Hid My Black Card — Roommates Went Wild

On the first day of College Orientation Boot Camp, my roommate suggested treating the whole class to a luxury shopping spree at the Mall of America.

High-end sunscreens worth thousands, designer handbags, and bags of imported gourmet snacks—he offered to cover it all.

Everyone cheered, while I quietly placed my American Express Centurion Card (AmEx Black Card) into a military-grade safe.

Because in my previous life, Ryan Carter’s phone had brushed against my card, instantly siphoning off five million dollars.

That amount matched exactly what our classmates spent.

When I confronted him with my bank card, he recorded a video and uploaded it to TikTok and Instagram:

“I don’t have your face or fingerprints. How could I possibly use your card?”

“I was kind enough to give everyone a welcome gift, and this is how I’m slandered!”

The post went viral, and I was cyberbullied into despair.

Just as I was about to call the police, poison slipped into my drink ended my life on the spot.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day he promised those so-called gifts.

“Fellow students, Boot Camp is tough, so I’ve decided to give everyone a big surprise.”

Ryan Carter stood grinning with a megaphone.

“Today, we’re going to the mall to pick up gifts. Whoever wants in, follow me!”

Looking again at Ryan’s smug face, I realized—I had been reborn.

Hearing those familiar words, hatred boiled up inside me.

At first, the classmates didn’t pay him much attention, but the moment Ryan raised his voice and pulled out a black card, everyone stirred.

“Let’s go pick Prada bags, Dior sunscreen, and when we’re tired, I’ll take you all to a day at the most luxurious Spa & Resort in Las Vegas. How about it?”

That resort was the most exclusive in the country, with single-day passes costing $128,888.

The room erupted with excitement.

Some looked at Ryan with fawning admiration:

“Damn! Carter is loaded. I’ll be his sidekick anytime.”

“If a rich heir is treating us, I’d follow even if the president showed up!”

I sneered at the scene before me.

In my past life, I had followed them to the mall Ryan designated.

They went on a frenzy, each spending over a hundred thousand dollars.

At checkout, Ryan claimed his card was missing and accused me of stealing it.

Since every card had its own unique code, to prove my innocence, I showed him my Black Card for just a glance.

He instantly put on an apologetic smile:

“Sorry, my mistake.”

Then he pulled his supposedly “lost” card from his pocket and paid the bill.

But right as he did, I discovered five million dollars had mysteriously drained from my own account—exactly the total of their spending.

There was no receipt, only transaction logs, leaving me speechless and defenseless.

When I confronted Ryan again, he secretly recorded the whole argument and spread it online.

“I only glanced at your card. How could you accuse me of theft?”

“Look, everyone, I gifted him a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stuff, and he turns around blaming me! Unbelievable!”

Since all the classmates had accepted his money, they testified in his favor.

A welcome gift of one hundred thousand dollars per head made netizens jealous, and Ryan quickly became a popular rich-kid influencer, showered with gifts during his livestreams.

When I was about to file a police report, I was poisoned instead.

Ryan even fabricated records showing I’d purchased the poison, twisting it into a suicide out of shame.