Home / Urban / Dumped on my anniversary, I activated the billionaire system / chapter 11

chapter 11

Author: Bolu Boski

2026-07-06 21:16:34

The gravel crunched under Victor Croft’s expensive Italian leather shoes as he stepped out of the lead SUV, but he didn’t look at the two bleeding thugs on the ground.

He didn’t even look at his son, who was currently being dragged away by the Moretti guys. Victor’s dead, cold eyes were locked entirely on Julian.

This wasn’t some spoiled trust-fund kid who threw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way.

Victor Croft was a self-made billionaire who had built his empire in the nineties by crushing un

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chapter 145
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a
chapter 144
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a
chapter 143
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a
chapter 142
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a
chapter 141
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a
chapter 140
Julian woke at five in the morning to the sound of rain on the window. The brick wall outside was slick and dark, the sky a flat, oppressive gray. He lay still for a moment, listening to the drip of the faucet, the creak of the building, the distant wail of a siren. No overlay. No diagnostics. No gold pulse in the corner of his vision. Just the sound of a city waking up and a man breathing in a room that smelled like mildew and old blood. He sat up. His body ached. His temples throbbed. The cracked molar sent a sharp lance of pain through his jaw every time he clenched his teeth. He walked to the sink, splashed water on his face, and looked in the mirror. The man staring back was hollow-eyed, unshaven, and running on four hours of sleep and a gas station coffee. He looked like what he was. A paramedic from Columbus, Ohio. A house husband. A nobody. He dressed. Black pants. A white shirt, buttoned to the collar. No tie. No jacket. No needle kit. He left the transmitter a

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