15 Million Reasons For Revenge

Born into luxury

The Vulcanus truly lived up to its name. Every inch of the luxury car screamed wealth — smooth leather that wrapped around me like a second skin, a subtle scent of sandalwood and money in the air, and the kind of silence that made you forget the chaos of the world outside. I leaned slightly against the seat, staring out the tinted window as the nightscape of Miami zipped past. The world blurred into ribbons of neon and streetlights — blue, gold, red — all blending together in the darkness. Somehow, it felt strangely peaceful. But no matter how comforting the ride was, my heart still hadn’t completely settled. Tonight had been a storm. Too much had happened. Too many changes. Just this morning, I was a broke student. By nightfall, I was sitting in the back of a million-dollar car beside a woman whose mere presence could silence a room. The thought still felt unreal. But the doubts that had lingered earlier were gone. No con artist could’ve staged what happened at the club entrance. The power, the people, the control Clara commanded — it was too authentic. “Sir,” Clara’s voice broke through my thoughts. Soft, but carrying that faint air of authority she always seemed to have. “You should go to the hospital. They’ll take care of the injury on your forehead.” Her brows had slightly creased in concern. It wasn’t much, but for someone as composed as Clara, that small expression said everything. “It’s alright,” I said quietly. “Just a scratch. It’ll heal once I disinfect it.” She gave me a measured look, then nodded. “Very well.” Her tone softened. “You shouldn’t return to your dormitory tonight. I’ve arranged a room for you at the Valente Grand Hotel. Is that alright?” The name sounded like something out of a billionaire’s dream. Typical of her. Sure enough, she really was my assistant — efficient, perceptive, and always one step ahead. That realization warmed something in me. For the first time in a long while, someone was taking care of me without expecting anything in return. I nodded, allowing a small smile. “Okay. I’ll take a nap when we arrive.” “Of course,” she replied softly. I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. My body was drained, my mind even more so. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Clara — it was that I was simply exhausted. Sensing that, she reached forward without a word and gently lowered my seat. Then she pulled down the car’s curtains, blocking out the city lights. The cabin dimmed into quiet warmth. Her subtle perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the hum of the engine. Half an hour later, the Vulcanus glided to a stop. When the door opened, the cool night breeze of Miami brushed against my face. Clara stepped out first, heels clicking against marble, then turned to me. “This way, Mr. Cole.” The Valente Grand Hotel was breathtaking — golden chandeliers, marble floors, and the faint scent of roses in the air. The staff bowed as we entered, their eyes filled with silent recognition. Clara led me straight to the elevator, her stride confident, graceful. When we reached the top floor, she opened a door and gestured me inside. My jaw almost dropped. “Shit…” I muttered under my breath. “This suite is huge.” The presidential suite spread out before me like a mansion in the sky — roughly seven thousand square feet of polished perfection. Two bedrooms. A massive living room. A reception hall that looked more like a museum. Every piece of furniture shimmered with elegance, from the Italian leather couches to the glass dining table that probably cost more than my entire dorm building. And then there was the view. A floor-to-ceiling window stretched across the living room — more than twenty feet long. From there, the city unfolded beneath me in lights and motion. For the first time, I saw Miami not as a city I struggled to survive in, but as something I could finally rise above. It felt like standing above the world itself. Like nothing could hurt me anymore. “How much does this room cost?” I asked, still in awe as I picked up a crystal glass from the table. Clara didn’t even flinch. “Fifty thousand dollars per night.” I froze, almost dropping the glass. “F–fifty thousand?” She nodded calmly. “Yes, sir.” I let out a low whistle. Fifty thousand dollars… that was two years of my tuition — including rent, food, and everything in between. And now, it was just one night’s stay.

I stood there, dazed.

Back then, when I saw that $15 million deposited into my account, it was just a number on a screen — something unreal, something that felt like a dream that could vanish if I blinked too hard.

But standing here now, in this colossal suite, surrounded by gold trimmings, chandeliers that looked like floating stars, and glass walls that reflected the entire city beneath my feet — I finally understood what wealth meant.

This…

This was power.

Luxury had a smell — faintly sweet, clean, and addictive. It had a feel — silk under your fingertips, marble under your feet. It had a sound — the quiet hum of comfort that came from knowing nothing could touch you.

“Sir,” Clara’s voice broke through my thoughts again. Calm, professional, yet soft enough to make the air shift around me. “You don’t need to worry about the price. This hotel is a subsidiary of the Cole Group. You can stay here all year without spending a dime.”

My eyes widened slightly. “Without spending a dime?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling faintly as she stepped closer. Her heels clicked softly against the floor until she stood directly in front of me. “Everything here — the Valente Grand, the Vulcanus you rode in, the clubs you see on the main street — all of them belong to the Cole Group.”

Her words hit harder than I expected. It was like being told I owned half the world, yet I had been living at the bottom of it my entire life.

Then, without another word, Clara reached into her bag and pulled out a small tin box. She set it carefully on the glass table in front of me.

I blinked at it, curious. “What’s this?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she gestured for me to open it.

Inside was a black card.

Sleek.

Cool to the touch.

And heavier than it looked — the kind of weight that carried power.

Red moiré patterns shimmered across its surface, forming intricate lines that intertwined to create a single word — COLE.

On the back was a gold-embedded chip, and in the lower right corner, a unique code gleamed under the light.

“It’s your identification card, Mr. Cole,” Clara said gently, her tone respectful but still carrying that professional firmness that defined her. “It’s used internally within the Cole Group.”

I turned the card over in my hand. “An ID card?”

Clara nodded. “Not just any ID. The black card you’re holding is the highest-level card in the company. Only direct members of the Cole family possess it.”

I froze. Her words echoed in my head.
Direct members.
Family.

She continued, “Your information has already been entered into the company’s system. With this card, you have authority equal to a chief director. You can access or oversee any Cole Group branch worldwide.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing the metallic edges of the card.

“Additionally,” she went on, her voice steady, “you are entitled to enjoy any product or service owned by the Cole Group for free. That includes hotels, private jets, medical centers, and even international investments.”

She paused, then added, “You can also appoint or remove anyone below director level… and authorize up to eighty million dollars in company assets without approval.”