NOVEL NEXT Chapter 16: CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fashion frenzy
MAXIMUS
After a grueling ride home that felt like it lasted a decade, I immediately did what any sane adult would do: I drew myself a bubble bath and flipped on SpongeBob SquarePants. As I soaked, I found myself laughing uncontrollably when Patrick—bless his dim little starfish soul—face-planted while trying to grab SpongeBob. I swear, he's as bright as a broken lightbulb, yet somehow, he and SpongeBob always manage to save the day through sheer dumb luck. It's like the universe throws them a bone for being so... well, dim. Which gives me hope—maybe I don't need brains, just a hefty dose of luck. Thanks, SpongeBob, for teaching me life lessons that literally no one asked for.
Meanwhile, in my luxurious bubble wonderland, I started poking the biggest bubbles, watching them burst with a satisfying "Boom!". Once the show ended, I reluctantly peeled myself out of the tub, threw on my plush bathrobe (the one that makes me feel like royalty), and strutted over to my collection of overpriced beauty products—shampoos, lotions, and about a dozen other things I probably don't even know how to use properly. But hey, they look fancy, and that's what counts.
My face had already undergone its daily ritual cleansing, so I grabbed my pièce de résistance: the $100-per-sheet face mask. You heard me right, $100 per sheet. A pack? That's a casual $1000. No big deal, right? I gatekeep this little beauty secret like it's the last piece of cake at a birthday party. Why? Because you peasants can't afford it. Let's be honest, only the Maximus Evander MacGregor—master of face masks and heir to a real estate empire—can afford to keep their skin this flawless. There are no sponsorships here, baby. Just pure, unaffordable skincare glory. It's tough being this beautiful, but someone has to take care of this beauty properly.
Mindlessly grinning as I scrolled through my feeds, I liked every post I saw. I was already lying in bed, my phone in hand, and I couldn't shake what I had done earlier from my mind.
Your rizz is so smooth, Max!
But was that really "rizz"?
How did I even pull that off? I'm surprised I didn't get smacked—or worse. I honestly thought Zane would yank my hair out with how red his face was. Nice one, bro! I praised myself.
Just then, my butler's name popped up at the top of the screen. I tapped it immediately, knowing it must be a message from my parents. Anton hardly ever texts me, and when he does, it's either because I asked him to do something, or my parents assigned him with some instructions.
MY BUTTER BUTLER
Young Master, Mrs. May wanted me to remind you that your yearly pictorial is tomorrow at 10 a.m. Please be ready by then.
MAXIMUS THE GREAT
Oh, it's tomorrow? Alright, can you ask Mom what the theme is so I can prepare accordingly?
MY BUTTER BUTLER
She said it's a surprise. She assured me you'll love it. She's laughing her head off here watching something, and she keeps playfully hitting me while doing so.
MAXIMUS THE GREAT
Fine, I hope it's nothing weird like last year. Let her be; it's a harmless smack, don't worry.＾°＾
MY BUTTER BUTLER
(...)
Seen 2 mins ago, 9:45 p.m.
I really need to pick out an outfit for tomorrow. I want something that screams fabulous and turns heads, but it still looks like I didn't spend hours getting ready.
So, I dove into my closet like an obsessed fashion detective, searching for that perfect ensemble for tomorrow's photoshoot. So here's the secret to my fashion game. First, I grab anything that catches my eye—doesn't matter if it's weird or doesn't make sense at first glance. After that, pair it with something totally unexpected, something that might look off but somehow just *works* when you wear it. That's how you stand out. Then, here's the trick for the shoes: just match them to your top. For example, if I'm rocking a blue shirt, I'll throw on something bold or quirky for the bottoms—something that turns heads—and then boom, blue shoes to tie it all together. Simple, but genius. Now, I know this style's more common for girls, but trust me, since I'm doing it, it's absolutely fair game for guys, too.
Who knew looking this good with great fashion style would come with so much drama? But hey, it's a challenge Im used to, so at least I'm going to look amazing despite how tired I am from searching for the perfect outfit.
"Anton! How does my outfit look? Isn't it fabulous?" I asked, striking a pose and twirling in my stunning ensemble—colorful, sexy, and undeniably manly. The bright colors shimmered in the light, each hue playing off the others in a way that made me feel like a walking art piece. It was bold and expressive, just like me.
"Yes, young master," he replied, barely glancing up from his phone.
"You're not even looking at my outfit!" I exclaimed, hands on my hips. I mean, come on! A fashion masterpiece like this deserved more than a cursory glance.
Anton grudgingly diverted his gaze, taking a quick look at my outfit as if it were a passing cloud. "Looks good," he muttered before returning to whatever had captured his attention on his phone.
"Tch! That looked so forced," I muttered, sulking as I stormed out of the room. Seriously, was it too much to ask for a little enthusiasm? I had put so much effort into picking out this outfit, layering, and matching until everything felt just right.
Anton's reaction was as genuine as a cheap imitation. Hmph! Now, my day was officially ruined, all thanks to Anton's apathetic response. And as if that wasn't enough, here I was, baking in the car on a sweltering day while he dallied away, updating his lover. I pouted, crossed my arms, and sat there sweating in my thick, fabulous outfit. Hot weather really knows how to throw a tantrum.
"Is everything you need here now?" he asked, finally starting the engine. I could barely manage a shrug in response, still feeling the sting of disappointment. Hmph. I'm not going to talk to you.
I turned my head to stare out the window, giving Anton the silent treatment. The scenery blurred past—bright green trees, houses with peeling paint, and that one coffee shop I swore I'd try someday but never seemed to get around to. Lucky for Anton, my tantrums were relatively tame today, or he'd be in serious trouble. I had a flair for the dramatic, after all. No one could stop me when I'm on a roll.
The car's air conditioning kicked in, providing a slight reprieve from the oppressive heat. Still, my irritation simmered like a pot left on the stove. As we drove toward the photoshoot location, I couldn't help but think about how Anton could be so oblivious to the artistic genius that was my outfit. Maybe I should've gone for something even more outrageous, just to see if it would provoke a real reaction from him.
"Do you know how hard it is to look this fabulous?" I finally broke the silence, glancing at him with a pointed look.
"I can't just throw on any old thing and expect it to work, you know? It takes vision." Anton glanced at me for a brief second, his expression unfazed.
"I'm sure, young master. But there are other things to worry about right now." Other things? Like what? The sun was shining, my outfit was on point, and we were headed to a photoshoot that I knew would be all about me.
"Like what, exactly? Do you mean my outfit is not a priority?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"Just—focus on the shoot, alright?" Anton sighed, turning his attention back to the road.
Anton's suggestion felt like a dismissive wave, brushing aside my artistic spirit. "Focus on the shoot?" I echoed, a mix of annoyance and understanding swirling in me. Maybe he was right; perhaps I needed to channel all this energy into something that mattered instead of letting my irritation fester. But still, it stung to feel like my flair was just a footnote in his world.