THE SUPREME KING OF WEALTH

ORDERED BY THE KING

The entire compound was dressed in gold and red.

Ribbons stretched across pillars, wrapped around the gates, and hung in careful loops along the driveway. Lantern-like decorations swayed gently in the morning breeze, catching the sunlight and casting a warm glow across the polished marble floor.

For a brief moment, Connor just stood there, his suitcase in hand.

“What… is all this?” he muttered under his breath.

Behind him, footsteps echoed.

“Why are you standing there?” Clara’s voice came, sharp and impatient.

Connor turned slightly. Clara, Mrs. Sam, and Mason stood at the entrance, watching him like he was something they wanted gone as soon as possible.

Connor gave a small nod. “Nothing. I was just leaving.”

Mrs. Sam scoffed. “You’ve overstayed already. Hurry up and disappear.”

Connor looked at them one last time. His gaze lingered for a second longer on Clara, but his expression didn’t change.

“Goodbye,” he said calmly.

Clara folded her arms. “Just go.”

He turned away without another word, but his eyes drifted back to the decorations again. The gold and red colors felt too deliberate, too grand to be random.

Something was happening.

As he walked down the driveway, the distant sound of engines grew louder.

Then, one after another, four luxury cars rolled into the compound.

Each one was decorated with the same gold and red ribbons, polished to perfection, moving in a slow, coordinated convoy.

Connor stepped aside naturally, letting them pass.

A few staff members hurried past him, their voices filled with excitement.

“Did you hear? Today is Young Master Gatlin's marriage ritual!”

“Yes! Everything has been prepared since last night!”

Connor’s steps slowed slightly.

“Marriage… ritual,” he whispered under his breath.

For a second, something flickered in his chest. Then it faded just as quickly.

There was no point.

Clara had already made her choice. He had already signed the divorce papers.

Whatever came next had nothing to do with him.

Connor tightened his grip on his suitcase and walked out of the compound without looking back.

Outside the gate, he paused briefly.

His eyes moved to the spot where his Mercedes S-Class was usually parked, and it was empty.

He stared at it for a second, then exhaled quietly.

“Of course,” he murmured.

It didn’t matter.

He adjusted his grip on the suitcase and stepped onto the street.

As he walked, a practical thought surfaced.

“How am I going to pay for a taxi… or even a place to stay?”

For a moment, the reality of his situation pressed down on him.

Then suddenly—he stopped.

A memory surfaced.

The Forex account.

Years ago, back when he still had billions, he had casually set aside some money from Forex trading. It wasn’t much compared to his wealth at the time—just a side exercise to sharpen his instincts as a CEO.

To him back then, it was nothing. Just pocket change.

But now it meant a lot to him.

Connor’s lips curved slightly.

“That should still be there.”

As he continued walking, a few onlookers began whispering.

“Isn’t that him? Clara’s worthless husband?”

“The one who lost everything?”

“Once a billionaire… look at him now.”

Connor heard them clearly.

He didn’t react.

Not even a glance.

He simply kept walking, steady and calm, like their words didn’t exist.

After a few more steps, he pulled out his Samsung phone and opened the forex account.

The screen loaded.

Then the number appeared.

$500.

Connor let out a quiet breath, a faint smile forming.

“Still there.”

He quickly transferred it to his main wallet and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

He walked a little further before raising his hand to stop a taxi.

The car slowed and pulled over.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

Connor opened the door and got in. “Moonlight Hotel.”

The driver nodded. “Alright.”

As the taxi moved, Connor leaned back slightly, his phone in his hand again. He scrolled through his old forex history—charts, trades, patterns.

He had been good.

No—more than good.

Even back then, he could read the market like a map. It wasn’t something he relied on, but something he understood deeply.

A small smile crossed his face.

“I might need that again.”

Minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of a modest building.

Moonlight Hotel.

It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean. A simple signboard hung above the entrance, and the glass doors reflected the quiet street outside.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

Connor nodded and transferred the fare.

“Thank you.”

He stepped out, carrying his suitcase inside.

At the reception desk, a young woman looked up. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

“I need a room,” Connor said.

“For how many nights?”

“Two.”

She typed quickly. “That will be $200 for two nights.”

Connor nodded and paid without hesitation.

She handed him a keycard. “Room 204. Second floor.”

“Thank you.”

Connor walked upstairs, his steps steady.

Inside the room, he placed his suitcase down and sat on the recliner.

The silence settled in.

How long would his money last.

He leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.

“What next?”

Before he could reach for his phone again, it vibrated.

A video message.

From Martin Davis.

Connor frowned slightly and tapped it open.

The screen lit up, revealing a middle-aged man in a suit, his expression tense.

“Young Master Connor Wood,” Martin said urgently. “I will pass this to Old Master Wood. He wants to speak with you.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed.

Then the screen shifted.

An elderly man appeared.

He was lying on a hospital bed, dressed in a loose hospital gown. His head was mostly bald, with thin grey hair combed backward. His face looked pale, tired, and strained, and his breathing was uneven.

“Son…” the old man said weakly.

Connor’s grip tightened slightly on the phone.

“Please… come back quickly,” the man continued. “If I die… there will be a great war in the business empire.”

His voice trembled.

“I know… I wronged you… and your mother,” he said, his eyes filled with regret. “I am sorry… so sorry. I failed you both… and now she is gone…”

Connor’s expression hardened slightly, but he didn’t speak.

The old man coughed, clutching his chest.

“Please… forgive me,” he continued weakly. “You are my bloodline… the only one who deserves this. Come back… I really beg you…”

He struggled to breathe, coughing again.

Connor leaned forward slightly. “What about your other sons—”

The screen shook.

The old man’s hand trembled in view, then the image cut.

Martin Davis reappeared.

“Did you accept the invitation?” he asked quickly.

Connor didn’t respond immediately.

His mind was a storm.

The same man who abandoned him.

The same man who refused to help when they needed it most.

Now… begging.

“Did you accept?” Martin asked again, more urgently.

Connor’s jaw tightened.

Then he nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Martin let out a small breath of relief. “Good. Where are you residing?”

“Midland City,” Connor said.

“Midland City… Palacia State?” Mr. Davis tried to confirm.

“Yes.” Connor simply said.

Martin nodded. “A private jet will arrive at Midland City Airport tomorrow. Be ready.”

The call ended.

Connor stared at the screen for a moment.

“So this is how it begins again…” he murmured.

He had too many questions to ask Martin about his connection with his estranged father.

But he knew this wasn’t something to settle over a call.

This would be face-to-face.

He dropped the phone onto the bed and leaned back.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

The same day that broke him…

…had just opened a door he never expected.