Fate’s Billionaire

The Night of the Falling Car

Rain pounded the city streets like a drumbeat of doom. Lightning split the sky above the downtown skyline, illuminating the skyscrapers for a fraction of a second. Vincent Drake darted across the slick pavement, his coat flapping behind him. The neon signs reflected on the wet asphalt, casting everything in a surreal glow. He wasn’t late for work, he was late for survival.

Ahead, a screech of tires made him freeze mid-step. A silver sedan, spinning out of control, careened straight toward a crowded crosswalk. Pedestrians screamed and scattered like startled birds. Instinct kicked in. Vincent didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, tackling the nearest man out of the car’s path just as the vehicle clipped the curb.

Time seemed to stretch. The man tumbled onto the pavement, coughing, eyes wide in terror. The car slammed into a lamp post with a deafening crunch, shattering glass spraying across the street. Rain mixed with blood. Heart hammering, Vincent scrambled to pull the man away from the wreckage.

It was over. Or so he thought.

Then came the vision.

Vincent froze. The air seemed to thicken, the rain slowed to a crawl. In his mind’s eye, he saw the man he had just saved the very man he held in his arms lying crushed beneath a falling steel beam. His death was exact, in a week, at a construction site on the other side of the city.

“What the?” Vincent whispered, heart pounding.

He had seen death before news reports, accidents, crimes but never like this. Not like a movie playing in his mind, real and precise. The blood, the screams, the exact angle of impact it wasn’t imagination. It was real.

The man coughed again, shaking violently. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what—”

Vincent released him and stumbled back. “Wait,” he muttered, gripping his head. “I need to understand this.”

The man ran off, disappearing into the rain-soaked crowd, oblivious to the future Vincent had just seen. Vincent’s mind raced. Did I just… see the future?

Shaking, he forced himself to focus. He tested it, willing himself to look at a street performer juggling knives across the street. The world slowed. Vincent’s vision blurred, then snapped into clarity. He saw the exact moment one of the knives would slip and pierce the juggler’s hand, leaving him permanently maimed.

It was like his brain had unlocked a hidden camera on reality. And then he noticed something terrifying: some people’s endings were blank. He focused on a homeless man shivering under a streetlamp. Nothing. Blank. The man was powerless. But when he looked at a suited businessman hurrying through the rain, the vision snapped into horrific clarity. The man’s death was coming and it could be changed.

Vincent staggered back, gripping a nearby wall. His chest heaved. What… what is this?

The rain didn’t let up. Thunder cracked overhead, echoing like a gunshot. Vincent’s eyes flicked to the pedestrian street. A man in a sharp gray suit was being mugged a knife pressed to his neck. Before he could even think, Vincent ran. Faster than he knew he could move.

He reached the scene just as the assailant raised the blade. Vincent grabbed the knife-hand mid-air and twisted, forcing the attacker to drop the weapon. A swift strike to the stomach sent the man sprawling into a puddle.

The businessman gasped, wide-eyed. “Who… who are you?”

Vincent said nothing. His mind raced, replaying the vision. If he had arrived even a second later, the man would have been dead in the next hour from a freak accident. And yet… he felt the weight of responsibility crushing him.

Someone had to know about this…

no, not know. He couldn’t tell anyone. It sounded insane.

He moved on, blending into the rain, thoughts spinning.

By midnight, Vincent was soaked to the bone. He ducked into an alley to catch his breath, leaning against a brick wall. The city’s lights glistened off the wet pavement like shards of broken glass. He closed his eyes, trying to focus.

It’s not imagination. It’s real.

He experimented. A newsstand vendor. Dead in five days hit by a falling sign. A wealthy socialite walking her dog, dead in three days

she’d be poisoned in a luxury restaurant.

Vincent felt an icy knot tighten in his stomach. I can see death. I can see endings. And… some can be changed.

A sharp noise made him whip around. From the shadows, a figure emerged a man in a black trench coat, face hidden under a hood. Vincent’s instincts flared. He tensed, ready to fight.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the figure said calmly. “Not tonight.”

Vincent’s pulse quickened. “Who… who are you?”

The man smiled faintly, coldly. “Someone who knows what you can do. You shouldn’t meddle with fate. Some people don’t survive being saved.”

Vincent’s fists clenched. “I don’t understand what do you mean?”

The stranger stepped closer. Vincent noticed a scar running along his cheek, wet from the rain. “You’ve started a chain of events you can’t control. Every time you save someone, someone else dies. You think you’re helping, but you’re just… rearranging corpses.”

Vincent staggered back, heart pounding. “I… I just saved people tonight!”

The man tilted his head, voice dropping to a whisper. “Then you’ve made enemies. Powerful enemies. By sunrise, they will come for you. And trust me… they won’t ask first.”

Before Vincent could react, the man disappeared into the rain-soaked night, leaving only the echo of footsteps and a lingering sense of doom.

Vincent stumbled home, drenched, exhausted, mind spinning. His apartment was small, sterile, and quiet. He poured himself a glass of water, hands trembling. He needed answers, but… how could he explain this? To anyone?

He sat by the window, watching the city lights blur in the rain. His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:

“We know what you can do. You will be contacted soon. Don’t try to run.”

Vincent’s stomach dropped. His hands shook. He knew instinctively this wasn’t idle threat it was true. Someone else, somewhere, was aware of what he could do.

And he realized something worse: he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t unsee the deaths. And he couldn’t let people die if he could stop it.

The storm raged outside, a mirror to his chaotic thoughts. For the first time, he felt the weight of being… different. Dangerous. Wanted. Powerful.

He sank into a chair, mind racing through possibilities.

If I save people, I make enemies. If I don’t, they die. Either way… someone dies. And that someone could be me next.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the skyline. In that instant, Vincent Drake made a silent vow.

I will learn this power. I will master it. And anyone who stands in my way… will regret it.