2025-05-08 19:37:25The sunlight poured in through the high windows of the penthouse suite, casting golden streaks across the polished marble floor. Chance O’Connor stood by the expansive glass wall, staring out at the skyline, the city unfolding beneath him like a conquered kingdom. Just yesterday, he was a boy begging to be seen. Today, he stood as a man who owned more than anyone in the nation could imagine.
His phone buzzed gently on the countertop beside a freshly brewed cup of cappuccino. He glanced at it.
"Mom," read the caller ID.
He swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear.
“Chance,” Julia Franklin’s warm, firm voice came through, layered with pride and something deeper—relief, perhaps. “I just got the confirmation from Eagleswood. You did it.”
He turned, leaning against the cold surface of the kitchen island, a half-smile forming on his face. “Yeah. It’s real. I signed everything. It’s… official.”
A breath of silence passed between them.
“I’m proud of you,” she said softly. “You’ve come into your legacy.”
He paused, lips tightening.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?” he asked, his tone low. “Why did you let me suffer all these years? The bullying, the humiliation, the poverty... Why?”
Julia sighed on the other end of the line. “Because I had to protect you. The world you’ve just stepped into, Chance, it’s not gentle. It devours the unready. I wanted you to be strong enough first. And now you are.”
Her voice wavered, and for a moment, Chance heard the emotion—years of sacrifice and secrecy pressed into her words.
“I’m sorry,” she added, and Chance closed his eyes, letting the moment linger. He wanted to stay angry, but he couldn’t. Not really.
He nodded to himself. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “Listen, I need you to attend something for me tonight—an elite auction. It’s private, highly exclusive. I can’t be there, but I need you to represent me. There’s a diamond necklace I want you to get.”
Chance raised a brow. “A necklace?”
“Yes. You’ll understand why when you see it. I’ve sent the invite and location to your email. Dress like a Franklin, walk like an O’Connor. And Chance…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll need that financial support soon. The campaign trail is draining my resources.”
He smiled. “Whatever you need, Mom. I’ll handle it.”
Just as the call ended, another buzz vibrated through the phone. This time, the name “Chloe Martins” appeared on the screen. Chance’s heart lifted. A good friend of his from school, maybe his only true friend.
Chloe was one of those few people who treated Chance with respect since he joined the school. She was stunningly beautiful, with a perfect body curve, a brilliant mind, and a kind soul. Her father was the nation’s deputy chief of police; he was an influential man and one who didn’t joke with his family, especially his little princess, Chloe.
Chance picked up immediately. “Chloe?”
“Chance! Oh thank God,” her voice rang with excitement and concern. “You’ve been off the radar since yesterday. Are you okay?”
Chance chuckled. “I’m alive. Just needed to clear my head.”
“I heard what happened with Roy. That was beyond cruel. I was going to talk to my father about pressing charges—”
“No,” Chance interrupted gently. “Don’t. Please.”
She paused, confused. “But—”
“I appreciate it, really. But Roy’s nothing now. I’ve handled it. There’s more to me than people think.”
Chloe was silent for a moment. “You sound different.”
“I am,” he said with a small smirk. “I’ll explain everything later.”
“Well, alright,” she said, her voice softening. “But only if you promise to come to my birthday party tonight. Everyone will be there, but honestly, it won’t matter to me if you’re not.”
Chance’s chest warmed at her sincerity. “I’ll be there.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They ended the call, and Chance stared at his reflection in the gleaming black mirror of the cabinet nearby. His old self was dissolving, layer by layer. The world didn’t know it yet, but they were about to witness the rise of a new king.
—
Later that evening, the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, and the city sparkled like a field of diamonds under the night sky. Chance pulled up to the auction venue in his sleek Bentley Escapade. The entrance was roped off, guarded by towering men in tuxedos and sunglasses, their expressions stoic. One glance at his invitation, and the velvet ropes parted like royalty had arrived.
He entered a grand hall filled with some of the most powerful people in the country. Celebrities, billionaires, political dynasties—they were all here, dressed in dripping luxury, sipping from champagne flutes like gods of Olympus.
Chance walked with slow confidence, dressed in an obsidian-black custom suit, tailored to perfection. The auction had already begun, and a heated bid was taking place over a rare Fabergé egg. The current bid stood at $18 million.
He took a seat in his reserved section, nodding slightly to those who looked his way. While he waited for the necklace, his mother remained on the call, muted but watching via a secure feed through his glasses—part of the tech Steven O’Connor had developed long ago.
Suddenly, the next item was announced.
“A true marvel of style and elegance… the Louis Vuitton Black Widow bag. The only one of its kind, embedded with black pearls, obsidian stones, and finished with dragon-scale leather. Bidding starts at $200,000.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Chance sat up slightly. The bag shimmered under the auction lights, seductive and powerful. He felt his mother’s voice stir in his ear.
“That bag,” she said, “get it. Flex your wings. Besides… you have no gift for Chloe’s birthday yet.”
Chance grinned. “You’ve been spying on my friends now?”
“She’s a good one. Show her she matters. And sharpen your claws before the necklace comes up.”
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Chapter 12
The sun was only just brushing its light across the rooftops when Chance pulled his Bentley Escapade into the winding, ivy-lined driveway of the Warrens’ private estate. The silence of the early morning amplified the soft purr of the engine, its elegance clashing with the calm suburban setting. He was dressed in black—a fine, tailored ensemble that matched the car’s polished body—and his face bore the same unbothered calm it had the night before at Carlton Hotel.He stepped out and rang the bell.When the butler opened the door, Chance didn’t wait for an invitation. “I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. Warren,” he said flatly.A few moments later, Mr. Warren and his wife appeared in the doorway. Their faces shifted from mild curiosity to outright disbelief. The man from the party. The boy who was mocked by Rickon and everyone. The same one who handed Chloe a Louis Vuitton Black Widow and walked away with anger after being publicly shamed.And now he was here, standing like he belonged in the
Chapter 11
Chance’s hands clenched the steering wheel as he left the party. His jaw was tight, his temple pulsing. He’d tried to ignore it. For years, he’d turned the other cheek, let the whispers slide, and kept to himself. But this? This public humiliation, orchestrated by Rickon, was the final straw. He’d tried to be the bigger person—but what had that gotten him? Mockery.Never again.Not when he was now Chance O'Connor, the richest man alive. Worth over a trillion dollars. The name behind conglomerates that ruled every sector from energy to fashion to tech. No one—no one—insulted him or his loved one and walked away untouched.Rickon’s mother had already taken a swing at him earlier that day. And now, Rickon had just followed in her steps for the second time in one day.It was time to put the Sanders in their place.He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number he’d memorized just that morning.“Mr. O'Connor?” came the voice of Michael Goodman, the director of Eagleswood Central B
Chapter 10
The clubhouse roared with life. Music blasted from every corner, drinks flowed like rivers, and laughter bounced off the glass walls. Rickon sat at the center of it all, legs sprawled and arms wide, as if the entire party existed solely for his amusement. He didn’t care much for the noise or the chaos—what mattered was that the ladies adored him. Every flirtatious glance, every giggle aimed his way fueled his already inflated ego. And Beauty, ever the drama queen, was livestreaming the entire event, pouting into her camera as she called him “Zaddy Rickon.”Rickon grinned like a devil in velvet. This was his realm, his world, and the crowd fed off his presence like moths to a flame.When he was buzzed enough to feel invincible, he clapped loudly, silencing the music for a moment. “Yo, Chance!” he called, his voice slurred slightly. “You bring anything for my girl, Chloe? Don’t tell me you showed up here empty-handed to just feed off her like the charity case you are.”Chloe, standing
Chapter 9
Rickon stood to his feet, a broad smile stretching across his face—the kind worn by someone who just won the lottery. He answered her question with pride, saying he had gone to get his premium card. His father’s net worth had just hit $10 billion, and to celebrate, he had paid for Rickon to receive a premium card.Cheers erupted around him. The girls looked at him with admiration. Reckon couldn’t measure up to Chance’s smarts; everyone knew this, but he played his role as the money guy perfectly. He might not have been the smartest conversationalist, but money spoke louder than charm here. He was the heir to a $10 billion fortune.There were others in school whose parents were wealthier than Rickon’s, but he still stood out. They might not be able to hold intelligent conversations with him either, but they certainly enjoyed spending his money.With exaggerated flair, Rickon pulled out the silver card from his wallet and waved it proudly in the air. The cheers grew louder, mixed with h
Chapter 8
Chance stepped out of the auction house with a satisfaction that warmed his chest like a vintage bourbon. The look on Mary Sander’s face—shock, confusion, humiliation—played on repeat in his mind like his favorite song. For years, they’d spat on his name and treated his mother like a blemish on society’s skin. But today? Today, he’d cracked their pride like porcelain.But he wasn’t done with them yet. Except, he hadn’t decided yet what to do with them. That was the fun part. Deciding their punishment. But he knew this much: when he was through with the Sanders, their entire lineage would remember never to cross an O’Connor.***The Carlton Hotel glowed in the distance as he pulled into the valet area, drawing a few heads with the quiet confidence of his arrival. He stepped out, dressed to stun in his fitted charcoal suit, a single red rose in one hand, and in the other, a sleek leather bag—not the original exotic packaging the auction house had given him for the $3 million Louis Vuitt
Chapter 7
The auctioneer presented the bag as Item 6622 with a starting bid of $200,000. The war began again over this item, and Chance joined in when the price got to $400,000. The next bidder placed a bid at $450,000, and Chance, not wanting the bid to last that long, jumped it up to $800,000. This sudden spike in price caused a stir. It wasn’t just the money—it was the audacity. For some of the guests, it was borderline disrespectful. This was an elite auction house, not a playground for a young man trying to show off.A low murmur rippled through the crowd, people turning their heads to see who had made such a bold move. It was the young man in a midnight-blue tuxedo—Chance Franklin. The boy with the face of calm arrogance. They didn’t know who he was yet, not fully. But they would.The woman who had placed the $450,000 bid raised her paddle and called out, “One million.”Gasps followed, a few chuckles from seasoned players in the room who appreciated a good duel.Chance didn’t hesitate. "T
Chapter 6
The sunlight poured in through the high windows of the penthouse suite, casting golden streaks across the polished marble floor. Chance O’Connor stood by the expansive glass wall, staring out at the skyline, the city unfolding beneath him like a conquered kingdom. Just yesterday, he was a boy begging to be seen. Today, he stood as a man who owned more than anyone in the nation could imagine.His phone buzzed gently on the countertop beside a freshly brewed cup of cappuccino. He glanced at it."Mom," read the caller ID.He swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear.“Chance,” Julia Franklin’s warm, firm voice came through, layered with pride and something deeper—relief, perhaps. “I just got the confirmation from Eagleswood. You did it.”He turned, leaning against the cold surface of the kitchen island, a half-smile forming on his face. “Yeah. It’s real. I signed everything. It’s… official.”A breath of silence passed between them.“I’m proud of you,” she said softly. “You’ve come
Chapter 5
The slap still echoed in Chance’s ears when the female attendant who had landed the second one dropped to her knees, joined swiftly by the security guards. But none of it was for him. Instead, all their attention was turned to the sharply dressed young man Chance recognized with a jolt—Rickon Sander.Rickon, one of ESU’s most toxic elites, was grinning with all the arrogance of old money and unchecked power. The bank director, a man in his late fifties, came rushing in, clearly agitated, and practically stumbled into a bow. “Mr. Sander, our deepest apologies.”Rickon waved it off, eyes twinkling as he stole a glance at Chance, who was still rubbing his cheek. "No need," he said, voice thick with mockery. “Slapping a pauper feels therapeutic. I might just make it a habit.”Rickon felt glad the minute he recognized that it was Chance he’d slapped. He hated the guy's guts. In fact, he wanted to slap him again. Chance’s existence irritated him to no end. He was a nobody and didn’t deserve
Chapter 4
The ride to Washington, D.C., was silent.Chance leaned his head against the window of the sleek Maybach, watching the world blur by. Luxury cars, towering glass buildings, and tailored suits walking along marble pavements. None of it impressed him anymore—not after what he'd endured. Not after what he felt.He hadn’t even looked at his stepfather once since they left campus. The man, dressed in a navy blue suit, sat quietly across from him, his phone resting on his lap. Occasionally, he glanced up, probably to make sure Chance was still there, still quiet.The car eventually slowed to a stop in front of a mansion that looked straight out of a billionaire’s fantasy. Marble columns. Manicured lawns stretching forever. Security at every angle. Chance looked at the gate camera and swallowed hard. It had been years since he left. Years since he last called this place home.The door opened, and Julia Franklin stepped out—graceful, elegant, and immaculately dressed in an all-white designer
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