Elias stared at the book, his fingers gripping the pen so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
A hundred dollars was one thing. A thousand? That would be insane. But now?
Imagine if he could have everything.
He licked his lips, his pulse pounding in his ears. His hands trembled as he pressed the pen to the page.
"I am rich beyond imagination."
The ink dried instantly.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then–
A sharp, Agonizing pain exploded in his skull.
He gasped, clutching his head as white-hot agony shot through him. It felt like a knife had been driven straight into his brain. His vision blurred, the room spinning, turning, breaking apart.
He collapsed onto the bed. His ears rang. His chest tightened. He couldn't breathe.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
* * * *
He woke up to a soft breeze brushing against his skin. The scent of expensive cologne and fresh atmosphere filled his lungs. It wasn't the usual scent of his small apartment.
Elias's eyes fluttered open.
He wasn't in his apartment.
Where was he?
He lay on a king-sized bed, the sheets softer than anything he had ever touched. Above him, a ceiling stretched high, lined with golden chandeliers. The walls were richly painted, modern, adorned with art in golden and silver frames.
He bolted upright.
This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his home. This wasn't his life.
His heart slammed against his ribs. Swinging his legs off the mattress, he nearly tripped over the crystal-marble floor.
"What the hell…" His voice came out sharp and hoarse.
He stumbled forward, his breath hitching and breaking as he took in his surroundings. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a sprawling city skyline, bright and endless, stretching farther than anything he had ever seen.
His gaze landed on a walk-in closet.
The doors were open, revealing rows of designer suits, luxury watches, and shoes that probably cost more than his old apartment's rent. Or his kife
He staggered backward, nearly knocking over a glass coffee table.
Then–
Bzzzz.
His head snapped toward the sound.
A phone vibrated on the nightstand.
But it wasn't his phone.
It looked expensive–black and gold, sleek, nothing like the cracked, outdated one he used to own.
Hesitating, he picked it up. The screen lit up.
UNKNOWN NUMBER calling.
His throat tightened. Slowly, he answered.
"Mr. Elias," a deep voice said, smooth and professional. "I've been trying to reach you all morning. Are you all right?"
Elias swallowed hard. "Who… who is this?"
A pause. Then, "It's me, Gregory. Your financial advisor."
His blood ran cold.
"My… what?" . When did he have a financial advisor .
Another pause. "Sir, is everything okay? You had a meeting scheduled today regarding your investments. We need to discuss your recent property acquisitions and the stock market shifts. You mentioned buying another yacht."
A yacht?
The phone nearly slipped from his grasp.
"I… uh… I need a moment." He hung up before the voice could say anything else.
Standing there, his hands shook.
This was real.
He had everything. Money. Power. Luxury.
He had rewritten his life.
A slow grin spread across his face. Grabbing the phone again, he opened the banking app.
His stomach flipped.
Balance: $985,720,500.00
He sucked in a sharp breath.
He was rich. Filthy, disgustingly rich.
The book… worked.
Elias needed to see more.
He rushed into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. The mirror reflected someone who looked like him–but different. Same dark hair, same jawline, but the exhaustion? The frustration? Gone.
He grinned at his reflection. His skin looked clearer, his posture straighter, not haggard but muscular, like someone who spends his time gyming, his presence more commanding–like the world had already started treating him differently.
This was real. This was fucking real.
Running his fingers over the marble sink, his thoughts raced. If this was real, what else could he do?
He turned back to the closet, pulling out a crisp black suit, slipping into it as if he had been dressing like this his whole life. The fabric felt expensive, tailored to fit him perfectly.
On the dresser, a silver watch gleamed under the soft lights. The brand name engraved in tiny letters: Patek Philippe.
Even he knew that was worth a fortune.
A sudden knock on the bedroom door made him freeze.
"Sir?" A woman's voice called from the other side.
He hesitated. "Uh… yeah?"
"Your car is ready, sir. Should I tell the driver to bring it around?"
His car?
He swallowed hard. "Yeah. Do that."
"Very well, sir."
Her footsteps faded.
Elias exhaled, his heart hammering against his ribs.
This was insane.
He walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling window, staring down at the city. Skyscrapers stretched into the clouds, the streets below bustling with cars and people.
This was his world now.
The old Elias–the one who struggled to pay rent, who collected rejection letters, who lived on cheap instant noodles–was gone.
He could have anything he wanted.
He turned toward the kitchen. It was sleek, modern, with a fridge bigger than his old closet. He pulled it open, expecting cheap takeout boxes.
Instead, it was stocked with imported wines, fresh fruit, and expensive cuts of meat–food he wouldn't have been able to afford before.
Grabbing a bottle of water, he twisted the cap off.
Then, he noticed something else.
A single, black notebook sat on the marble countertop.
His breath caught.
The book.
It wasn't where he had left it. The book has followed him to this new life.
Slowly, he walked over and picked it up.
His hands trembled as he flipped to the first page.
The words he had written last night were still there.
"I am rich beyond imagination."
But beneath it–
New words had appeared.
"Every gift has a price."
His stomach twisted.
He shut the book.
He had everything now. Money, power, a new life.
He wasn't going to let some creepy message ruin this.
Shoving the book into a drawer, he walked away.
This was his world now.
And he wasn't going to question it.