Dumped on my anniversary, I activated the billionaire system

chapter 2

The echo of the slap was still bouncing off the kitchen walls when Eleanor finally found her voice, and it came out as a piercing, hysterical shriek.

"Call the cops! Madison, call the damn police, he’s completely lost his mind!"

But Julian didn’t stick around to watch them scramble for their phones.

He just turned his back on the bleeding woman on the floor, grabbed the cheap canvas duffel bag he’d packed an hour ago, and walked out the front door into the freezing night air.

The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the screaming, but the cold wind hitting his face didn't bring him any peace.

He thought the worst was over, but the universe clearly had one more joke to play before he could actually leave.

Leaning against the hood of a brand-new BMW in the driveway was Trent Sterling, Madison’s older brother, and he was casually flicking a lit cigarette right onto Julian’s worn-out jacket that was sitting on the concrete.

"So, the house dog finally decided to bite," Trent sneered, pushing off the car and blocking the path to the garage. "Madison texted me. I gotta admit, slapping her took some actual balls, but it doesn't change the fact that you're a broke, pathetic loser who just made himself homeless."

Julian kept his head down, just wanting to grab the last box of his tools from the garage so he could leave, but Trent stepped directly in his path and shoved him hard in the chest.

Julian stumbled back, his boots slipping on the wet driveway.

"Where do you think you're going, gutter rat?" Trent stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom.

"You think you can just walk away after putting your hands on my sister? You're nothing. You're a parasite that we finally scraped off our shoes. I should break your fucking jaw right now just to teach you some manners."

Julian’s fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms, and for a second, he actually considered swinging.

The urge to beat Trent into the pavement was overwhelming, but before he could throw a punch that would definitely land him in a jail cell, his phone vibrated violently in his pocket.

He pulled it out, ignoring Trent’s mocking laughter, and stared at the cracked screen.

[Ding! Host has successfully completed Option 2.]

[Reward 1: $10,000,000,000 transferred to Host's secure offshore account.]

[Reward 2: God-Level Medical Skills integrated into Host's neural network.]

[Reward 3: 30% controlling stake in Croft Enterprises acquired via proxy shell companies.]

A split second later, a push notification from his banking app popped up, overriding the lock screen.

Blackstone Apex Private Client: Your current available balance is $10,000,000,042.18.

At the exact same time, a searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and decades of complex medical knowledge, surgical techniques, and anatomical secrets flooded his brain like a downloaded file.

He blinked, and suddenly he could look at Trent and instantly see the slight irregularity in his breathing, the minor tendon tear in his left shoulder from golfing, and the early signs of liver strain from heavy drinking.

He knew exactly how to fix a failing heart, cure late-stage diseases, and snap a spine back into place with just his bare hands.

"What are you staring at, you dumbass?" Trent barked, snatching the phone out of Julian's hand and tossing it onto the wet ground , the screen shattering completely.

"Screen's cracked, just like your future. Now get your shit and crawl out of my driveway before I run you over."

Julian didn’t get mad. He didn't yell. The suffocating weight of the last three years was just gone, replaced by a cold, absolute certainty.

He looked at his shattered phone on the ground, then looked up at Trent with a deadpan stare that actually made the older man take a half-step back.

"Keep the driveway," Julian said, his voice completely flat and devoid of any emotion. "You're gonna need a place to park when you're begging me for a job."

He didn't wait for Trent's reaction. He just walked out to the main road, hailed a passing cab, and told the driver to head straight to the ultra-exclusive Croft Motors dealership downtown.

Forty minutes later, Julian pushed through the heavy glass doors of the showroom.

He was still wearing his scuffed boots and a wrinkled jacket, looking like a guy who just slept in a dumpster, so the snobby sales staff didn't even give him a second glance.

He was just about to walk over to a matte-black hypercar on the main floor when the frosted glass door of the VIP lounge swung open.

Trent walked out, holding a flute of champagne and laughing with the dealership manager, but his laugh died in his throat the second he locked eyes with Julian.