New York had a special talent for humiliating people who thought they were doing fine.
Ethan Cole found that out at exactly 8:47 a.m., standing on the cracked sidewalk outside a coffee shop that smelled like burnt beans and broken dreams, while rain drizzled down just enough to soak his shoes without committing to a proper storm. He stared at his phone, refreshed his banking app for the third time in under a minute, and felt that familiar, hollow tightness in his chest when the same number stared back at him. Technically, he wasn't broke. Practically, though, his bank balance was one bad decision away from becoming a joke he'd never laugh at. New York didn't care about technicalities. It only cared whether you could keep up, and today, it had already decided he couldn't.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket and pushed open the coffee shop door, the bell above it jingling like it was mocking him. Inside, the place was narrow, crowded, and loud in the way only morning caffeine addicts could manage. The line was long, the barista looked one inconvenience away from quitting on the spot, and the menu prices made Ethan briefly consider whether sleep deprivation could count as breakfast. Still, he stayed. He needed coffee. Not wanted needed. Without it, the interview he had in two hours would go from "unlikely" to "catastrophic."
That was when he heard the voice.
"Wow," a woman drawled from somewhere behind the counter, her tone sharp, amused, and unapologetically loud. "Five dollars for coffee this bad? For that price, it should come with emotional support."
A few people snorted. The barista's eye twitched.
Ethan looked up.
Behind the counter stood two women who did not belong in a place like this, or rather, they belonged too perfectly. One of them leaned casually against the register, dark hair pulled back messily, eyes bright with mischief and exhaustion, a smirk permanently etched into her face like the world was one long-running joke she refused to stop commenting on. She wore confidence like armor, sarcasm like a weapon, and the kind of expression that suggested she had survived worse things than overpriced coffee. The other woman stood beside her, posture straighter, clothes slightly too nice for a place like this, blonde hair neat despite the chaos around them. Her smile was polite, practiced, and just a little strained, as though she were constantly reminding herself that things could be worse even when they clearly were.
Ethan didn't know their names yet, but something about the contrast caught his attention. Chaos and composure. Fire and restraint. They argued like people who'd been doing it for years, the dark-haired one tossing comments like darts while the blonde tried and failed to keep the peace.
"Max" the blonde started.
"Don't 'Max' me," the brunette shot back. "If we're going to rob people in broad daylight, we should at least admit it."
The barista slapped a receipt onto the counter with more force than necessary. "If you don't like the prices, you're welcome to leave."
"Oh, trust me," Max said sweetly. "We would. If we had options."
That line landed harder than the joke. For just a second, something flickered behind her eyes fatigue, frustration, maybe fear but it vanished so fast Ethan almost missed it.
When it was his turn to order, he barely remembered what he said. He paid, accepted the cup, and moved aside, only to realize too late that his wallet was gone. Or rather, it was still there, but painfully empty. The realization hit him all at once, sharp and humiliating, and before he could stop himself, he let out a breathy laugh that sounded suspiciously close to panic.
"Let me guess," Max said, suddenly beside him. "You checked your balance and now you're questioning all your life choices."
Ethan blinked at her. Up close, she was even more intense. "Is it that obvious?"
"Please," she replied. "I've worn that exact expression while staring at a vending machine that rejected my last dollar."
The blonde stepped closer, her expression apologetic. "Ignore her. She's allergic to tact. I'm Caroline."
"Ethan," he said automatically, then hesitated. "And... yeah. That just happened."
Caroline's eyes flicked briefly to his cup. "You already paid, right?"
"Barely."
Max leaned in conspiratorially. "Congrats. You're officially one bad week away from joining our club."
"What club is that?" Ethan asked.
"The 'Two Broke Roommates Who Pretend They're Fine' club," Max said. "Membership is free. Dignity not included."
Ethan smiled despite himself. There was something disarming about the way she said it, like humor was the only thing standing between her and reality crashing down completely. He didn't know why he told them about his interview, or how he ended up sitting at their tiny corner table, but ten minutes later, he was laughing quietly while Max roasted his resume and Caroline offered genuinely useful advice about salary negotiation.
For the first time that morning, he didn't feel completely invisible.
Then everything went wrong.
It started with his phone vibrating sharply in his pocket. He frowned, pulled it out, and froze. The caller ID showed a name he hadn't seen in years, a name tied to a life he'd deliberately walked away from. His heartbeat spiked as he answered.
"Yes?" he said cautiously.
The voice on the other end was calm, professional, and utterly out of place in his current reality. "Mr. Cole, this is regarding the Cole Holdings trust. We've been trying to reach you."
The world tilted.
"I think you have the wrong person," Ethan said slowly.
"We don't," the voice replied. "Your grandfather passed away last week. You are the sole beneficiary."
The words didn't make sense. His grandfather had cut him off years ago, furious over Ethan's decision to leave the family business and live "like a nobody." There had been no contact since, no reconciliation, no warning.
"How much?" Ethan asked before he could stop himself.
There was a pause. Then: "Including assets, liquid funds, and controlling shares... approximately eight hundred million dollars."
Silence swallowed the coffee shop.
Max stared at him. Caroline's mouth fell open.
Ethan felt like he was going to be sick.
Before he could process anything else, his vision blurred, and a sharp, mechanical chime echoed in his head.
[System Initialization Complete.]
[Wealth Integration Protocol Activated.]
[Objective: Adapt to Sudden Lifestyle Shift.]
Ethan stumbled back, knocking into a chair. "What the hell"
Max grabbed his arm. "Hey. Hey. You okay?"
He looked at her, at Caroline, at the dingy coffee shop, at the rain-streaked windows, and at the glowing words only he could see hovering in the air.
"I think," he said hoarsely, "my life just changed."
The system chimed again, cold and cheerful.
[First Task Assigned: Relocate Immediately.]
[Target: Two Broke Roommates Identified.]
Ethan's gaze snapped back to the two women in front of him.
Max raised an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at us like that?"
Because, somehow, impossibly, the system had just labeled them as his next problem.
And maybe... his next mistake.
Ethan swallowed hard, his grip tightening around his phone as if it were the only solid thing left in a world that had abruptly decided to stop making sense. The glowing words lingered in his vision, faint but unmistakable, pulsing with a certainty that made denial feel pointless. He blinked once, twice, and when they didn't disappear, a quiet, hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest. Of all the mornings for reality to unravel, it had picked one that already felt cursed.
"Okay," Max said slowly, eyes flicking between his face and the way he'd frozen mid-breath. "Either you just won the lottery, or you're about to pass out on our table. If it's the second one, please aim away from the coffee."
"I'm fine," Ethan lied, though his pulse was racing so hard he could hear it in his ears. He forced himself to sit, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing annoyed glances from nearby customers. "I just... got some unexpected news."
Caroline studied him more closely now, concern softening her features. "Unexpected good news, or 'I need to fake my death and move countries' news?"
"Still figuring that out," he said, rubbing his temples. The system prompt flickered again, as if impatient.
[Time Limit: 24 Hours.]
[Failure Consequence: Opportunity Reduction.]
Opportunity for what? He didn't ask, mostly because he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
Max leaned back, crossing her arms. "You know, if you're secretly rich and about to tell us this was all some kind of social experiment, I'm going to be very disappointed. I already emotionally committed to you being one of us."
Ethan looked at her, really looked at both of them two women scraping by, masking stress with humor and optimism, sharing a life that clearly hadn't been kind. The absurdity of it all pressed down on him until the only thing he could do was tell the truth.
"I think," he said carefully, "that I just inherited more money than I know how to spend."
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Caroline spoke first, her voice cautious. "How much is 'more'?"
Ethan exhaled. "Enough to never worry about rent again."
Max stared at him for a long second, then laughed. "Wow. Must be nice. So... why do I feel like this somehow involves us?"
Ethan's phone buzzed again. A new notification appeared, stark and unavoidable.
[Living Arrangement Required.]
[Compatibility Rating: High.]
He looked up at them, fate or something worse settling in his chest.
"I was just about to ask," he said quietly, "do either of you need a roommate?"