Urban Harem God: Harem With My Ultimate Copy & Paste System!-Chapter 17: Spite

Now his balance stood at a ridiculous $1,810,000—yeah, he did the math. Started with $1.5M from the Copy and Paste jackpot, added the leftover $40K from his original $190K after that little $150K shopping spree, and then subtracted the $30K gym fee... only for the system to toss him another $300K like it was tipping a hot stripper for breathing.

He slid the membership card into his new black leather wallet—fresh, sleek, smelled like bad decisions and soft dominance—slung his gym bag over his shoulder, and headed toward the elevator.

Eyes followed him. Again. Still. Like they were stuck on a loop. Didn't matter if it was the receptionist biting her lip or some woman in heels pretending not to trip while staring.

Jayden didn't even flinch. He just smirked.

"Can't blame them. Legends don't walk through buildings every day. Honestly, if I wasn't me, I'd spend my whole damn life trying to get my attention."

****

[DING! Daily workout accomplished. Time: 2 hours of 1:30 minutes!]

Math? Trash. Results? Sexy.

Jayden didn't bother with the gym bathrooms like a regular peasant. Nah. He walked straight home—sweaty, glowing, and smelling like sin and sandalwood. Most dudes leave the gym smelling like regret and expired protein powder. Him? Women literally slowed their reps just to breathe near him. Some didn't even hide it.

One chick pretended to drop her water bottle just to squat near him like he wouldn't notice the sixth time. Por favor.

Bag dropped on the closet counter, clothes came off, and boom—his full, god-tier glory hit the room like thunder. Shame no one was around to faint. His reflection tried to look away out of respect. Cold shower? Absolutely. freewebnσvel.cøm

But he took it further—dropped into a tub of cold water for a full hour like a demon prince recovering from battle.

Towel around his waist, he strolled out of the bathroom, steam still curling behind him like it didn't want to let go. His body didn't scream seventeen. It roared sculpted anomaly. But somehow, that fresh, youthful vibe still clung to him like perfume that didn't get the memo he'd leveled up.

With a few lazy taps on the tablet, he booted up the bedroom and livingroom TVs and hit every subscription needed—because why the hell not? Money wasn't real to him anymore.

[DING! Earned $15,000 from Copy and Paste!]

Of course he did. Even his expenses were investments.

Back in the closet, humming along to a track playing faintly from the TV—some R&B heat mixed with soul and pure pain. His taste in music had evolved, naturally. He wasn't the same soft lil' simp who used to make late-night playlists for Amara like she was his oxygen.

Hell no.

That Jayden was dead. That Jayden wore friendship bracelets and cried to Spotify lyrics. This Jayden? This Jayden was the playlist.

Evening was chill. Netflix in the background while he set up his tech. His laptop? The latest MacBook Pro M4 Max. Sleek, silver, dangerous. Apple or Samsung—he played in those two sandboxes only. The rest? Trash. But this time, Apple took the crown for productivity.

Phones? Oh, he had both, obviously.

An iPhone 16 Pro just to enjoy the cult thrill. But clutched in his actual hand like royalty? The Samsung Galaxy S25 Ultra. Sharp. Bold. Him. No one had ever been able to convince him otherwise—Adroid supremacy wasn't a belief, it was a lifestyle.

"Y'all keep your AirDrop, I've got real power over here," he'd scoff. iPhone had its moments, but Samsung hit like a Dominican slap—clean, hard, and unforgettable.

Time ticked toward 8PM. Jayden stood up, cracked his neck, and exhaled like a man about to walk into his next arc.

He pocketed both phones into his inventory like some lowkey badass from a video game, laced up a fresh pair of white sneakers, slipped on a crisp white shirt with the sleeves lazily folded to the forearms (sexy forearm agenda, obviously), paired it with black pants that sat just right on his hips.

The white sneakers kissed the marble like they had manners. He clipped on a clean, minimalist watch, tugged a cap low over his head, and strolled out like the world was lucky to have him breathing near it.

The door clicked shut.

And just like that—il était parti.

*

The supermarket inside Silvercrest Residence? Yeah, call it a supermarket if you're feeling humble. This thing was a damn retail palace. Wide marble floors, tall glass ceilings, ambient lighting like a five-star hotel lobby, and aisles that looked like they were arranged by interior designers with PhDs in luxury.

The kind of place where fruits were lined up prettier than most Tinder profiles. Even the shopping carts had suspension.

Jayden strolled in like he owned the building—and honestly, the way people looked at him, he might as well have. Cashiers, attendants, customers... didn't matter. Every eye, especially hers, locked onto him like he was the main course and dessert rolled into one.

And the one taking his card? Poor thing tried to act professional, but her glances kept sneaking up like her eyeballs were cheating on her brain.

"Qué rico,"she probably thought.

He handed over the card with a little smirk, didn't say much. He didn't need to. The aura was working overtime and he looked like the walking definition of "you'll never get a man like this."

Truth is, he could've just ordered all this from his phone. One click, done. Saved himself the trip, the walking, the stares, the awkward eye contact. But nah—he did it for one reason:

Spite.

Pure, irrational, petty-ass spite. Just to say "fuck you" to the version of himself that used to stare at price tags like they held moral value. To the nights he left stores empty-handed with shame in his pockets.

To the universe that once treated him like a joke.

"I agree it's not rational," he muttered under his breath, they were loading item after item into the cart. "But I'm not here to make sense. I'm here to piss off my past."

He bought everything. Shit he didn't need. Four boxes of cereal? He doesn't even eat cereal. Ten bottles of sparkling water? He hates bubbles. Random-ass luxury cheese with a French name he couldn't even pronounce?

Oui, bitch. If he saw it and it looked expensive, it went in the cart. He was living the dream.

His dream. The one where you walk out of a supermarket with enough bags to supply an apocalypse just because you can. Just because it doesn't even dent your balance.

Then came the moment—he stepped out, bags stacked in both arms, looking like a grocery-sponsored Hercules. Some women damn near stumbled watching him—thirsting at the definition on his forearms and the zero-effort way he carried half the store.

He grinned. This was it. Time to toss the bags in his car and peel off like a cinematic revenge montage.

"Oh, right... I don't have a car to drive away into. Merde. That ruins the entire vibe."

He stopped, deadpan. "Whatever. This is enough petty and spiteful satisfaction for today."

[DING! Earned $200,000 with 10x Copy and Paste!]

(A/N: Yeah, I'm adding the 10x Copy and Paste every time so you don't get confused. Keep up.)

Jayden looked at the receipt, then the bags. "So I just dropped 20 grand on snacks and random shit... and I feel nothing but disappointment that I still don't know what else to spend it on in there."

With that, he adjusted his bags, gave one last smirk at the women still gawking, and walked off—no car, no chauffeur—just vibes and disrespect for broke history.

Now his balance sat pretty at $1,835,000, and with the newest $200,000 drop from the Copy and Paste magic, it bumped to $2,035,000—minus that disrespectful little $20,000 he spent on chips, overpriced milk, and cheese he didn't even like, it landed clean at $2,015,000.

Jayden did a lazy nod, like his net worth wasn't casually jumping every time he breathed near a card reader.

"Honestly, I'm starting to feel like my wallet has a personality now," he thought. "And that bitch is cocky."

****

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