It was almost 10 p.m. at the university’s athletics center. The boys’ basketball team had just finished training, sweat still shining on their skin as they sprawled across the bleachers, joking and arguing over who would win the next inter-campus championship. Then suddenly, the locker room door flew open and someone rushed in anxiously, “Guys! You won’t believe this—Evan Marshall is confessing to Ava Hart on SportStream Live! They’re broadcasting it right now on the school account!” Immediately, almost the entire team rushed to him, crowding around his phone in excitement. Evan Marshall was the captain of the football team, national youth star, son of a billionaire sports mogul, and Ava Hart was a track queen and campus beauty who was loved by the whole school. Of course, everyone wanted to see it. But Lorenzo Sinclair didn't move. He sat alone on the bottom bench, untying his worn-out shoes, sweat still dripping from his neck. His jersey was old, his gym bag patched in three

Lorenzo sat on the hospital bench outside the ward. The cold air slapped his face, but he didn’t seem to pay much attention to it. His mind was on what Evan had told him today. After the unjust beating he had received from Evan, he still had to speak gently to him so he wouldn’t get him expelled from school. A sigh escaped his lips. What had he done to deserve this? Why couldn’t he just be born like other children with a golden spoon in their mouths? His chest felt heavy. He looked up at the heavens and saw the moon shining brightly from where he was seated. “Why can't I be like other children?” he murmured softly, still looking up at the sky. How great it would be for him to be rich—just like them—so he wouldn’t be treated like trash. His mind went to Ava, his beautiful girl whom he had lost to Evan. Lorenzo knew that Evan was clearly not as attractive or good-looking as he was, but all the girls wanted him because of how rich he was. If only he were that rich! He sighed.

The door opened and Lorenzo and Derek stepped quietly into the bedroom. The room was large, softly lit, and surprisingly simple for someone of such status. There was a wide bed at the center, neatly arranged, and lying on it was a man who looked far too fragile for the power he once commanded. A faint smell of medicine hung in the air. A few pillows were propped behind the man’s back, and a small table beside him held a glass of water and some folded towels. Lorenzo had imagined someone fierce, someone whose presence alone would shake the room. Instead, he found an old man who looked like he could barely lift his head. As Lorenzo stood there taking everything in, the man on the bed also studied him with tired eyes. He blinked slowly, as if making sure the visitor wasn’t a figure from a dream. His gaze moved from Lorenzo’s shoes to his face, and there was a hint of recognition or maybe hope. A moment later, the door behind Lorenzo closed softly. He walked toward the bed and bowed

Lorenzo sat at the balcony, staring into space. He had just signed the papers hours ago; he still couldn’t believe any of it. The night was quiet except for the steady sound of rain hitting the tiles. The air was cold, but he didn’t feel it. His mind was too full. He leaned back and let out a slow breath. Everything felt heavy. Just a few hours ago, he had been betrayed by the love of his life, beaten up, and now—he owned a lot of properties, companies, and was the grandson of Adrian Byers? His chest tightened a little. He ran his hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. The soft rain was the only thing calming his soul at the moment. After a while, he heard footsteps behind him. “Lorenzo.” He opened his eyes but didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. Judging by the voice, it was Derek. Derek stepped onto the balcony, stopping a short distance away. “Your grandfather wants to see you again.” Lorenzo didn’t move immediately. Instead, he j

Lorenzo hailed a cab, and in due time, he got to his school. As soon as he entered the school dormitory, he saw his friends Malik and Jayson pacing around the room in worry. "I think I have gotten enough patience. I am calling the police!" Malik said anxiously. "You... you can't do that yet. What if Lorenzo just needed space? We never understand how deep these events must have hurt him. Maybe he needs space from everyone, including us. Wait a few more hours, let's not rush it," Jayson said. Jayson's voice was calmer, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. He kept glancing at the door every few seconds, as if willing it to open. Malik stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. "It's been days, Jayson. Days. No calls. No texts. Nothing. That's not just space." Before Jayson could respond, Lorenzo pulled the door open. Both of them froze as soon as they saw Lorenzo walk in with his backpack slung over one shoulder, his movements hesitant—as though he wasn't sure he was