All Chapters of My Secret TikTok Life: Family Disgrace to Global Kingmaker: Chapter 1
- Chapter 10
25 chapters
Chapter 1: The Golden Cage Cracks
The air in the Grand Ballroom of the Bakar Estate didn't just smell of money; it smelled of the absolute, unshakable power that money bought. It was the scent of vintage ambergris, expensive cigars, and the subtle, sharp tang of chilled Bollinger. High above, three massive crystal chandeliers—each costing more than the average person’s lifetime earnings—fractured the light into a million shimmering shards that danced across the gilded walls.I stood near the edge of a mahogany bar that had been imported from a 17th-century French estate. I felt like an intruder in my own home. I adjusted the cuff of my silk shirt, feeling the weight of the manila folder tucked under my arm. To anyone else in the room, it was just paper. To me, it was six months of sweat, data, and a vision for the future. It was my proof that I wasn't just the "quiet" Bakar, but the one who could lead them into the next century."Look at him," a sharp voice whispered nearby. "The family shadow is trying to blend in ag
Chapter 2: The Public Execution
I had only been on the portico for a few seconds, the rain just beginning to soak into my shoulders, when the heavy oak doors behind me groaned open again. I thought for a second it might be my mother coming to say a secret goodbye, or maybe a servant bringing me a coat.Instead, a hand like a meat hook clamped onto my shoulder."The Chairman isn't finished with the show yet, Salim," Hakan said. He was the head of estate security, a man I’d known since I was five. He used to sneak me extra dessert from the kitchen. Now, he was looking at me like I was a trespasser he was about to toss into the bushes."He told me to get out, Hakan. I’m getting out," I snapped, trying to shake him off.He didn't budge. "He told you to leave. He didn't say you were done. Get back inside."He didn't wait for an answer. He practically dragged me back through the doors, out of the fresh, rainy air and back into the suffocating scent of lilies and expensive perfume. But the room had changed. The upbeat jazz
Chapter 3: Strip-Searched
The ballroom doors were only twenty feet away. Beyond them lay the dark, rainy night—a night that was starting to look more like a sanctuary than a threat. I just wanted the cold air. I wanted the rain to wash the smell of this room off my skin. But Zara stood in my way like a shimmering, silver-clad gatekeeper."Step aside, Zara," I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "Father got what he wanted. I signed the paper. I’m gone.""You signed a piece of paper, Salim. That handles the future," she said, her voice dripping with a sickly sweet malice. She reached out and tapped the crystal face of the watch on my left wrist. "But we haven't handled the present. And the present looks a lot like Bakar property to me."I looked down at my wrist. It was a Patek Philippe—the vintage Calatrava. It had been a gift from our grandfather on my eighteenth birthday. It was the only thing I wore that felt like it had any soul, a piece of history from the only man in this family who had ev
Chapter 4: The Blacklist
The walk from the Bakar gates to the main road felt like a descent into a different dimension. In the back of a luxury car, the distance to the city center took ten minutes of mindless scrolling. On foot, in shoes that pinched my toes and offered the structural support of wet cardboard, it felt like an odyssey.The rain hadn't let up. By the time I reached a brightly lit ATM vestibule near the edge of the high-end district, I was shivering so violently I could barely keep my balance. My white shirt was a second skin, translucent and cold, and my hair was plastered to my forehead.I stepped into the small, glass-walled booth. The warmth of the indoor air felt like a miracle, even if it smelled like ozone and stale cigarettes. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket. It was a slim, designer leather piece—another "Bakar asset" Zara had surprisingly missed—but the leather was bloated with rainwater.I pulled out my private black card. This wasn't the corporate account. This was my person
Chapter 5: The "Friends" of a Ghost
The subway station at 3:00 AM was a bleak, echoing cathedral of concrete and fluorescent hum. I slumped onto a plastic bench that smelled faintly of ammonia, my body shivering in a rhythmic, uncontrollable tremor. I had managed to pull the dry-ish hoodie from my backpack, but it did little to stop the deep, bone-chilling cold that had settled into my marrow.I stared at the "Kingmaker" notification on my phone.[Initialization: 1.2%...]It was moving too slow. I didn't need a holographic interface right now; I needed a friend. I needed someone to tell me this was a nightmare, or at the very least, someone who would let me crash on their couch until the sun came up.I opened my contacts. Despite my father’s purge, my secret burner phone still held the direct lines to the "Big Three"—the influencers I had personally scouted, branded, and managed into stardom. I had spent countless nights editing their videos, negotiating their contracts, and protecting their reputations when they messed
Chapter 6: The Rain of Scorn
The subway was a temporary reprieve, but the transit police eventually did their rounds. I was kicked out of the station at 4:00 AM for "loitering." Back into the rain I went. My neon green shoes were now waterlogged sponges, making a pathetic squelch with every step.I found myself walking toward a small, 24-hour parking garage near the fashion district. I didn't have my Audi R8 anymore, but I had a private locker there where I kept some spare gym gear and, more importantly, an old mountain bike. It wasn't much, but it was transportation. It was a way to move faster than the "loser" pace I was currently stuck at.As I approached the garage, I saw a familiar flash of orange. It was my R8. It was parked right out front, the engine idling with a low, expensive purr that mocked my shivering frame.Marcus was leaning against the hood, holding a designer umbrella that kept him perfectly dry. He was wearing a fresh suit, probably having just come from an after-party. He looked at me, his ey
Chapter 7: The Last Dollar
The neon sign above the door hummed with a sickly, buzzing vibration that mirrored the rattling of my own teeth. ‘Suds & Solace – 24 Hours.’ It was a lie. There was no solace here, only the smell of industrial bleach and the rhythmic, thumping heartbeat of heavy-duty dryers.I pushed the door open, the bell chiming a weak, tinny sound that felt like an intrusion. The warmth of the room hit me first—not a clean, comfortable warmth, but a humid, heavy heat that carried the scent of other people’s sweat and cheap detergent. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever felt.I stumbled toward a plastic bench in the corner, my neon green shoes squeaking against the linoleum. The only other person in the laundromat was an elderly man sleeping upright against a washing machine, a tattered newspaper draped over his chest. He didn't even stir as I collapsed onto the bench, my body finally giving up the fight to stay upright.I reached into the pocket of my soaked hoodie. My fingers, wrinkled and
Chapter 8: The Ghost in the Machine
The transition from the humid warmth of the laundromat back into the 4:00 AM air was like stepping into a freezer. The rain had settled into a fine, needle-like mist that seemed to bypass my hoodie entirely, sinking straight into my skin. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, my neon green shoes squelching as I tested the weight of my own body.Something was wrong. I felt... heavy.It wasn't just the exhaustion of being awake for twenty-four hours or the lack of food. It felt like the gravity beneath my feet had been dialed up. Every movement required a conscious effort of will, as if the air itself had become thick as syrup.I raised the cracked phone, the screen still pulsing with that strange, ethereal gold light.[Status Effect: 'Pariah' (Active)] [The weight of social rejection has manifested. Physical movement cost: +25%. Perception from others: Invisible/Repulsive.]"Great," I whispered, my breath forming a ragged cloud. "So the world doesn't just hate me; it's literally trying
Chapter 9: The Subway Audition
The golden pillar on my screen was so bright it felt like it was scorching the air. I stayed back, hugging the shadow of a massive concrete pillar. My heart was still hammering against my ribs—not from fear, but from the sheer, electric realization that the System hadn't lied.Elara Vance didn't look like a star. She looked like a survivor.She was slumped on her milk crate, her fingers moving over the strings of her guitar with a practiced, weary grace. The song she was singing was low and haunting, a melody that seemed to catch the echoes of the tunnel and turn them into something beautiful. It was a song about being forgotten, about the way the city swallowed people whole and never spat them back out."She’s incredible," I whispered. My voice was a raspy ghost of its former self.I raised the phone. The
Last Updated : 2026-01-12Read more
Chapter 10: The Protector
I stepped out from behind the concrete pillar just as Jaximus’s hand clamped onto the neck of Elara’s guitar. My neon green shoes didn't squeak this time; they were too heavy with water to make much sound at all. I looked like a wreck—a drowned, skeletal shadow of a man—but the Heart of Ice had locked my emotions into a cold, clinical HUD of data points."You should probably let go of the guitar," I said.My voice was raspy, vibrating with a dry, metallic edge that seemed to startle the empty station. The three bullies spun around, their phone flashes swinging toward me like searchlights."Who the hell are you?" Jaximus sneered, squinting against the dim light. He didn't see a threat. He saw a homeless kid in a soaked hoodie. "Get lost, junkie. We’re filming a video."<