“Charlie, I’m in trouble,” Lucas said, his voice frantic. “Can you come?”


    “Hi to you too, Lucas,” I replied with a sigh, unable to resist a sarcastic edge. “What happened this time?”


    Lucas flashed a nervous smile—the same one he always had when he got caught by a teacher or was seconds away from detention. “Charlie… Can you come to Riker’s Tower?”


    Riker’s Tower? My eyebrows shot up. It was on my bucket list, sure, but only after earning some notoriety in the game. The tower was legendary—a labyrinth of high-stakes challenges, not to mention the politics surrounding Riker himself.


    I still needed him to push for my request to add that waterfall near the Goolem Dungeon to his list of wonders.


    I don’t even remember why I want that.


    Going there now felt hasty, and the lower floors alone were infamous for… gatekeeping. Maybe Lucas had someone on the inside? My frown deepened as I considered the implications.


    Seeing my hesitation, Lucas quickly added, “Don’t worry, nothing bad happened. Someone just… wants to meet you.”


    My eyes narrowed. “Does this someone have a name? And are they, by any chance, holding you hostage?”


    Lucas’s eyes widened, and he shook his head so fervently it was almost comical. “What? No, Charlie! They just really want to meet you. If you show up—even for a minute—it’ll help me a lot. I’m onto something.”


    I studied his face, searching for cracks in his sincerity. None.


    His nervous energy was enough to set off alarms, but there was something genuine in his desperation. I sighed, feeling the weight of whatever situation he’d landed in. “Lucas, just tell me…”


    I paused, shaking my head. “Never mind. I’ll be there.”


    Before he could respond, I ended the call and tossed my poor phone into my handbag with more force than necessary.


    “One for the ‘why?’” Patrick’s voice got me out of my thoughts. He slid a whiskey toward me, his warm smile full of curiosity. “Sounds complicated.”


    “You know me too well, Patrick,” I replied with a small smile, lifting the glass. The amber liquid swirled as I tilted it back, savoring the familiar burn. “But I’ve changed,” I added, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink.


    Patrick chuckled, leaning on the counter. “If you say so, lassie.”


    Riker built his tower in the most expensive part of the city, far from my flat and farther still from my comfort zone. The skyscraper was for everyone living here a symbol of his wealth and ambition.


    Naturally, too far for me to walk.


    One glance at my bank account confirmed what I already knew: enough funds for plenty of visits to Patrick’s and a few Tüber rides. Not exactly a fortune, but enough to scrape by for now.


    Thanks to that stupid debt, I really should start earning more.


    The thought lingered, heavy and unpleasant. Too bad Lisa died; she would buy something for sure. Tomorrow.


    With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and booked a ride. The driver had only 4.1 stars, but was local and that should be plenty. “Three minutes,” I muttered to Patrick, who was wiping down the counter. He didn’t need any more details; he knew the drill. With a quick flick of my wrist, I sent the payment his way and began heading for the door.


    I’d pushed it open, the crisp night air brushing against my face, when Patrick called out behind me. “Lassie… Be careful, ‘kay?” His voice carried a note of concern that made me pause mid-step.


    Turning back, I caught his gaze. The light from the bar framed his familiar figure, his expression softer than usual. I gave him a small nod, my lips curving into a faint smile. “I will, Patrick. Promise.”


    The outside had a chill that nipped at your skin but wasn’t enough to make you shiver. I hugged myself lightly, watching the quiet street. It wasn’t long before an Italian sports car pulled up near me.


    Or at least, what used to be a sports car—thirty years ago.


    Now, it looked like it had been rebuilt forty times over, its mismatched paint job gleaming under the streetlights.


    The engine gave a growl, a little too loud to be normal, while the passenger door swung open with a metallic creak, and the driver leaned across the seat, calling out in a heavy Italian accent, “Hop in, signorina!”


    I hesitated, eyeing the car suspiciously. The app insisted this was my ride, but the dented exterior and slightly crooked bumper explained the four-star rating. With a deep breath, I stepped inside, careful not to snag my dress on the doorframe.


    The interior was surprisingly clean, though a faint, strange aroma lingered—a mix of air freshener, old leather, and something vaguely floral. “Riker’s Tower,” I said, settling in.


    “Naturalmente! Tüber—ditch the Tube, embrace the über ride!” he declared with a wide grin, gesturing dramatically. “Mi spiace, corpo’s orders!”


    I stifled a laugh, more amused by his energy than the cheesy slogan. “That’s fine,” I murmured, glancing out the window as he pulled onto the street. “Tüber is the cheapest…” My voice trailed off as the car sped up, zipping past AI-driven vehicles.


    For plausible deniability, I deliberately avoided looking at the speedometer.


    “But you get the best ride! And service! Like you’d expect from Roberto. That’s me, by the way!” Roberto grinned again.


    “I’m Charlie… Anyway…” I said awkwardly, desperate to shift the topic. “Are you often at the pub? Do you know John?” The memory of that night when he’d lost a bet to us floated to the surface.


    “Bel nome! That one? A few times, yeah. Reason I’m nearby. Why?” Roberto’s voice carried a hint of suspicion, his eyes narrowing briefly.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    “That’s me!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, stumbling over the explanation. “I mean… I was. Fully changed now… uhmm…”


    We were approaching a stoplight, and Roberto suddenly slammed the brakes, sending me jolting forward slightly. He spun around in his seat, his eyes full of disbelief. “You? Ma tu… bellissima! You mean… full?”


    “Yes,” I groaned, slapping my forehead in frustration. Why did I even bring this up? “Period and all. That’s right now. Remember that night you said you could bench more than us? Cheeky, weren’t you?”


    Roberto threw his head back in laughter. The light turned green, and he hit the gas, accelerating smoothly like a seasoned pro. “Ah, si! I remember! You could do the keg on a stool, not fair!”


    “Hmpf! Two kegs, actually,” I corrected him with a pointed look. “Check your memory.”


    “Dio mio, you’re impossible!” he exclaimed, still grinning, his voice full of teasing. “But bravo, signorina. I remember.”


    His eyes flicking briefly toward me. His gaze lingered for a moment, taking in my dress. “You Riker’s usual?”


    I shook my head, already expecting the commentary.


    “Pensavo! Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, gesturing cheerfully, “but your clothes… sono troppo plain for that place.”


    “I don’t mind, I know that,” I replied, smoothing the wrinkles in my dress, suddenly more aware of them. “You know… I was at that pub, but this is a kind of emergency.” I shifted slightly in my seat. “My friend asked me to meet someone there, and I had to leave on short notice…”


    “Ah, capisco!” Roberto nodded knowingly, as though he understood the situation perfectly. “Mio amico sells dresses—bellissimi! Would fit right in with the Riker crowd. If you don’t mind a little sotto banco deal, you get the cheap price! No tax!” He winked, then gripped the wheel tighter. “And don’t worry, I’ll speed up. You’ll be there just as fast as with boring Tüber, but with flair!”


    I giggled. “Okay, Roberto. But seriously, who would be crazy enough to sell me a dress at 2 a.m.?”


    Settling more comfortably into the seat, I took a proper look at him. He had a lean, graceful body, olive-toned skin, and sharp, skinny features softened slightly by his playful grin.


    “Mio amico!” he said, his grin widening. “Just trust ol’ Roberto!”


    The engine growled as he pressed the pedal closer to the floor, and I could feel the sudden surge of speed. The world outside blurred into streaks of neon and shadow, the hum of AI cars left far behind us. My grip tightened on the door handle.


    We reached his amico’s place faster than I expected, and the destination was nothing like what I’d imagined.


    I’d pictured some bizarre, weathered Italian street with an elderly smuggler exporting fine goods straight from Milan. Instead, Roberto slammed the brakes in front of a shiny, high-end boutique just a few streets away from Riker’s Tower.


    The shop glowed under soft, bright lighting, its minimalist facade polished to perfection. Miraculously, it was still open, the hologramic “24h” sign glowing proudly in the window as if daring anyone to question it.


    “It’s… here?” I asked, stepping carefully out of the car, the faint scent of leather and luxury wafting toward me. “But you said cheap…”


    Roberto waved off my concern with a flick of his wrist. “Signorina, trust in Roberto, yes? Bernardo’s the best!” His grin was as confident as that night when he lost to me.


    “I’m not doubting the quality,” I murmured, eyeing the boutique’s glossy black doors and spotless window displays, where mannequins posed in gowns that looked like they belonged in an imperial court in Rimelion. “But the prices…”


    Before I could protest further, Roberto grabbed my arm and led me inside with a casual insistence.


    The shop’s interior was an elegance—polished marble floors reflected the holo-lighting, while gold-trimmed mirrors and racks displayed dresses that looked like jewels.


    A faint scent of lavender remained in the air, and soft classical music played in the background.


    “Roberto!” A short, older man appeared from behind the counter, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back neatly. He wore a perfectly tailored vest over a crisp white shirt, and his warm brown eyes crinkled with genuine delight. “Always a pleasure, my friend!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying only a slight Italian accent.


    Then his gaze shifted to me, his tone instantly becoming more polished and professional. “And a beautiful miss—welcome to my shop.”


    “Bernardo!” Roberto replied enthusiastically, throwing an arm around the smaller man’s shoulder. “Signorina here—Charlie—needs a dress. She’s going to Riker’s. In five minutes! So, famiglia discount, yes?” His words came in a rapid-fire burst, both a statement and a question.


    Bernardo was stunned briefly by his friend’s theatrics, but then burst into hearty laughter. “Yes, famiglia discount—ninety off!” He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t worry, I still make a profit, just not stealing anymore,” he added, as if that would somehow calm me.


    I stared at him, speechless. Improvise! What dress would priest Charlie wear? “Do… you have… blue one? Frosty?” Charlie… Social awkwardness? Now even whiskey won’t help.


    Ninety percent off? The casual way he tossed out the number left me reeling. “This way!” he said, motioning for me to follow.


    He led me into a smaller back room, its walls lined with neatly organized racks of gowns sorted by color and style. The soft glow of overhead lighting emphasized the sheen of delicate fabrics and intricate stitching. Without hesitation, he reached for a dress, holding it up with a twist of his hand.


    “This is yours, and—what the hell—ninety-five off, if it fits!”


    I tried in a changing room, and… The dress was amazing: a floor-length gown with an ombre gradient of icy blue to pearl white, and the fabric gleam gently like frost under moonlight.


    Delicate silver embroidery traced the neckline and waist, mimicking the patterns of frost-kissed leaves. A sheer overlay glided smoothly from the shoulders, giving it an ethereal, almost as if begged to be classified as [6-marvel] in Rimelion.


    I felt… pretty. And it was a nice feeling, one I hadn’t realized I’d missed. The soft shimmer of the dress and the way it flowed with each step made me feel like I’d stepped out of an imperial court session.


    When I stepped back into the main room, the men’s faces lit up with approval.


    “Bellissima!” Roberto exclaimed, his arms spreading wide in dramatic flair. “Happy, beautiful girl! A vision!”


    Bernardo nodded with a proud smile. “Incantevole. You wear it perfectly, miss. Like it was made for you! So, you pay two hundred.”


    “Two hundred? How much did it…” I asked, my voice trailing off as I noticed the price tag still attached to the dress. Bernardo, with a practiced flourish, snipped it off with a small pair of golden scissors. My eyes widened as I glimpsed the original price—over four thousand.


    “Here you go,” I said, sending him the payment with a shaky hand.


    “It suits you,” Bernardo said warmly, his tone softer now, as if to confirm what he said wasn’t just another sales pitch. “Please, come again!”


    Roberto was already by my side, ushering me back toward his car. My mind was still spinning as I slid into the passenger seat, the soft fabric of the dress brushing against my legs. I couldn’t help but glance down, marveling at how it shimmered in the dim light.


    “To Riker’s!” Roberto announced, slamming the accelerator with his signature force. The engine roared, and within half a minute, the Riker’s Tower loomed ahead.


    As the car slowed, my earlier excitement gave way to a creeping sense of dread.


    What am I doing here?


    The weight of whatever Lucas had gotten me into settled heavily on my chest. “Charlie, here’s my phone, yes? No need for Tüber when you have Roberto!” He grinned, his enthusiasm breaking through my anxious thoughts.


    His grin was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back as he handed me a business card with an elaborate script logo that simply read Roberto.


    “Thanks, Roberto. I’ll remember that,” I said, pocketing the card. “And don’t worry, I’ll still rate you five stars.”


    “Good luck, signorina!” He somehow closed the passenger door from his seat with a practiced motion, and before I could respond, he was already speeding away.


    I stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the cool night air settle my nerves.


    When I turned, Riker’s Tower loomed above, its exterior reflecting the city lights like a mirror. The entrance was stark and modern, its muted black color broken only by doors. Which were flanked by hundreds of people waiting in a long, winding queue, their chatter filling the air with anticipation.


    Off to the side, however, was the VIP entrance—a smaller, more discreet doorway guarded by two men who looked like they could bench-press hundreds of Bearbits at once.


    Their broad shoulders and wary expressions made my heart race faster as I approached.


    Stay calm, Charlie. Channel mother… I mean Irwen.


    “I’m Charlie,” I said, my voice steady and cool, mimicking Irwen’s icy tone. “I was told to come here.”


    The men exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. After a tense three seconds, the guard on the left nodded. “Yes, Mister Riker is expecting you on the top floor.”