God-Level Tycoon: Rise of the Nobody

The Dinner Invitation

The crowd at the investor showcase was still buzzing when Ethan stepped outside, the cool evening air hitting his face like a sharp reminder that the night was far from over. His phone buzzed again — same number, no name. He already knew who it was.

Veronica Monroe.

He answered on the second ring. “Mr. Cross,” her voice was smooth, almost playful, “you made quite an impression tonight. I don’t often say this, but… I’m curious.” “That curiosity is mutual,” Ethan replied, his voice steady.

She chuckled softly. “Good. Then have dinner with me. Tomorrow night. Private. I’ll send a car.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. And Ethan knew it. “I’ll be there,” he said simply.

When the call ended, Ethan leaned against the sleek black sedan waiting for him. Lucas was in the driver’s seat, watching him through the rearview mirror. “That the lady in red?” Lucas asked with a knowing smirk. Ethan shot him a look. “Drive.”

Meanwhile…

In a penthouse office overlooking the city, Darius slammed his hand against the desk. “How the hell did he get those investors?” A nervous subordinate spoke up, “Sir, it seems Ms. Monroe has taken an interest—” “I don’t care about Monroe,” Darius snapped. “Find me something… anything I can use to break him before the Series B round.”

He turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows, his jaw tight. “If Ethan Cross thinks this is a game, he’s about to lose.”

The Next Night

The car Veronica sent wasn’t just luxury — it was a statement. A custom Maybach with tinted windows and a chauffeur who didn’t say a word. When Ethan stepped inside, there was a small, velvet box on the seat. Inside was a silver tie clip engraved with a single letter: M.

No note. Just the initial. Ethan clipped it onto his tie without hesitation.

The restaurant was one of those places without a sign, where a single dinner cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Veronica was already seated, a glass of red wine in hand, her dress a deep shade of green this time — a calculated contrast to the night before.

“Mr. Cross,” she said as he sat down, “I like men who arrive on time.” “I like women who don’t waste it,” Ethan replied.

Her smile was slow. “Then let’s not waste any. I want to know… how far you’re willing to go.”

The next hour was a dance of words — subtle tests, veiled threats, and unspoken offers. Veronica was no ordinary investor; she wanted more than profit. She wanted control. And she was probing to see if Ethan would give it.

When the plates were cleared, she leaned in slightly. “I can open doors you can’t even see yet. But doors work both ways — they open… and they close. So tell me, Mr. Cross… should I keep one open for you?”

Ethan met her gaze without flinching. “Keep it open. But don’t stand in the doorway.”

Her laugh was genuine this time, rich and low. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

Later that night

As Ethan left the restaurant, Lucas was waiting by the car. “How’d it go?” Ethan got in, his expression unreadable. “She’s not an ally. Not yet. But she’s not the enemy either.”

Lucas frowned. “And Darius?” Ethan’s phone buzzed again — this time, an anonymous text.

You won tonight. Enjoy it. It’s the last time.

Ethan stared at the screen, a cold determination settling over him. The Series B Showdown wasn’t just a business challenge anymore. It was a war.