2025-04-30 21:36:23Jamie stood at the far end of the winery, clutching the chilled bottle of champagne like it was the last thing tying him to this world. His hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the chaos boiling inside him. The warehouse-like backroom was dim, humid, and reeked of stale liquor and broken dreams. Echoes of laughter and music boomed from the club, the sound of a world he wasn’t invited to.
He leaned against a rack of dusty Merlots, staring at nothing. It had been only a few hours since his mother’s passing, and everything was crumbling. He couldn’t afford the hospital bills, the funeral, or even a quiet moment to grieve. He had nowhere to go and no one left. His stepbrothers had made sure of that. His body still smelled faintly of the alley he slept in last night. His shirt clung to his skin, stained and stiff. His eyes stung from lack of sleep and too many tears.
A roar of cheers erupted from the main floor, a distant storm he couldn’t muster the energy to care about. All he wanted was a moment to breathe, to mourn, but a guttural voice sliced through the stillness.
“Jamie! Get your ass out here with that bottle, now!” It was his boss, yelling from the service door.Snapping out of his daze, Jamie grabbed the Dom Pérignon and hurried out, the weight of the bottle a cruel mirror to the burden crushing him. He wove through the pulsing crowd—glittering students in their designer armor—until he reached the VIP lounge. And then he froze. Amanda Conway, his girlfriend of six months, was draped over Nathan Reynold, her lips locked with his, hands roaming in a way that turned Jamie’s stomach to ash.
Not just a peck, not just drunk affection. A full, drawn-out kiss, her hands tangled in Nathan’s shirt while his fingers traced lazy circles along her waist.
Jamie froze. He blinked, hoping his eyes had deceived him. But it was real. The betrayal wrapped its claws around his heart, pulling tight until he could barely breathe.
“What the hell is this?” Jamie’s voice cracked as he took a step forward, still clutching the champagne.
Amanda didn’t even flinch. She kept her arm around Nathan, casually chewing her gum. It was Jonathan who answered.
“Oh, Jamie, relax.” Jonathan lounged back, smirking like a cat with a kill. “You didn’t think you deserved her, did you? A goddess like Amanda? I hooked her up with Nathan—a real man with real money. You’re nothing.”
The words stabbed deeper than Jamie thought possible. Amanda had been his tether—flawed, selfish, but his. Now, with his mother gone, his job teetering, and Ben’s rejection still bleeding fresh, this betrayal snapped something inside him. He turned to her, voice trembling. “Amanda, what are you doing?”
She finally met his gaze, eyes cold as marble. “I don’t care about you, Jamie. Your mom’s dead—your big support system. You’ve got nothing left. Nathan’s a man, not a broke loser who might off himself any day. Every girl wants him. You’re done.”
Her words were a hammer, each blow cracking his resolve. “You’re insane,” he spat, anger flaring. “That’s not—”
“Insane?” She laughed, sharp and venomous. “Your witch of a mom dragged you down, and now you’re free to sink alone.”
Jonathan echoed her, “Witch! Witch!”—a chant that spread through the lounge, the crowd gleefully joining in.
The room spun. The air was thick with judgment and mockery. His chest tightened.
Jonathan clapped his hands. “She said it perfectly. I mean, seriously—your mom was a witch, always looking like she crawled out of a grave. Honestly, Jamie, she did the world a favor dying.”
That was it.
The bottle slipped from Jamie’s hand and smashed into glittering pieces on the floor. Before anyone could react, he lunged at Jonathan, fists flying.
“You son of a—!”
They tumbled over the lounge table. Glasses shattered, drinks spilled. Chairs crashed as the chaos drew attention. People screamed, but it was all muffled in Jamie’s ears. He was screaming too—screaming for his mother, for Amanda, for every humiliation they had forced on him since he stepped foot into this cursed world.
But it was six against one.
Jonathan recovered first. Then Nathan joined in. Then Danny. Then the others. Jamie took hit after hit until he was spitting blood and stumbling backward. He tore away from the crowd, shoved through the bouncers, and burst out into the night.
Rain poured, soaking him instantly. He didn’t care. He ran.
He ran through the streets, down alleys, across intersections, all while the sting of betrayal and the pounding in his chest screamed louder than the thunder overhead. He ended up on a bridge that overlooked the city. The skyline glowed like a mocking reminder of everything he didn’t have.
He stared down at the black water below. He thought of his mother’s smile, of how she used to sing to him at night. He thought of how she told him he was special. That he was meant for something great.
“Why did you lie to me, Mom?” Jamie sobbed. “Why did you say I mattered? Why did you leave me here?”
His phone buzzed. He ignored it. But it buzzed again—and again.
Grimacing, he fumbled it out of his pocket, ready to throw it off the bridge. But the caller ID stopped him. “Mr. Dalton - Manager”
He answered instinctively. “What—”
“You’re done, Jamie,” his boss barked. “You just broke a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle and started a brawl with VIP clients. You better run. I swear, if you’re not behind bars by morning, it’ll be a miracle. You hear me?”
Jamie was speechless. As if he didn’t already know.
He hung up and stared at the device. One flick, and he could be free. He could join his mother. End it all. He raised his hand.
But then it buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from his bank. Credit Alert. Jamie snorted. Probably a refund on some stupid subscription he forgot to cancel.
But the number made him pause. $100,000.
His mouth dropped. Attached was a message.
“Use this to clear your mother’s bills. I couldn’t live with myself if her body ended up in the hands of harvesters. It’s my monthly allowance. I know it’s not enough, but please take it.” —Stacy.
Tears filled his eyes. Stacy. The only one in that damned house who ever treated him like he mattered.
He wiped his face and opened his bank app to return the money. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her kindness. He couldn’t keep it. Even if he paid the hospital, Mick and his stepbrothers would hunt him, and $10,000 still loomed out of reach. He opened his bank app to send it back, but his breath caught.
What he saw made him stop breathing.
Available Balance: $10,000,100,500.
He blinked.
Refreshed.
It was still there.
He refreshed over and over, but the figure remained unchanged.
Ten billion. One hundred thousand. Five hundred dollars.
“What the hell…” Jamie whispered, gripping the rail to steady himself. He stared at the screen like it was written in another language.
First, the $500 from his last stipend he got from Ben that morning.
Then the $100,000 from Stacy.
But ten billion? Where the hell did that come from?
Then his phone rang again. Unknown number. His thumb hovered, then he picked up.
“Hello?”
“Jamie,” said a calm, stately voice. “My name is Raymond Ashford.”
Jamie’s knees nearly buckled. Raymond Ashford? The patriarch of the most powerful family on Earth? The man whose name could shut down countries? Who wasn’t aware of such a man? The Ashford clan, a $53 trillion dynasty that whispered to puppeteer the world from shadows. A myth to some, a terror to others. “Is this a prank?” he croaked.
“I—what?” Jamie stammered.
“I sent you the money,” Raymond continued. “It’s a promise I made to your mother.”
“My mother?” Jamie’s voice trembled. “You knew her?”
There was a pause.
“She was more than you knew. And so are you. Listen carefully: I’m your grandfather. You are my grandson. And you are the rightful heir to the Ashford legacy.”
Jamie didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The world tilted beneath his feet.
“You were never a nobody,” Raymond continued. “You matter more than anyone else in this world. You’re my blood. And no one will ever hurt you again. From today, doors will open. Men will bow. Everything changes.”
He took a breath. “I’ll arrange our meeting soon. For now, enjoy this small token. There’s more coming.”
The line went dead.
Jamie stared at the city lights as thunder rumbled in the distance. His heart pounded—not from pain anymore, but from possibility.
He wasn’t broken.
He wasn’t poor.
He wasn’t a victim.
He was an Ashford.
A laugh burst from him, wild and jagged, swelling into a shout of triumph. His life flipped in an instant, a pauper turned prince. Ten billion dollars in cash—no loans, no shares to sell, just liquid power. The Reynolds, Tyson Crook, all their fortunes combined couldn’t touch him. Ben’s $400 million? Pocket change. Tyson’s $1 billion, his family’s $7 billion? Peanuts. Jamie could buy their empires outright, snap his fingers, and watch them kneel.
A slow smile broke across his face as he turned from the bridge. For the first time in his life, he stood tall. He wiped the blood from his mouth and looked up at the rain.
It was time for the world to see the real Jamie. The one they tried to bury. The one they all mocked.
The king had arrived.
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