My Second Chance : Reborn of Tycoon
Copyright© 2026 by BillMax
Chapter 4: Not About the Book
The young woman’s voice stayed soft and sweet, but her tone had turned cold and commanding. Clearly she was used to giving orders. Thankfully her upbringing showed—she was sharp, not unreasonable.
Marcus smiled and shook the book. “It’s not yours, and it’s not mine. Right now the only person with the right to set a price is the owner of this shop.”
“I had already chosen that book. I placed it exactly where you picked it up. I was going to grab a few more and check out together.”
“Same answer. You didn’t pay for it. So it’s not yours.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “One thousand dollars. Hand it over.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. Had she already discovered the secret hidden in the cover lining?
After a beat he looked curious. “Under normal circumstances, shouldn’t you wait until I buy it and then offer to purchase it from me?”
“How do I know you’d sell it then? A thousand for the right to buy it seems like a fair deal.”
Classic business thinking. The rumors about Miss Shaw of the Shaw family being a rising star in commerce were not exaggerated.
Of course, Marcus already knew who she was.
Elena Shaw—heiress to a provincial dynasty with assets in the tens of billions. In an era when even the nation’s richest barely cracked two hundred billion, she qualified as old money in a new century.
Marcus clicked his tongue and casually flipped pages. “The copyright page says 1923, but the paper, type, ink, and layout don’t match printing from that period.
Meaning it’s a later forgery—possibly modern—and worth two hundred bucks at most.”
Elena paused, then nodded with genuine surprise. “I know.”
“Then why spend nearly ten times its value?”
“Because I like it.”
Marcus had nothing to say to that.
A powerful reason. The purest form of how rich people shopped on impulse.
He walked to the counter. “How much for this book?”
The owner glanced up with a warm smile. “The 1923 sole edition of Strange Tales, young man—you’ve got a good eye. Clearly a collector. Five thousand—not for profit, but to make a friend.”
“Cut the crap.”
Marcus scoffed. “A lazy fake that doesn’t even bother to look convincing. Calling it a forgery is an insult to the word.
I’ll give you two hundred. Now that’s making a friend.”
In the antique trade, selling fakes outright wasn’t illegal. If a shop carried ten percent genuine merchandise, you could call the owner generous.
Getting caught did not embarrass the shopkeeper in the slightest. His smile held, but his gaze shifted behind Marcus.
In this business it was rarely about who arrived first. It was about who paid more. Marcus understood the implication immediately.
Before he could react, a soft voice sounded behind him. “Five hundred.”
The owner’s friendly smile turned cunning as his eyes moved back to Marcus.
Obviously he had overheard the earlier conversation and intended to play them both for suckers.
Marcus turned, irritated. “Miss, let’s be reasonable.”
Elena looked up, face pale as polished jade. “You think you’re the one to say that?”
“Put irony aside. All you’re doing is overpaying without gaining anything extra.”
“As long as I get what I want, the price doesn’t matter.”
Marcus finally frowned.
He had plenty of ways to solve this. Elena could be useful later. He did not want to burn the bridge over one book.
The shop door swung open. In walked a handsome man with slicked-back hair, designer clothes, and sunglasses.
Seeing him, Marcus’s lips curved slightly.
“Elena, I got the thing you wanted—”
Before he finished, the man sensed the tension in the room. He quickened his pace, stepped in front of Elena, and eyed Marcus with hostility.
“Elena, has this guy been bothering you?”
Far from pleased, Elena’s expression turned colder.
“No. Don’t make a scene. Wait outside.”
The man would not listen. He removed his sunglasses and jabbed a finger at Marcus’s chest. “Kid, you’ve got nerve causing trouble in Westlake City. Do you know who I am?”
Marcus kept smiling. “Do I need to?”
“Heh. You’ve got guts.”
The man sneered, then turned. His expression softened instantly—almost placating.
“Elena, don’t worry. No matter how this little bastard upset you, I’ll make him pay a hundred times over.”
Elena was not appeased. Her tone was colder than when she spoke to Marcus. “Serena Blake, did I not tell you to stay out of my business?”
Serena Blake flushed. “Elena, don’t be mad. I wasn’t meddling. But you’re out with me. If I let some outsider push you around, my father would kill me.”
“Nobody is pushing me around. We happen to want the same book. That’s all.”
Serena glanced at the volume on the counter and asked the owner directly, “How much?”
The owner was still beaming. “The young lady has offered five hundred. This gentleman hasn’t bid yet.”
Serena snorted. “Ten thousand. Write the receipt.”
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