The grand lecture hall of Prestige International University buzzed long before the professor arrived. It was not the loud kind of noise, but a refined, layered hum—soft laughter, low conversations, the occasional clink of expensive accessories. The air smelled of imported perfumes, luxury colognes, and confidence that had been inherited rather than earned. Students lounged in their seats like royalty waiting for a servant to announce the next event. Designer handbags rested on polished desks. Watches worth more than a family home glinted casually under the lights.This was a world where money spoke before names did.Except for one person.Kendrick Hale sat at the far edge of the hall, close enough to the exit that he could disappear quickly if needed. His back was straight, his posture disciplined, but his fingers gripped his worn notebook too tightly. The notebook had frayed edges and dog-eared pages, held together by tape and habit. His clothes were clean—always clean—but undeniab

Kendrick stared at the message on his phone long after the screen dimmed.The words refused to make sense, blurring together as his exhausted mind tried—failed—to process them.Sole heir.Hale Empire.Trillions.It felt impossible.A story too large. Too ridiculous. Too cruel to be true.Not for someone like him.Not after the worst day of his life.He lay back against the stiff hospital mattress, bandages pulling at his skin, bruises throbbing with every breath. Laughter still echoed in his ears—sharp, mocking, endless. He could still see the phones pointed at him, capturing his humiliation from every angle, turning his pain into entertainment.What kind of joke was this?Was the universe mocking him now too?His fingers tightened around the phone. His chest ached.No… this had to be fake.A scam. A prank. Some elaborate cruelty meant to break him just a little more.But exhaustion won.His eyelids grew heavy. His thoughts slowed. And despite the storm raging inside him, Kendrick dri

Clinton and his father stepped into Mr. Desmond’s sleek, glass-walled office with confident strides, their shoulders squared, their chins raised. The room itself screamed wealth—polished marble floors, minimalist furniture crafted from rare wood, and a panoramic view of the city stretching endlessly beyond the windows.This meeting was supposed to be simple.Routine.A discussion about business.One that would elevate the Voss family from a respectable half-a-billion-dollar net worth to crossing the sacred billion-dollar threshold.Clinton glanced at his father and smiled.His father smiled back.They both understood what this opportunity meant.To Clinton, it meant everything.More money meant more dominance on campus. More influence. More fear. He would officially become the richest student in school. Professors would tolerate him more. Students would worship him. Girls—every single one of them—would line up, desperate to be seen on his arm. Anyone who once mocked or ignored him wou

Kendrick met Zara and Jayson at the campus gate just as the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. The usual bustle of Prestige International University moved around them—luxury cars pulling in and out, students laughing, voices carrying—but Zara barely noticed any of it. She paced back and forth, arms crossed tightly, anxiety written plainly across her face. Jayson stood beside her, calmer on the surface, but his constant glances at his watch betrayed his worry.The moment Kendrick stepped out of the taxi, both of them turned sharply.“Where have you been?” Zara asked immediately, relief and frustration tangling in her voice. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”Kendrick didn’t answer right away.Instead, he calmly reached into one of the shopping bags he carried and gently handed her a familiar orange box tied neatly with a white ribbon.“Open it.”Zara frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “Kendrick, this isn’t the time—”“Open it,” he repe

The room held its breath.Then voices erupted all at once, crashing into each other like waves.“Yes! Miss Doris should do it immediately!”“Let her check it now!”“They’re going to jail anyway!”“This will end the nonsense!”Confidence filled the hall. Smirks spread across faces. Most people were already convinced of the outcome before the process even began. In their minds, it was settled—Kendrick was a fraud, and tonight was his public execution.Miss Doris slowly stood.She was in her mid-thirties, poised and elegant, her movements refined with the kind of composure that came from years of dealing with the ultra-wealthy. She wasn’t dazzled by money, nor impressed by noise. As a certified authenticator of luxury items, antiques, rare diamonds, and precious metals, she was often flown across continents by billionaires to verify their possessions. Kings trusted her judgment. Titans waited on her words.She adjusted her glasses, stepped forward, and slipped on a pair of white gloves.