My Secret TikTok Life: Family Disgrace to Global Kingmaker

Chapter 5: The "Friends" of a Ghost

The subway station at 3:00 AM was a bleak, echoing cathedral of concrete and fluorescent hum. I slumped onto a plastic bench that smelled faintly of ammonia, my body shivering in a rhythmic, uncontrollable tremor. I had managed to pull the dry-ish hoodie from my backpack, but it did little to stop the deep, bone-chilling cold that had settled into my marrow.

I stared at the "Kingmaker" notification on my phone.

[Initialization: 1.2%...]

It was moving too slow. I didn't need a holographic interface right now; I needed a friend. I needed someone to tell me this was a nightmare, or at the very least, someone who would let me crash on their couch until the sun came up.

I opened my contacts. Despite my father’s purge, my secret burner phone still held the direct lines to the "Big Three"—the influencers I had personally scouted, branded, and managed into stardom. I had spent countless nights editing their videos, negotiating their contracts, and protecting their reputations when they messed up. Surely, they owed me.

I tapped the first name: Kaelen Vox.

Kaelen was a lifestyle vlogger with twenty million followers. When I found him, he was doing "prank" videos in a grocery store. I turned him into a high-fashion icon. I’d basically built the pedestal he stood on.

The phone rang three times before he picked up. The background noise was a chaotic mix of heavy bass and shouting. A party.

"Yo, who’s this?" Kaelen’s voice sounded muffled, likely through a mouthful of expensive catering.

"Kaelen, it’s Salim," I said, leaning forward to catch the sound over the roar of a passing train. "Listen, man, I’m in a bit of a spot. My family... things went sideways tonight. I’m locked out of my place and my accounts are frozen. I just need a place to crash for a night or two. Maybe a ride?"

There was a pause. The music in the background didn't stop, but Kaelen’s tone shifted instantly. It went from "party mode" to "business cold."

"Salim? Oh, man. I heard about that," Kaelen said. I could hear him walking into a quieter room. "The Bakar Group sent out a mass email to every agency and talent rep in the city an hour ago. Something about a 'Debt of Upbringing' and legal liabilities for anyone who assists you? It was pretty intense, bro."

My heart sank. "Kaelen, I made you. I handled your PR for free for a year. You know I’m the one who got you that luxury watch deal."

"Yeah, and you did that because you were a Bakar," Kaelen shot back, and I could hear the sneer in his voice. "We liked you because you had the keys to the kingdom, Salim. You were our bridge to the elite. But without the Bakar name? You’re just a guy who’s good with an app. And honestly? My brand can’t be associated with a 'disgrace.' It’s bad for my engagement. Don't call this number again, okay? It’s... it’s just not a good look."

Click.

The dial tone was a physical blow to my chest. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the next name. He's just one guy, I told myself. Kaelen was always a bit of a narcissist.

I called Mina Moon. She was the "Sweetheart of TikTok," a singer I had discovered in a local talent show. I had protected her from three different predatory contracts. She used to call me her "big brother."

"Salim?" she answered on the first ring. Her voice sounded worried.

"Mina, thank God. I’m at the 42nd Street station. I’ve been disowned, Mina. They took everything. I just need a little help. Maybe just enough for a hotel?"

"Oh, Salim... I’m so sorry," she whispered. For a second, I felt a rush of relief. But then she continued. "But my manager—the new one your brother Marcus recommended—says I have to be careful. He says the Bakars are looking to sue anyone who 'interferes' with your debt recovery. I have a career to think about. I can't risk a lawsuit from your father."

"Mina, I protected you! I literally saved your career!"

"I know, and I’m grateful! Really!" she said, her voice rising in a panicked pitch. "But the industry is talking, Salim. They’re saying you’re a 'sucker' who got played by his own family. They’re saying you’re a loser who isn't a Bakar anymore. And in this business... nobody wants to deal with losers. I have to go. Good luck!"

She hung up before I could say another word.

My hand was shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. The betrayal was like a physical weight, pressing the air out of my lungs. They weren't just refusing to help; they were acting like I was radioactive.

I had one more shot. Jax Thorne. The "Bad Boy" of the platform. I had stayed up for forty-eight hours straight once to scrub a video of him that would have ended his career. He owed me his entire life.

I dialed.

"What's up, 'Manager'?" Jax answered. He didn't sound worried or guilty. He sounded amused.

"Jax. Kaelen and Mina already ghosted me. Tell me you’re not as shallow as they are."

Jax laughed, a loud, raucous sound. "Shallow? Nah, Salim. I’m just realistic. I saw the video Marcus posted on his private story. You in those neon green shoes, getting kicked out of the gala? Pure comedy gold, man. I almost posted it myself."

"Jax, I’m serious. I’m on the street. I have nothing."

"And that’s the problem, isn't it?" Jax said, his voice dropping the fake friendliness. "We didn't follow you because you were 'Salim.' We followed you because you were 'Salim Bakar.' We were the talent, and you were the guy with the mansion and the R8. Now that the mansion is gone and the R8 is Marcus's, what are you? You’re just a glorified assistant who doesn't even have a laptop."

"I built your empire!" I roared, my voice echoing off the subway tiles. A homeless man sleeping a few benches away stirred and cursed at me.

"And I’ll find someone else to maintain it," Jax replied coldly. "Listen, 'sucker.' The 'Ghost Manager' was a cool myth while it lasted. But a ghost with no house is just... dead. Don't call me again. I’ve got a brand to protect, and it doesn't include beggars."

The call ended.

I sat there in the flickering light of the station, the silence pressing in on me. The "Big Three." The people I had treated like family. They didn't just walk away; they stepped on me on their way out.

I looked at my reflection in the dark glass of a vending machine. I saw a kid in a soaked hoodie, wearing neon green shoes that were two sizes too small, sitting in a subway station with $0 to his name.

They were right. Without the Bakar name, I was a ghost. I was a "loser." I was a sucker who had traded his life for the success of people who didn't even know the meaning of the word loyalty.

I felt a sudden, sharp vibration in my hand.

[Initialization: 5.0%...] [System Note: Social Betrayal Detected. Emotional Threshold Crossed.] [New Skill Unlocked: 'Heart of Ice' (Passive).] [Effect: Emotional pain converted into cold calculation. Clarity +50%.]

The searing heat in my chest—the urge to cry, the urge to scream—suddenly vanished. It didn't go away; it froze. A strange, crystalline calm washed over me. I looked at the names in my contact list. Kaelen. Mina. Jax.

I didn't feel hurt anymore. I felt nothing.

I realized then that they were right about one thing: the "Ghost Manager" was dead. The Salim who wanted their friendship and my father’s approval had died on that gala stage.

I deleted their numbers. One by one.

"You're right, Jax," I whispered, my voice as cold as the subway air. "A ghost with no house is just dead. But a ghost who knows all your secrets? That’s called a haunting."

The 3:15 AM train roared into the station, a gust of hot, metallic wind hitting my face. I stood up. My feet ached, but I didn't care.

I had no friends. I had no family. I had no money.

But for the first time in my life, I wasn't trying to be a Bakar. I was just Salim. And Salim was going to make them all pay.