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 55
The prestigious stone arches of Elite Society University gleamed under the late morning sun as Chance stepped out of the town car, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. The familiar hum of campus life surrounded him—students laughing near the fountain, the rustle of lecture notes being shuffled, the distant sound of someone practicing violin in the arts block.But today, it all felt a little quieter.Or maybe he had just grown louder inside.The moment his shoes hit the main quad, a familiar voice called out from behind a column of ivy.“Chance!”He turned.Chloe jogged toward him, a curious mix of surprise and concern on her face. Her chestnut waves were pulled into a loose braid, and she had that look she always wore when something was off—but she hadn’t decided yet whether it was good or bad.“You’re not going to believe it,” she said, falling into step beside him.Chance tilted his head. “Try me.”“Prince Harry left this morning.” She announced like she was delivering a specta
Chapter 54
The morning sun filtered gently through the floor-length windows of the Banks Estate breakfast conservatory, spilling golden warmth across the long marble table and bouncing off silver cutlery. Outside, birds chirped across the manicured lawn, and a light breeze rustled the towering hedges surrounding the estate.Inside, the air smelled of fresh-ground coffee, sourdough toast, smoked salmon, and jasmine tea.Chance, in a soft navy polo, sat at the head of the table, flipping through a portfolio on his tablet, his expression calm but thoughtful. To his right was Philip Banks, dressed in a tailored tan vest, sipping his usual lemon tea with the quiet grace of a seasoned strategist. Gary, hair a little tousled from sleep, lounged across from Chance, already halfway through his third croissant. At the far end sat Julia, elegant in a pale linen wrap, her poise unshaken even after a sleepless night.For a few moments, there was only the quiet clink of plates and the rustle of digital paper.
Chapter 53
That same night, Chance had to revisit the documents of the will he had received just to be sure that whatever Roney Bashan had claimed was nothing but lies. Even if his mother had lashed out on him angrily, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was right. Ever since he stepped into the O’ Connor’s shoes, he hadn’t really taken full responsibility of the assets he had inherited.All he did was to take note of the financial records but not once had he been actively involved in any of the businesses that were generating those income, and with this issue with the land, he knew it was time for him to take full responsibility.They were still checking through the documents when Gary held high a piece of document. It was a land deed with Steven O’ Connor’s signature showing a transfer of ownership of the land to Roney Bashan as an act of goodwill.“Are you seeing this?” Gary asked, his voice low, stunned. “It’s like your father gave Archerlands to Roney six months before he died.”Chance didn
Chapter 52
Roney Bashan emerged from the side corridor, wiping his hands with a silk cloth like a man fresh off a feast. The summit was over and the guests have all returned home, leaving him with that feeling of satisfaction that he had been able to announce the erection of his most revered boyhood dream, “Crown City.”As a boy growing up in the shadow of rising empires and watching his father bow before men who controlled the world then, like Steven O’Connor was currently doing, Roney had made a silent vow: one day, he would build something that no dynasty could overshadow.To him, Crown City was never just concrete and glass—it was a living monument, a futuristic kingdom where innovation, control, and legacy fused into one.A city where his name would not merely be written on buildings… but carved into history.And now, with the O’Connor legacy seemingly quiet and their land in his grip, he believed it was time—his time to be the major player in the game of wealth and power until he finally
Chapter 51
The stage of the O’Connor World Pavilion shimmered beneath a cascade of amber lighting as the guests settled into seats. Cameras rolled, glasses clinked, and the buzz of expectation ran electric through the room.This was it—the main address of the evening. Every mogul, tycoon, and high-ranking royal in attendance leaned forward, eyes fixed on the man approaching the stage with the ease of a seasoned performer.Roney Bashan, the patriarch of the Bashan Dynasty.A titan in his own right, he wore power like a second skin. His dark double-breasted suit gleamed under the lights, and his salt-and-pepper beard framed a face sculpted by decades of corporate conquest. Roney Bashan was not just a business ally—he was one of the few men who had stood beside Steven O’Connor during the meteoric rise of the O’Connor Empire.He had witnessed firsthand as Steven transformed a modest family enterprise into a global juggernaut—brick by brick, deal by deal—turning once-forgotten corners of the economy
Chapter 50
The Intercontinental Real Estate Summit—I.R.E.S.—wasn’t just another billionaire conference. It was the event. The kind of summit where invitations were hand-delivered in armored cars, security clearance rivaled that of the G20, and no one without a nine-figure portfolio even made it past the valet.Held inside the O’Connor World Pavilion—a gleaming, cathedral-like structure in Manhattan’s Financial District—the air inside shimmered with legacy, influence, and generational power.The Bashans had really done a good job in putting everything together for this conference and that was an undeniable fact.The guest list had been kept airtight and there was no room for anyone who hadn’t received an invitation, no matter who that person was. This was what they called “strictly by invitation,” and it was worth it, owing to the fact that this summit was for the very great minds that ruled in the real estate space. The Bashan family, who were one of the top players in matters of real estate a
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