Ultimate Cash System-Chapter 175: Dream. (2/2)

The man stopped a few feet away from Lukas and looked up with that same smirk he used to wear all the time.

"You did alright, but there’s more to life than money," the boy said, voice soft but proud.

Lukas couldn’t speak. He just stared.

Then the boy raised his hand, waving gently.

"Keep going."

Lukas reached out instinctively, but before he could say anything, everything faded.

He woke up.

It was still dark outside. Sweat clung to his forehead and neck, his breathing uneven. He sat up on the bed, looking around, heart pounding.

For a moment, he just sat there, rubbing his face.

"What was that..."

Then, he looked at the time. It was 4:47 AM. Too early to get up, too late to go back into deep sleep. But that dream lingered in his chest like an echo.

He knew what it meant.

It meant he hadn’t forgotten.

And maybe he never would.

Still sweating and breathing heavily after the vivid dream, Lukas sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness, his shirt clinging to him. He rubbed his face, trying to chase away the image of his past self—the way it had smiled and waved, that odd sense of peace in its eyes. It rattled him more than he liked to admit.

He tossed aside the covers and stood up. Sleep wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Without saying a word, Lukas changed into his workout clothes and quietly left the suite.

The private gym in the hotel was always open for him. Swiping his card at the entrance, he walked into the dimly lit space and turned on a few lights. The machines gleamed in silence, as if waiting. Lukas took a deep breath and started with weights, keeping his mind focused on each rep.

"Push, push, push," he whispered to himself, sweat slowly trickling down his neck. The memory of that dream wouldn’t leave him alone. It was too clear, too real. Like someone had visited him from a forgotten life.

After nearly an hour of hard training, his arms burning and his chest heaving, he finally sat down on the bench. Still breathing heavily, he wiped his face with a towel.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A message.

It was from Yahoo.

"I’m in Philadelphia, just letting you know. I can join the company any time."

Lukas stared at the text for a long moment. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a simple message. But somehow, it made him feel... grounded.

He leaned back on the bench, breathing a little easier. "Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Alright. Maybe this day won’t be that bad."

He texted back quickly:

"Cool. Let me finish my shoot today; you can come to the Philadelphia Four Seasons Hotel."

There was still a lot on his plate. The Nike shoot is in the morning. The house deal. The growing weight of his own rising fame. But for now, in this small, quiet moment, things felt slightly better.

And that was enough.

After coming back from the gym, Lukas still couldn’t shake off the weight that dream had left on him. Even after sweating out an intense hour on the treadmill and lifting weights until his arms trembled, a strange emptiness lingered inside his chest. He rubbed his face with a cold towel, sighing heavily, then checked the time. It was still early—just past 6:30 a.m.

Rather than going back to bed, Lukas went straight to the kitchen of his Philadelphia suite. The place was quiet and grand, the modern appliances gleaming under the soft kitchen lights. He poured himself a glass of fresh orange juice, then prepared a protein-rich breakfast—egg whites, avocado toast with a light spread of cream cheese, and a bowl of oats with honey and sliced bananas.

As he sat down to eat, wearing his training joggers and a fitted sleeveless tee, he scrolled through his phone. Messages, some emails, but nothing too urgent. Then he saw the Nike reminder again. Today was the shoot. A small one, but still, it was Nike.

Finishing his breakfast, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. The warm water of the shower was relaxing, helping wash off the last bits of fatigue from the gym. He took his time, using his favorite cologne-scented body wash, then stepped out and dried off. It was time to look sharp.

Lukas opened his walk-in closet and selected his best Zegna suit—a deep navy two-piece that was tailored perfectly to his athletic frame. It was one of those outfits that didn’t scream for attention but commanded it nonetheless. Underneath, he wore a crisp white shirt, then fastened the slim cuffs. His platinum Rolex glinted as he adjusted his sleeve.

He checked himself in the full-length mirror. Sharp. Polished. Ready.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Jay.

"Bring the McLaren," Lukas said, keeping it short. "The F1 Grand Prix Red."

"Yes, Boss. On it," Jay answered immediately.

Today, Lukas felt like driving. Something about the purr of that engine, the thrill of speed, and the precision of the wheel helped center him. The McLaren F1 was his favorite—the one he rarely drove, but today was the day.

He put on a pair of black sunglasses and smiled faintly at himself in the mirror.

The early morning sun sparkled over Philadelphia’s clean roads as Lukas stepped out of the suite lobby, the valet already waiting with his Grand Prix Red McLaren F1, its sleek body humming softly in idle. Jay and Roy were nearby, standing beside the matte black Mercedes, ready to trail their boss.

Lukas adjusted the cuffs of his Zegna suit, the dark wool sharp against his skin. His Rolex gleamed faintly under the light. As he stepped into the driver’s seat, the door clicked shut with a satisfying thunk.

"Let’s go," he muttered to himself, easing the McLaren out of the driveway like it was a living creature. The engine purred with power, yet Lukas didn’t speed. He drove like he was floating, smooth and precise. No need to rush.

Jay and Roy followed behind, always at a careful distance, but never too far. They kept the Mercedes close enough that if anything happened, they’d be there in seconds.

Lukas’s eyes flicked from the road to the city rising around him. Skyscrapers caught the sunlight like glass blades. People glanced at the McLaren, a few even taking out their phones to snap pictures, but Lukas barely noticed. His mind was calm, focused.

The music played low in the background—classical today. Something light, something airy. His fingers tapped against the wheel in rhythm as he waited at a red light.

He remembered yesterday’s dream. That strange smile. The version of himself from another life. It hadn’t left his mind completely, but right now, he didn’t want to think too hard about it. Today was about work. Image. Precision.

As the light turned green, he pressed gently on the accelerator, gliding forward. The McLaren moved like liquid fire.

Jay’s voice came over the comm, "Everything clear ahead, boss."

"Copy that," Lukas replied casually.

He didn’t need to rush. He just needed to arrive—in style, in control, and exactly how he wanted.

The Nike shoot was waiting.

And Lukas was ready to own the day.