BETRAYED ONCE: FROM NOTHING TO BILLIONIARE POWER

Chapter 11: Marcus

Sunlight hit Ryan's face like a blade. He blinked, squinting his eyes, but the glow blurred his vision. The ceiling above him was high and unfamiliar, and for a moment he didn't know where he was.

A groan escaped Ryan's parted lips as the memory of yesterday slowly crept in.

He remembered the penthouse, black card, and signature. The figure of Harrison slowly came forward. He remembered his voice, one that he would have never believed.

‘You have a sister,’

One he never knew under the Volkovs' control.

“The Will reading is today!” Ryan said, sitting up so fast that his head spun.

The bed was so soft it felt like he was drowning. He averted his gaze to the window forty floors down; the city was waking up, and cars crawled below like ants.

Ryan, taking a deep breath, returned his gaze to the huge TV screaming, displaying a muted video. The familiar figure of his ex-wife dressed in black flashed on the screen; she wore a look he had never seen on her face, one that told him she was faking. The title displayed on the y-axis. Scream made his stomach clench with anger.

"The funeral of Zhou's son-in-law," the labels read.

Ryan let out a bitter laugh echoing through his penthouse. “You all are going to pay!” He muttered, noticing the man standing beside her.

His chest tightened. He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

“They think I’m dead! Good. Let them think that.”

The vibrating phone pulled his gaze from the screens. Ryan reached for the nightstand feeling the weight of the Aether's flagship model in his palm. The screen glowed with a single word, Harrison.

He watched the devices ring.

‘What if this was a trap?’

The words finally crawled in.

‘What if Harrison was working for the Volkovs and what if the signature, the card, and the penthouse were a more elaborate way to bury him again?’

“You're paranoid,” he scoffed, taking in another deep breath.

Ryan slipped his finger across the screen.

"Good morning," Ryan said, his voice still rough, still rough and thick with sleep, but underneath it was something harder.

"Good morning, indeed." Harrison's voice was crisp and alert, like he'd been awake for hours. "How did you sleep?"

Ryan scanned around the penthouse, starting from the marble floors to the chandelier that probably cost more than his mother's hospital bills, then settled on the city that spread out below like a gift he hadn't earned.

"Like I was dead," Ryan replied. “No, better than dead."

A pause was heard from the other end of the line, and then Harrison chuckled. It was a warm sound, and Ryan couldn't tell if it was genuine or practiced.

"That's good. You'll need your strength today, Harrison's voice reminded him.

Ryan swung his legs over the side of the bed, and his bare feet touched the cold marble. The shock of it ran up his spine, grounding him.

"They will be reading," Ryan said, his tone noting it was not a question.

"Among other things,” Harrison's voice shifted, becoming more serious. The warmth drained out of it like water from a cracked glass. "I need you to come down to the lobby. There's someone I want you to meet."

Ryan with furrowed brows tightened his hand around the phone. "Who?"

Another pause followed, just long enough to make Ryan's heart skip a beat.

"A friend, and someone your father trusted, and who's going to keep you alive,” Harrison answered.

‘Trust to keep me alive?’ The words echoed in his head.

The thought about Zoula slipped into his mind. The last person he trusted betrayed him, and the consequence was the weight of the earth pressing down while someone whistled above him.

"How do I know I can trust them?" Ryan asked.

"You don't,” Harrison's voice was quiet. "That's why you're going to meet them first, in person, and in a public place with me."

Ryan wanted to argue and say no, but what choice did he have? He had money now, but so did his new enemies, and money couldn't stop a bullet. He wasn’t invisible yet, and that is a mistake he wants to correct.

The thought made a small smile spread across his lips. "Give me twenty minutes," Ryan said.

"Take your time; we are not going anywhere,” Harrison replied as if he could perceive Ryan's determination.

The line went dead, and for a long moment Ryan sat in silence with the phone cold in his hand.

Someone who's going to keep you alive, and for some reason He hoped Harrison was telling the truth.

Without hesitation Ryan moved towards the familiar bathroom. He stepped inside with his hand locating the shower, and just like he thought, the hot water beat down his back, shoulders, and the scar on his side where they'd cut him open. He watched the water swirl down the drain, clear, clean, carrying nothing but soap and exhaustion.

Three days ago, that water was brown with grave dirt.

Ryan closed his eyes. “Three days ago, you were dead,” he said.

He opened them, turning off the shower, then dried off quickly. The towel was thick, and he wrapped it around his waist, walking to the closet.

It was empty.

Of course. He hadn't bought new clothes, and yesterday he had come straight from the diner to the hotel, still wearing the thrift store jeans and the cheap t-shirt, assisted by shoes that were falling apart.

Ryan walked to the mirror.

A stranger stared back. He was thinner than he remembered, with dark circles underneath his eyes; he had seen too much, and the scar on his side was still pink, healing, and painful.

You own a billion-dollar company. You're staying in a hundred-thousand-dollar penthouse and yet wearing clothes that cost less than the breakfast buffet.

A laugh escaped his parted lips. “Let them judge. You've been judged worse, beaten by cops, and buried alive. Then what's a few judgmental glances compared to that?”

Ryan pulled on the same faded jeans, with a grey wrinkled t-shirt, and shoes.

He looked at himself one more time, then walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. After a short lift, the elevator doors stopped and the door opened.