The Rise Of The Orphan Billionare

Chapter 8: Where The Light Touches

As the car rolled on, Nelson felt his chest tighten like someone was piling bricks on him one by one. He tried to lean back, hoping the soft leather seat would ease him, but it didn’t. His head was pounding. 

He began to recall all the sadistic memories stored in his brain; kids laughing at his lunch-box when he was much younger, him being bullied for being an orphan, Rachel walking away and publicly breaking up with him like he was nothing. The whispers after that day in class when he had been made a fool. The cold stink of the cell he was locked in for a crime he did not commit, the silence that made him wonder if life had already ended for him.

And now —this?

A ride in a car that looked like it had rolled straight out of a dream he had no business having. The driver, with his clean suit and glassy eyes, had greeted him with “Welcome, young master,” and Nelson almost burst out laughing. Him? Young master? He’d been called worse —“orphan” was practically a title —but “master”? No, it didn't fit.

Nelson looked out the tinted glass. The outside world looked far away, like he’d already been lifted out of his life and dumped into someone else’s. His stomach twisted, half fear, half a hope he didn’t trust. Maybe —just maybe— this was the start of something. Not just for him. For Grandma. He wanted her to breathe without wheezing, to walk without wincing, to never again have to choose between paying for her pills or paying for light.

The car drove so quietly like he was in a train, like the engines were turned off and the car was only propelled by a magical force. Only expensive cars had that feature. Also, the cologne smell on the man before him was a stark contrast to his. He only used cologne when he wanted to go to important places. Like school events or meeting up with Rachael, hoping for the day she would finally agree to kiss him.

But that day never came, and looking back, he couldn’t be more grateful. He just made the best decision of his life. Leaving behind a gold-digger.

Finally, they reached a checkpoint. 

Nelson sat up straighter, wide-eyed as the iron gates opened. Beyond them stretched an estate so wide it could have been its own city. Bold walls, sharp lines, glass catching the last of the sun. 

It was just so massive, so beautiful.

The driveway wound forever through gardens, trimmed like they’d been cut with scissors. Fountains threw silver water in the air like it was nothing.

It was a place for people who were born rich. Not for people like him. Yet, here he was.

The car soon stopped, smooth as butter, no sound, no shake. A guard opened his door before he even reached for the handle. Nelson stepped out slowly, like the ground might reject him.

Tony nodded ahead. “This way.”

“Where is this place?” Nelson gently asked. 

Tony turned around, smiling. “Young Master, everything you see here, everything the light touches, all belongs to you.” 

Nelson looked at him. “And what about where the light does not touch?”

“That also.” Tony smiled and gestured, “Please,”

Nelson couldn’t stop admiring the architecture of the estate. It was perfectly structured from ground up to the tallest building in the estate, the very one they were heading into. Two guards stood by the door and bowed to him. 

He had to get used to men –huge men– bowing down to him.

Inside hit harder. Marble floors so polished they almost blinded him. The diamond chandeliers swung gently. Gold frames holding paintings that probably cost more than the whole block where he grew up. Everything spotless, like dirt itself wasn’t allowed.

He felt out of place, like any second someone would point and say, Get out. You don’t belong here.

But his mind kept darting back to Grandma. Was she okay right now? Were they really helping her? If they were, then he owed them a debt so deep he’d never climb out of it.

Finally, they stopped before a pair of huge doors, covered in patterns that pulled his eyes whether he wanted or not. Tony knocked.

“Come in,” a deep voice said from inside.

The doors swung open.

The room glowed warm, sandalwood in the air. At the far end sat a man in a huge armchair. He turned slowly, and Nelson finally saw the Grandmaster’s face. An old man –not really old, probably mid 40’s– with sleek white hair that was so permed so beautifully, not a single strand dared to flick. 

Nelson’s pulse jumped. He knew this man. He was popularly known as Mr. Zeus, the personal assistant to the richest man on the planet. Everyone knew and still knows Mr. Zeus. How the heck was he standing before him?

Why?

Questions stormed through his head, but one thing settled cold and clear: whatever happened next, life as he knew it was finished.