Rain hammered against the windows of the Hale Corporation boardroom, drowning out the faint hum of the air conditioner. Leon Hale stood alone at the center of the polished marble floor, palms clammy, heartbeat an uneven drum inside his chest. Around him, the board members whispered like circling vultures, their eyes sharp, hungry.His father’s voice cut through the room.Cold. Final.“Leon Hale,” Alexander Hale said, laying a folder on the table as if placing a verdict, “you have committed fraud under this company’s name. You’ve tampered with internal accounts, and because of your irresponsibility, we have lost nearly thirty million dollars.”The accusation twisted through Leon’s stomach like a blade.“I didn’t do it,” he managed, voice cracking. “Dad, I swear—I didn’t touch any accounts. You know me. You know I wouldn’t—”“Enough.” Alexander’s glare turned him small. “The evidence is right here.”But it wasn’t evidence—at least not truthfully. Leon had seen it only twenty minutes ago

The notification came with a single vibration.—Account access denied.Leon stared at his phone as if the screen had personally struck him. He tried again.And again.And again.Each attempt ended the same way:All accounts frozen. Access restricted. Contact your financial administrator.He didn’t need to guess who the “administrator” was.Alexander Hale.His father.The man who taught him never to trust outsiders—but forgot to mention that betrayal often came from home.Leon stood under the overhang of a closed café, rain spilling off the metal roof in cold sheets. Only an hour ago, Vanessa had humiliated him in front of reporters. Only a day ago, he still lived in the Hale penthouse at the top of Crestfield Tower, a place filled with glass walls and silent servants.Now?He had a dying phone battery, a plastic bag with two shirts, and thirty-six dollars in crumpled bills.That was all.He tried opening his digital wallet. A new message blinked across the top:Hale Group Internal Ale

By the time Leon finished his first shift, he had lifted more weight in one afternoon than he had in the last ten years combined. But Mason Briggs was just getting started.The warehouse lights hummed overhead, cold and fluorescent. Forklifts beeped as they reversed. Metal racks towered above the workers like silent judges. Everywhere Leon looked, the place felt industrial, harsh, unforgiving.A perfect match for his new life.Mason stalked across the floor like a man who owned the building. Thick arms, shaved head, and eyes that sparkled with the pleasure of causing misery. He stopped in front of Leon, hands on his hips.“So,” Mason said, voice echoing, “the Hale golden boy survived his first few hours. Impressive. I expected you to quit already.”Leon didn’t respond.Mason smirked. “What, no snappy comeback? No announcing how important your daddy is?”Leon simply picked up the next crate.Mason barked a laugh. “Oh, you’re trying to be stoic. That makes this more fun.”He snapped his

Rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still shimmered with puddles that reflected the city’s neon lights. Leon walked home after another brutal shift, shoulders aching, back stiff, clothes carrying the dust and sweat of the warehouse. Each step was heavy, mechanical—just surviving one day at a time.He wasn’t expecting to see her.He wasn’t prepared, either.The universe didn’t care.He turned the corner, heading toward the bus stop. A sleek black coupe slowed beside the curb, its engine humming like wealth in motion. The windows rolled down—and familiar laughter spilled out, bright, soft, carefree.Vanessa Crowe.A name that stabbed him even before she turned her head.She looked… radiant.Hair styled perfectly, makeup glowing under the streetlight, luxury earrings catching the shine. The same smile he once woke up to—it was now aimed at someone else.The man beside her sat confidently behind the wheel. Designer suit. Golden wristwatch. Masculine, polished, smug. The type of ma

Leon didn’t sleep after the system awakened.How could he?That cold mechanical voice still echoed at the back of his mind, sharp as broken glass:[REBIRTH SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]His life had collapsed so brutally that something—not human—had chosen him as a “prime candidate.”And yet morning came like always, dragging him back into the world he still had to endure.The warehouse buzzed alive with forklifts, workers shouting, machinery rumbling. Leon stepped onto the floor with stiff legs and sore shoulders, head low, eyes heavy from a night without rest. He expected exhaustion.He didn’t expect to run straight into Mason Briggs.The supervisor stood near the timeclock, arms crossed, a grin already spreading across his face. Mason’s smile wasn’t friendly. It was the type that belonged to someone who loved watching things break.Especially people.“There he is,” Mason said loudly, drawing the attention of the nearby workers. “The stray dog reporting for duty.”A few workers chuckled. Other