DIVORCED, NOW I'AM A BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 2: A Chance Encounter

The humid night air clung to Noah like a second skin. He stood on the pavement, his eyes fixed on the glowing blue text hovering in the air.

[MISSION: THE FIRST MILLION. TIER: IMPOSSIBLE.]

[LOCATION: NEAREST VENTURE CAPITALIST DETECTED: 500 METERS.]

He turned toward the sound of distant, thumping bass. The Sterling-owned gala was three blocks away, a fortress of glass and exclusivity.

"Five hundred meters," Noah muttered, adjusting his worn suit jacket. "Time to go crash a party."

*

The entrance to the Grand Aurora Hotel was a gauntlet of velvet ropes and men with necks the size of tree trunks. Noah took a deep breath, smoothing his lapels, and walked straight toward the VIP barricade.

"Invitation, sir?" The bouncer didn't even look up from his tablet.

"I’m with the Sterling group," Noah said, keeping his voice flat and bored. "I’m late. The wife is already inside."

"Name?"

"Vance. Noah Vance."

The bouncer tapped his screen, his brow furrowing. "Vance? I don't see a Vance on the list, man. You sure you’re at the right gala?"

"Check the private donor list," Noah lied, his palms sweating. "Marcus Sterling doesn't like his guests waiting at the door. You want to be the one to tell him his guest of honor is being held up by security?"

The bouncer’s eyes flickered with genuine concern. "Look, I’m just doing my job. Don't make this difficult."

"I'm not making it difficult, I'm making it efficient," Noah snapped, stepping into the bouncer’s personal space. "Do you want to check, or do you want to apologize to Marcus in ten minutes?"

The bouncer hesitated, then signaled his partner. "Fine. Go. But if you’re pulling my leg, you’re out of here in seconds."

Noah didn't look back. He slipped through the ropes, the cool air of the ballroom hitting his face like a slap of reality.

*

The ballroom was a sea of shimmering sequins and expensive cologne. Noah scanned the room, his eyes darting from face to face. There, standing near the balcony, was Zhang—the notoriously reclusive venture capitalist who had turned down every pitch in the city.

Noah started toward him, but a hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Noah? What are you doing here?"

Noah turned. It was Clara, her eyes narrowing as she took in his slightly rumpled suit.

"I’m here for the same reason you are, Clara. Business," Noah said.

Clara let out a cold, sharp laugh. "Business? You don't have a portfolio. You don't even have a ride home. You’re embarrassing yourself."

"Is that a concern for my reputation?" Noah asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or are you just worried I’ll actually pull it off?"

"Pull what off? You’re a ghost, Noah. Stop pretending you belong in this room."

"Watch me," Noah whispered, stepping around her.

He pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on Zhang. But before he could reach him, the older man clutched his chest. His face turned a ghastly, translucent grey. He stumbled, gasping for air, and collapsed into a chair.

The crowd didn't notice, blinded by the music and the champagne.

Noah broke into a run. He reached the table, ignoring the security guard moving in.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" Noah knelt, his hands hovering over the man’s chest.

"Help... medicine..." Zhang wheezed, his fingers clawing at his breast pocket.

Noah dived into the man’s jacket, ripping out a small, silver vial. He twisted it open, pressing the inhaler to the man’s lips. "Deep breaths. Just focus on me."

"Who... who are you?" Zhang choked out, his vision unfocusing.

"Doesn't matter. Just breathe," Noah commanded, his heart hammering against his ribs.

[APPROVAL DETECTED: +1]

[CURRENT SCORE: 1/100]

The system chime vibrated in his skull like a lightning strike.

"You," Zhang gasped, his breathing slowly stabilizing. He looked at Noah, his eyes regaining their sharp, predatory edge. "You were fast."

"I was paying attention," Noah replied, standing up as security swarmed them.

"Get back!" the guard yelled, shoving Noah away.

"He saved my life, you idiot!" Zhang barked, his voice weak but commanding. "Stand down."

The guards retreated instantly. Zhang reached into his inner pocket, his hand trembling slightly as he pulled out a slim, gold-embossed card.

"You’re a hungry one, aren't you?" Zhang muttered, pressing the card into Noah’s palm.

"I’m a man with a deadline," Noah said, staring at the card.

"Bring me a proposal that makes me money by morning," Zhang whispered, his gaze intense. "If you can impress me as much as you just saved me, we might have a deal."

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: NEW CONTACT ACQUIRED: CEO ZHANG]

[REWARD: ACCESS TO VENTURE CAPITALIST ASSETS GRANTED]

Noah looked up, his pulse racing. He turned back toward the room and saw Clara staring at him from across the floor, her expression a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated fear.

"We’re just getting started," Noah whispered to himself.

He gripped the gold card, the weight of it feeling like the first real weapon he’d ever held.

"One down," he murmured. "Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand to go."

Noah turned toward the exit, but a shadow stepped into his path. It was Marcus Sterling, Clara’s father, his eyes cold as marble.

"I heard you were making a scene, Noah," Marcus said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Care to tell me why a loser like you is still breathing my air?"

Noah looked the mogul in the eye, and for the first time, he didn't feel small. "I'm not here for your air, Marcus. I'm here for your seat at the table."

Marcus stared at him, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. Then, the realization hit him—he looked down at the gold card in Noah's hand.

"That's Zhang’s card," Marcus breathed, his face losing its color. "How?"

Noah smiled, a sharp, cold expression that didn't reach his eyes. "Ask your daughter."