Chapter 73: Unearned

While Sienna was up and about, deciding what counted as cheating in a contracted marriage, Tom, the contracted husband had no idea what was going on. He was back in his room, preparing for his bath.

The system chimed;

[Previous day’s daily tasks incomplete. No reward issued.]

A new panel replaced the reminder.

```

[DAILY TASKS]

1. Complete a 5km run within 30 minutes

2. Move around the house for 30 minutes wearing one of the new underwear sets and be seen by every woman in the house

[REWARD: +8 Authority | +8 Charm | +5 Lust]

[PENALTY: Debt of 2,000usd]

```

Tom blinked as if that would make the tasks change color or whatever. It didn’t. He recognized they were the previous day’s tasks repeated.

"There was no penalty yesterday." he pointed out, a frown making it’s way on his face.

[Correct.]

[Host avoided the discomfort when there was no cost. Now, host must complete the tasks.] The System said then added more gently;

[Confidence without shamelessness is incomplete. A proper Netori host cannot remain fragile about his own body or presence. We still have considerable work to do.]

Tom rolled his eyes, but the point landed. "Okay, Netori master, I hear you."

[That title isn’t for me. It’s what we’re building host into.] The system replied teasingly.

Tom chuckled and shook his head. Then since he had known there was no dodging this today, he decided to clear the run first. Joggers on, phone in pocket, he left the house before the second task could start arguing with his nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~

Evening came slowly for Tom. His mind had been on the wine evening. Before meeting Sienna, he hardly hang out with his fellow men, he was either busy making money or busy hiding in his one-room apartment to avoid spending his hard-earned money unnecessarily.

But now, he had money. He knew he could buy whatever wine they sold there. And it was the first outing he would go since getting the system.

So of course, he would trade being with Stella with attending the evening wine...

The venue for Adrian’s wine evening was at a discreet facade. It was a private, membership-entry decor, the sort of room politicians used when they wanted conversation without an audience.

Inside, everywhere bling correctly. The staff were trained to approach only when summoned.

Tom handed his car to the attendant and when he caught his reflection in the glass before stepping through, he had to stop for a moment. He could see he looked ordinary in his ordinary shirt and trousers. The refusal to wear the System suit a second time where Adrian would see now felt less like principle and more like a mistake he would pay for in the room ahead.

"Yeah, It’s time I change my wardrobe." He mumbled under his breath. He was seeing that money without presentation was still a kind of poverty.

~~~~~~~~

Adrian was already seated at a corner table with four other men. Even at a glance, they looked like they belonged there. Not loud, not overdressed. Just correctly placed in the world. They all wore casual outfits but everything from their heads to toes subtly announced themselves as luxuries.

Adrian looked up and smiled with satisfaction as he saw Tom. "Tom. Good, you made it."

"Meet my friends..." He rose just enough to manage the introductions without turning them into a performance.

"Richard Langford, City Council member, influential on zoning and development, Victor Hale, Senior advisor at Deputy Mayor’s office, Marcus Ellison, Borough President’s chief of staff, Julian Crowe, Political strategist and media liaison with strong city press connections." Adrian introduced them, pointing at one man after the other.

Each man acknowledged Tom in turn. Not coldly, not warmly, but with the mild, automatic assessment of men who were used to deciding quickly whether someone at the table added value.

Tom took a seat. The chair accepted him but the room did not...

Richard Langford was the first to angle toward him, lightly turning his glass between his fingers. His voice was pleasant and carried the assumption that answers would be useful;

"I don’t believe we’ve met properly. Who are you, Mr Tom?"

The question was supposed to be simple, but in this company it was not.

Tom felt the absence open immediately, no firm, no office, no title that would survive the next three seconds of scrutiny.

"Thomas Harlow." that was the response he could settle with and he hated it immediately.

Richard’s brows lifted, as he waited for the rest of the information that was supposed to come but did not come.

Victor Hale leaned in slightly, polite interest barely masking evaluation. "With which organization do you work, Thomas Harlow?"

Another silence, thinner than the first.

Marcus Ellison glanced at Adrian, then back at Tom, as if checking whether a credential had been omitted by accident. Julian Crowe said nothing, but his gaze had already sorted Tom into a provisional category and left him there.

Adrian cleared his throat, offering the only fact he had.

"He’s married to Sienna Kensington."

"Ah." Marcus’s expression eased into understanding, though not respect. "That explains the Mercedes."

Julian’s mouth moved in something too slight to be called a smile. "Design money travels further than people admit, I see."

That earned a chuckle from the other friends including, Adrian. But they kept it short and polite as if that helped.

None of them said *’live-in husband*. They did not need to. The conclusion arranged itself across the table with the ease of men accustomed to reading arrangements: a man with no public weight of his own, carried into the room by a wife’s name and a car he might not have bought alone.

Tom’s jaw locked. The urge to correct them rose hot but it was useless. He had money and growth now from a System that had begun reshaping him. However, none of it translated into a sentence these men would accept as identity.

He swallowed hard then glanced around the table nervously than he would have preferred. He could see the men were trying not to look at him as they went back to their drinks.

He cleared his throat;

"Are we still on for the wine, or has the evening changed shape?" he asked, trying so hard to keep his voice level.

Richard looked at him for a moment longer than courtesy required. Then he set his glass down with quietness.

"Erm, Tom, It appears the evening has found a different use."

Victor nodded once. Marcus made a small sound of agreement. Their postures shifted not dramatically, but enough to close the circle. Whatever tasting Adrian had imagined was already being replaced by the denser business of men who shared a political language Tom did not speak.

Adrian exhaled and turned to him with careful, practiced courtesy. There was discomfort in it, but not enough to make him fight the table on Tom’s behalf.

"I should explain," he began.

"These evenings usually turn into political discourse over the bottles. I invited you because I thought you had enough standing or at least enough relevant knowledge to sit through that without the conversation becoming awkward. That was my assumption." His eyes flicked, briefly, over Tom’s ordinary clothes and the silence where a résumé should have been.

"It wouldn’t be polite to keep you here now that it’s clear the discussion won’t include anything you can usefully take part in. I hope you understand my point?"

The words were smoother than an insult and somehow worse because of it.

Tom stood at once.

"I understand."

He said goodbye tightly to Adrian, to the table, to a room that had measured him in under five minutes and found no reason to retain him and walked away before any of them could offer a softer landing.

Behind him, once the distance was judged polite, their voices raised. Tom knew they weren’t bothering he shouldn’t hear their words;

"What kind of a man is that? no footprint at all?"

"living off the Kensington woman, obviously."

"Well, Adrian and his strays..."

"next time, screen them first, alright?"

Tom heard enough.

He pushed out into the night air with embarrassment and anger burning in equal measure under his skin, collected the Mercedes, and shut the door hard.

He caught the steering wheel like he had a personal beef with it then he pulled away from the polished entrance and the men who had reduced him to a wife’s surname and an unearned car.

He had never been felt this angry before...