Chapter 1

I spent seventy thousand dollars on an unlimited annual membership at an ultra-luxury wellness spa.

But after only two weeks of going there, the lead therapist publicly humiliated me in front of everyone, calling me a "broke leech" who was just trying to abuse the card to get his money's worth.

When I tried to confront him, I realized he had already blocked my number and Snapchat.

I went to the owner for a refund, but she turned the tables on me. She claimed that if I cancelled early, every single session I had would be billed at a walk-in rate of four thousand dollars.

According to her math, not only was my seventy thousand dollars completely gone, but I also owed them an extra three thousand.

Looking at the smug, arrogant faces of the owner and the therapist—both wearing an expression that practically screamed "What are you going to do about it?"—I smiled. I turned around and called the property management office.

"Hey, Mr. Miller. Don't renew the lease for 'Luxe Haven Spa' next month. Give them three days to pack their trash and get out."

Oh, I forgot to mention. This entire luxury shopping plaza? My family owns it.

01

The moment I realized I was blocked on Snapchat and iMessage, a nerve in my brain snapped.

I couldn't stand it for another second. I stormed straight to the third floor of the plaza, heading right for Luxe Haven Spa.

Before I could even push open the heavy, ornate glass doors, the sound of loud, mocking laughter drifted out.

"This guy, Ethan, is honestly pathetic," Marcus's voice echoed. "Just because he bought that unlimited Black-Card VIP pass, he thinks he owns the place. He basically lives here."

"I know, right?" another receptionist chimed in. "I’ve seen plenty of guys like him. He probably maxed out his credit cards or emptied his entire savings just to scrape together that seventy grand. All so he could play the big shot in front of us."

"It's exhausting," Marcus groaned, his tone dripping with undisguised disgust. "I get a headache the second he walks in. He demands a deep-tissue massage every single day. My hands are literally going to fall off because of this loser."

My blood began to boil. Marcus was the lead therapist, and yet here he was, gossiping about a paying customer with absolute contempt.

Several junior therapists giggled and added fuel to the fire.

"You're so right, Marcus. His neck and shoulders are as stiff as rocks anyway. Even our premium essential oils are a waste on him. He should just stop embarrassing himself."

"Honestly, he probably doesn’t have a girlfriend to touch him, so he comes here just to feel some human contact."

"Hahaha! Exactly. He’s just a broke loser trying to abuse the system."

Their sharp, mocking laughter pierced my ears like needles.

Rage surged straight to my head.

I couldn't take it anymore. I kicked the door open and stormed in.

*BANG!*

The heavy glass door slammed against the wall. The laughter inside stopped instantly. The temperature in the lobby seemed to drop to freezing point.

Everyone stared at me as if they had just seen a ghost.

"Who gave you the right to talk trash behind my back? Apologize to me. Now," I growled, my eyes locked onto Marcus.

Several junior therapists quickly looked down, their faces turning pale with panic.

But Marcus only froze for a second. Then, he rolled his eyes, let out a cold sneer, and crossed his arms.

"Nobody was talking about you, dude. Why are you losing your mind?"

"Cut the crap. I heard every single word outside the door!"

"Oh, really? No one else heard anything. Just you?" Marcus stepped closer, looking completely unbothered. "Maybe you're hallucinating from too much steam in the sauna. Do you need a doctor?"

Hearing this, a few receptionists couldn't help but cover their mouths to stifle their giggles.

Marcus puffed out his chest, looking incredibly proud of himself, like a soldier who had just won a grand battle.

I clenched my fists so hard that my fingernails dug into my palms.

"Then why did you block me?" I demanded, staring him down.

Marcus looked me up and down with sheer disdain.

"Look, buddy. I'm a very busy man. I deal with multi-millionaires every day."

"You keep spamming my Snapchat trying to book appointments. I'm a lead therapist, not your personal texting buddy."

"Then what did you mean by that post on your story? What 'broke leech' were you talking about?"

"My membership is explicitly advertised as unlimited. Why are you complaining about me coming here?"

"And didn't you text me saying you were fully booked today? Why are you standing here gossiping if you're so busy?"

Marcus let out a mocking laugh, stepping right into my personal space and looking down at me.

"Am I not allowed to take a break?"

"Get a grip, dude. I'm a professional, not your slave."

"Did buying a membership really give you this much of an ego? Do you actually think you're someone special?"

He tilted his chin high, wearing a sickeningly arrogant expression.

The other employees didn't bother hiding their amusement anymore. They all stared at me with mocking grins, waiting to see me humiliate myself further.

My temples throbbed with anger.

I didn't want to waste another breath on this garbage. I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the back office to find the owner, Cheryl.

02

Cheryl’s office was at the end of the hallway.

She was a woman in her late forties, wearing heavy makeup and caked-on foundation, smelling of cheap perfume and sharp, greedy calculations.

After listening to my complaint, she slowly took a sip of her tea.

Then, with an agonizing slowness, she pulled a contract out of her drawer—one I had never seen before.

"Mr. Sterling, please calm down," she said smoothly. "But according to our policy, if a client requests a premature refund, all completed sessions must be billed at our maximum single walk-in rate."

"You have visited us fifteen times. Our premium walk-in rate is four thousand dollars per session. That comes out to sixty thousand dollars."

"Add in a two-thousand-dollar fee for premium oil consumption, one thousand for facility utility usage, one thousand for equipment wear-and-tear, and a one-thousand-dollar service fee."

"So, mathematically speaking... not only can we not refund you, but you actually owe us an additional three thousand dollars."

I laughed out of sheer shock. I slammed the ridiculous contract onto her desk.

"Are you out of your mind, Cheryl? This is highway robbery! I never signed or saw this contract when I bought the membership."

Cheryl's face darkened, her polite facade slipping away.

"Mr. Sterling, this is standard industry practice. Feel free to ask around. Which high-end spa in this city doesn't operate this way?"

"Fine," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I won't refund it. But I want to change my therapist. I don't want Marcus anymore."

According to their own store rules, if a client blacklisted a therapist, Marcus would lose all his monthly commissions and bonuses, and he would face a heavy fine.

Cheryl's expression turned incredibly sour.

"All our other therapists are fully booked for the next three months."

"Marcus is our star therapist. No one has ever complained about him before. Clearly, the communication issue lies with you."

"Tell you what. I'll talk to Marcus and ask him to keep treating you. But you need to check your attitude, too. Don't act like you're above everyone else just because you bought a card."

My brain felt like it was about to explode.

So, in the end, everything was my fault?

I took a deep breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to smash her office to pieces.

Without another word, I pulled out my phone, snapped a crystal-clear photo of the fraudulent contract, and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Cheryl mutter with absolute disgust, "What a loser. Acting like a king when he's probably living paycheck to paycheck."

03

Over the next few days, I purposely didn't ask for a refund. Instead, I kept booking appointments.

Since it was unlimited, I wanted to see exactly what kind of games they were planning to play.

Marcus pretended to be professional and took me back for my sessions, but he was actively looking for revenge.

Under the guise of a "deep tissue detox session," he locked me in the steam room at the absolute highest temperature setting.

Normally, a steam session lasts twenty minutes max. He forced me to stay in there for an hour.

He also brought me a cup of boiling hot "detox tea," forcing me to drink it.

When the heat became too suffocating to bear, I stood up to leave.

But when I pushed the door, I realized it was locked from the outside.

I banged heavily on the glass door, shouting for help.

Marcus was standing right outside. Through the glass, he was casually sipping an iced energy drink, staring at me with a malicious smirk.

"Come on, Ethan. You have too many toxins in your body. You need to sweat it out," he mouthed through the glass, mocking me.

"Didn't you demand to have your daily sessions? Deal with it, or get lost."

I felt incredibly dizzy. My vision started to blur, and my heart was pounding wildly against my chest.

Outside, he flipped me the middle finger.

"You broke leech. I'm doing this for your own good. Sweating the poor out of you."

By the time the timer finally buzzed and the door unlocked, I had completely lost all strength. I collapsed onto the wet tile floor, unable to pull myself up.

Just then, a few wealthy male VIP clients walked into the locker room.

"Hey... please, help me up..." I gasped.

But they were Marcus’s regular clients. They already despised me because they believed the rumors that I was "abusing" the membership and taking up Marcus's time.

They looked down at me with cold, disgusted sneers, making no move to help.

"Oh, look, it's that guy Ethan who clings to Marcus every day. Talk about desperate. Just because you have a yearly pass doesn't mean you have to behave like a parasite."

"Seriously. Because of you, Marcus has been in such a bad mood lately. He barely talks to us during our massages."

"He deserves it. Broke loser."

Laughing, they stepped right over me and walked into the changing area.

I clenched my teeth, dragging myself up off the floor using the wall.

*Fine. Just wait.*

04

A few nights later, Marcus claimed he was too busy during the day and purposely scheduled my appointment for 10:00 PM.

That was right before closing time.

By the time the session ended, I was exhausted.

I dragged my sore body into the shower room to wash off the massage oil.

Just as I covered my hair in shampoo, the water suddenly cut off.

Then, *click*.

The lights in the shower room went out.

The entire space was plunged into pitch-black silence.

"Hey! Is anyone there? The water shut off!" I yelled.

No one answered.

I had no choice but to wipe the soap suds off my face with a dry towel, scramble into my clothes in the dark, and stumble out.

The massive lobby was completely dark and empty.

Marcus was standing outside the main glass doors of the spa. Under the dim hallway lights of the mall, he looked like a demon, smiling creepily at me.

A terrible feeling washed over me. I rushed toward the exit.

Suddenly, my foot slipped.

I lost my balance and slammed heavily onto the hard marble floor.

"Ugh—!"

An agonizing, sharp pain shot through my body. I let out a choked scream, cold sweat breaking out over my forehead.

I reached out to feel the floor in the dark, only to find it covered in thick, slippery massage oil.

But that wasn't the worst part.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through the palms of my hands.

I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight. The floor wasn't just covered in oil—it was covered in hundreds of sharp pushpins and thumbtacks.

My palms and knees were dripping with blood, punctured by dozens of needles.

Shaking with pain and fury, I looked up.

Marcus was standing outside the glass door, watching my agony with pure glee. He mouthed two words to me: "Die, loser."

With a smirk, he pulled down the heavy metal security shutter, locked it, and walked away.

My chest rose and fell as rage consumed me. I dragged myself up, ignoring the agonizing pain in my hands and knees.

I screamed for help, but only my own echo answered.

I tried to call 911, but my phone had zero service. They had installed a signal jammer near the lobby.

Left with no choice, I limped over to the reception desk. I picked up a heavy metal barstool and slammed it with all my remaining strength against the expensive glass doors.

Once. Twice. Three times.

*BANG! BANG! CRASH!*

The glass shattered into a million pieces, rain-showering the hallway.

Dripping with blood and sweat, I crawled out of the ruined spa. Once I reached the mall parking lot, I immediately dialed 91