The reality was undeniable. Sylvia gasped, thinking, "Three hundred thousand dollars! What fortune did Trevor stumble upon? How could he pay such a sum so easily? He's had a crush on me for so long; he has to listen to me!"

She took a step forward, intending to speak to him, but Trevor gave her a cold, dismissive glance. His coldness froze her. She felt a profound loss. Ignoring her, he started to leave.

"That's impossible! How could you, a poor loser, afford this perfume? It's preposterous!" Dennis exclaimed, unable to accept the truth.

"Didn't you hear her? Ma'am, please repeat it," Trevor said to the shop assistant, his expression neutral.

The woman smiled. "This gentleman paid three hundred thousand dollars. I assure you."

"That's a lie! Yesterday, he was collecting trash! He must have stolen the card!" Dennis fumed, convinced it was a scam.

The shop assistant became suspicious. Trevor's clothes were plain, and Dennis, a regular customer, seemed more credible.

"Dennis, do you have proof the card was stolen?" Trevor asked, incredulous. Did he have to remain poor to appease them?

"I strongly suspect you stole it. You're known as a thief—you probably stole something from this shop, too!" Dennis retorted coldly.

"You're talking nonsense!" Trevor's face reddened.

"I saw you sneak a perfume bottle into your bag!" Dennis pointed to the bag on the counter.

The shop assistant's smile vanished. She alerted security, who blocked the exits to prevent Trevor's escape.

"You're lying! I put my bag down and went to the bathroom. I saw you as soon as I came out. I couldn't have stolen anything!" Trevor insisted, his eyes blazing. He'd endured their taunts about his poverty, but he would never steal.

Manager Ballard Turner, hearing the commotion, emerged from his office. "What's happening here? Why are you fighting?"

Dennis immediately approached him. "Manager Turner, it's Dennis. Remember me?"

Ballard nodded, recognizing the frequent customer.

"Trevor's a poor guy from our school, a suspected thief. He has no money, yet he's here shopping. I suspect theft."

Ballard looked at Trevor suspiciously. "If you're innocent, let Manager Turner search your backpack. Otherwise, you're guilty, Trevor!" Dennis pressed. (He’d seen Trevor slip a perfume bottle into his bag while everyone was distracted by the bill.)

"Go ahead," Trevor said, tossing his backpack to the manager.

Ballard emptied the bag: clothes, books, notebooks…then, a glinting perfume bottle.