Chapter 22: Both Locked In

With both of them locked into their respective routines, the energy in the penthouse shifted into pure productivity. Chloe was practically living in her tech lab, devouring law volumes and data sets, while May was sticking to her strict macro schedules without a single complaint. Watching them line up their goals under my roof was satisfying, but I wasn’t about to sit back and just watch them grind while I slacked off.

I had my own standards to keep. If I was going to carry myself like the top-tier investor in every room I stepped into, my physical presence needed to match the cash balance.

I set up a brutal personal daily schedule. While May was off at the private track with Marcus and Chloe was buried in her books, I hit the high-end private gym room in the penthouse for raw mass and strength. I dialed in my own heavy compound lifts, kept my diet razor-sharp, and put in the work to pack on lean muscle, hit heavy reps, and build a serious frame.

Every morning started the same: heavy iron, high-protein prep, and pure focus. Between tracking May’s steady progress, monitoring Chloe’s GPA metrics, and hitting my own heavy lifting goals, the penthouse felt like a command center for pure self-improvement.

After a few solid weeks of consistent grinding, my own physical physique was looking significantly sharper, denser, and more powerful in my tailored fits.

Then, the end of the first thirty days finally arrived.

May walked into the main living room after her morning session with Marcus, wiped the sweat off her neck, and looked over at me with a mix of nerves and pride.

"Thirty days," she said, taking a deep breath. "No cheats, zero missed workouts. It’s weigh-in time."

Chloe closed her laptop and walked over to stand by the scale, just as excited to see the results.

May stepped up onto the glass scale, and the digital numbers flashed on the screen.

---

The digital scale flickered before locking into place. The drop wasn’t just a fraction this time—it was massive.

The strict discipline, controlled environment, and zero junk had finally broken the plateau. May hadn’t turned into a twig—she had naturally built a powerful, athletic frame. Her waist was noticeably smaller, her shoulders were toned, and her legs looked strong and defined.

May stared at the display, her hand flying over her mouth. "No way..." she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears before a huge, radiant smile broke across her face. "I actually did it!"

Chloe let out a scream of excitement, pulling May into a huge hug. "I told you! I knew you could do it!"

I leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at her transformation with a genuine sense of pride. Seeing her go from getting humiliated on a public gym treadmill to looking like a true athlete in the making was incredible. The system interface flashed briefly in my field of vision, showing her aesthetic rating shooting up toward that 9.5 potential, with the 30X cashback payout locking even closer into place.

"You put in the work, May," I said, a soft smirk on my face. "I told you grit in discipline pays off."

She looked over at me, her eyes filled with deep gratitude. "Thank you. Seriously. I wouldn’t be anywhere near this without you."

"A deal’s a deal," I replied, grabbing my phone. "I promised you a cheat meal after thirty days of perfection."

An hour later, a private delivery arrived at the penthouse. I set down a bag from the highest-rated gourmet burger joint in the city, packed with a double-cheese smash burger and a huge box of fresh fries.

May’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She sat at the island, took a massive bite, and practically melted into her chair with absolute joy while Chloe laughed beside her.

"Best burger of my entire life," May mumbled through a full mouth, wiping a spot of sauce off her cheek.

"Enjoy it today," I said smoothly, leaning back. "Because tomorrow, Marcus pushes you twice as hard."

Later that night, the penthouse settled into a calm quiet. I was chilling on the leather sofa in the living room, listening to the low hum of the city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

May walked out from her room, wearing just one of her old oversized shirts. Because of how much weight she had shed over the last month, the shirt hung completely baggy on her now, practically swimming on her new, toned frame.

She sat down on the adjoining sofa, pulling her knees up to her chest with a relaxed smile. We sat there talking about how far her transformation had come in such a short time.

"You know..." she said softly, looking out at the skyline. "I used to hide away every summer. I always wanted to just go to the beach, wear a swimsuit, and enjoy the water without feeling like everyone was staring and judging me. I never had the confidence to step foot on the sand."

"That’s not going to be an issue anymore," I said, leaning back. "Whenever you want to go, we’ll hit the beach. You’ve earned it."

Her eyes lit up, but I wasn’t about to let her lose sight of the main goal.

"Speaking of progress," I continued, "there’s a major track and field competition coming up next month. It’s a huge regional event, packed with scouts and athletic directors."

May sat up straight, her jaw practically dropping. "Wait, really? A real competitive meet?"

"If you want in, you’re in," I said smoothly. "You keep your head down, stick to the training with Marcus, and refine that stride. I’ll handle the paperwork, buy out your registration, and pitch you to a solid brand endorsement so you can step onto that track looking like a elite athlete."

May stared at me, pure excitement and fire dancing in her eyes. The idea of competing on a real stage—under a legit endorsement, in front of the people who used to brush her off—was everything she had ever dreamed of.

"I’m going to destroy that track," she said, a confident, determined smirk spreading across her face.

The next morning, I sat at my desk looking over the top athletic brands in the industry. I wanted to land May a real endorsement deal, but I didn’t have direct connections to the executives running those corporations—and a guy can’t just walk up to the front desk of a multi-billion-dollar sport brand and ask for a contract on the spot.

Worse, their global marketing headquarters wasn’t even in the country. Pitching a brand-new athlete with zero official competition history meant standard emails and cold calls would end up straight in the trash.

I looked out the penthouse window down at my custom luxury supercar sitting in the drive, a wild idea forming in my head.

It was crazy, expensive, and completely unorthodox, but it was aggressive enough to get immediate attention. High risk, massive leverage.

Instead of waiting weeks for a low-level junior representative to answer a phone call, I pulled up my investor portal and booked a private charter flight straight out of the country. At the same time, I leveraged my system financial status to submit an urgent request for an executive-level investor appointment with their sponsorship division.

[Transaction: Private Jet Charter & International Travel Logistics]

[Amount Expended: $25,000.00]

[Current Liquid Balance: $526,500.00]

"If they won’t open the door for a unknown athlete," I muttered, grabbing my passport, high-end suit, and my $50k watch, "they’ll open it for an international investor dropping real capital."

I told Chloe to keep May on her strict schedule at the penthouse while I was away, hopped into the supercar to head to the private hangar, and flew out that afternoon to hit their HQ directly.

I drove straight to the private airfield, and the moment I pulled up, the ground crew rushed over to handle my bags. Stepping inside that chartered jet was an absolute experience. It was pure, unfiltered luxury—leather reclining armchairs, private crew, and zero TSA lines to deal with.

Since it was my very first time flying private, I took a second to just take it all in. I leaned back in the plush leather seat, enjoying the quiet hum of the jet while sipping on a glass of fine vintage wine as we coasted above the clouds. Money really changes the entire game.

Hours later, the jet touched down.

After stepping off the tarmac, I hit the high-end rental lot. It was a huge bummer that I couldn’t bring my custom supercar across international borders on short notice, but I wasn’t about to roll around in a basic sedan either. I picked up a slick, high-spec sports car—nowhere near as expensive or crazy as my build back home, but it still had enough growl and presence to make an entrance.

I tossed my suit bag into the passenger seat, fired up the engine, and navigated straight toward the corporate headquarters.

[Transaction: High-End Exotic Rental & Fuel]

[Amount Expended: $3,500.00]

[Current Liquid Balance: $523,000.00]

I pulled up right outside the massive, glass-walled corporate HQ building, killed the ignition, and adjusted my $50k Swiss watch. Time to make these executives give an unknown track athlete a multi-thousand-dollar deal.