s already tugging your hand toward the direction of the scent.

“Babe—important question. Should we grace the common folk with our presence and dine among them at the food court… or would it be easier to just buy the whole food court, have everyone else cleared out, and have them serve us right here? I could go either way, but if we buy it, I get to add unlimited cheese dip to the menu. What do you think?”