Chapter 30: [Lamborghini Revuelto]

Three salesmen in identical dark grey suits stood near the reception desk, speaking in hushed tones. When the heavy glass doors clicked shut behind Damon, the nearest representative immediately straightened his posture.

The man’s eyes swept over Damon in half a second. He took in the suit, the broad frame, the unhurried posture, and the complete lack of hesitation in his stride. He wasn’t looking around like a tourist trying to take a photo. He walked like a man who owned whatever room he stepped into.

"Good evening, sir," the salesman said, stepping forward with a polished smile. He bowed his head slightly. "Welcome to Vanguard Motors. My name is Hayes. How can I assist you today?"

"Show me your top inventory," Damon said flatly. "Not the baseline floor stock. The top of the line."

Hayes’s smile sharpened with interest. "Right this way, sir. Are you leaning toward a driver-focused long-distance tourer, or something with a bit more track heritage?"

"I want something that looks like power," Damon replied, keeping his hands loosely in his trousers pockets as he walked beside the salesman.

They passed a midnight-blue luxury sedan with twin-turbo V12 badges and a custom silver crossover, but Damon didn’t spare them a second glance. Comfortable, heavy executive haulers were built for passive corporate executives who preferred sitting in the back seat while someone else drove them.

Then Damon stopped.

In the center of the rear gallery, sitting on a raised black platform under four overhead spotlights, sat a brand-new Lamborghini Revuelto.

Its broad frame cut through the soft lighting of the showroom with sharp lines. The exterior was finished in a deep, glossy piano-black paint that absorbed the light, contrasting sharply with razor-thin dark red calipers visible through the black forged wheels. The interior was lined in jet-black , accented only by subtle crimson stitching along the race-bucket seats and dashboard.

"Ah," Hayes said softly, stepping up beside the platform.

"The Revuelto. V12 hybrid powertrain, over a thousand horsepower combined.

This specific unit was delivered from the factory three days ago under a private corporate allocation that cleared this morning.

Black-on-black spec, subtle red trim, carbon ceramic brakes, titanium exhaust package. It is, without a doubt, the most aggressive machine on our floor."

Hayes paused, glancing at Damon’s expressionless face before dropping the price tag. "The asking figure, including immediate registration, dealer transport, and white-glove tax clearance, sits at seven hundred and forty thousand dollars."

Damon looked at the vehicle.

"I’ll take it," He said plainly.

Hayes blinked, his composure faltering for a fraction of a second. "Sir? Would you like to review the warranty packages, or perhaps take a seat in the office while we discuss financing options or wire terms?"

"No financing," Damon said, looking back at the salesman. "Prepare the purchase contracts and registration. I am paying the full amount by direct bank wire right now."

Hayes swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he realized he had just closed a six-figure commission in less than three minutes. "Immediately, sir. Right this way to the executive suite. I’ll have the finance director clear the wire transfer forms at once."

Fifteen minutes later, Damon sat in a plush leather chair inside the glass-walled private office. He tapped his phone twice, authorizing a direct bank transfer of $740,000 from his primary account to Vanguard Motors.

While Hayes rushed around the front desk frantically gathering the ownership titles, keys, and temporary metal plates, Damon stood near the glass wall, looking out at the black Revuelto resting on the platform.

The machine was impressive - an engineering marvel built by teams of elite aerodynamicists and mechanical masters. But as Damon stared at it, his mind moved past the carbon fiber and metal.

If a commercial company can build this, he thought, what happens when I find a woman with world-class engineering genius?

A woman who understood machines, design, and engineering at a level ordinary people couldn’t reach could be worth far more than money.

With the system, her growth would become his growth.

One day, he’d have something built specifically for him.

Something no commercial manufacturer could sell.

Damon filed the thought away.

For now, this will do.

"Mr. Thorne," Hayes said, rushing back into the office while holding a black presentation box containing two heavy key fobs and the stamped registration folders. "Everything has been verified. The wire cleared instantly. The plates are attached, and the car is prepped and waiting in the indoor delivery bay."

Damon took the black key fob. "Good."

He walked out toward the indoor delivery bay at the side of the building. The double glass bay doors opened automatically, exposing the cool night outside.

He pulled open the low driver’s door, stepping down into the seat.

The engine roared to life behind him with a throat-tearing bark that vibrated through the floorboards.

Every salesman in the dealership stood near the bay doors, watching in silence as the car rolled slowly out into the night.

He drove through the streets of the North District. Streetlights flashed across the hood in rhythm. Pedestrians on the sidewalks turned their heads, their eyes following the wide stance of the supercar as its exhaust note hummed against the glass windows of high-end boutiques and luxury apartments.

Damon didn’t care about the stares.

His mind turned back over the past few days.

He had a clean, aristocratic identity as Damon Thorne. And behind him, Eleanor was systematically absorbing Julian Sterling’s corporate network, preparing to funnel millions more into his account.

Yet as he looked at the city unfolding around him, his thoughts settled on Claire.

She was the first one to give me strength, Damon thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the road ahead. I should give something back.

He turned the wheel, guiding the supercar away from the grand avenues of the North District and setting a route toward the modest commercial streets of the lower district.

The scenery changed rapidly. The manicured hedges and high stone walls gave way to narrow streets, brick shop fronts, and worn streetlights.

The roar of the V12 engine echoed loudly off the concrete walls of the lower district avenue.

At the corner of 4th Street, sitting under a warm yellow streetlamp, was the storefront of Claire’s bakery. The small glass windows showed trays of fresh bread and pastries cooling on wire racks inside, illuminated by the interior lights.

Damon pulled the black Revuelto right up to the curb directly in front of the shop’s glass door.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the worn pavement, his suit crisp against the modest backdrop of the street.

Inside the bakery, Claire stood behind the main wooden counter, wiping down the glass display case with a cloth. She had heard the thunderous roar of the engine approaching from down the block, expecting a delivery truck or a modified local car to pass by.

When the deep vibration stopped right outside her front door, she casually raised her eyes toward the window.

She froze.

Her hands stopped moving. The cleaning cloth slipped from her fingers, fluttering down onto the glass counter.

Sitting three feet from her shop entrance was a pitch-black Lamborghini Revuelto, its broad carbon frame gleaming under her storefront lamp. And stepping around the driver’s side door, shutting it with a click, was Damon.

Claire’s breath hitched in her throat.

Her mind staggered, utterly unable to reconcile the image before her. She knew Damon. She knew the man who lived in a cramped, single-room apartment in the low district. She knew the man who walked through the damp streets in a worn jacket.

Now, he stood on the sidewalk beside a supercar worth more money than her bakery could hope to generate in years, wearing a suit that looked more expensive than everything inside her shop combined.

For a moment, Claire could only stare.

The Damon she knew and the man standing outside her bakery felt like two completely different people.

Through the clear window, Damon saw her standing rigid behind the counter, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide with shock.

He reached out, pushed open the glass door of the bakery, and stepped inside.