2026-01-25 20:15:50
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49. The weight of a Hundred Million
[DING! Payment Successful]The sound wasn't loud, but in the sudden, suffocating silence of the hall, it echoed like a cannon blast.For a heartbeat, time simply stopped. Jaws didn’t just drop; they slackened as the reality of the transaction settled over the room. The auctioneer stood frozen, his hand still gripped around the microphone as if he’d forgotten its purpose."No... way!"The words finally tore from Mr. Adams’ throat, and like a dam breaking, absolute chaos followed."Unbelievable! Ladies and gentlemen, the boy wasn't barking—he just bit the entire room! The payment is confirmed!" the auctioneer shrieked into the mic, her voice hitting a frantic, high-pitched register.The crowd lost its collective mind."Is he... a hidden tycoon?""I’ve never seen him in the Forbes circles! Who is he?""That’s how billionaires these days are. They dress like beggars just to watch us squirm!"Mark d
48. A bet
If the world saw how pathetic these "elites" truly were, they would be decimated. A scandal of this magnitude wouldn’t just trend on the news and social platforms; it would incinerate legacies. For Mr. Adams however, it would be an opportunity to boost his fame and popularity. In the world of the ultra-rich, other people’s reputations are merely stepping stones. If the paparazzi captured the Simpson family’s public unraveling, Adams’ own brand would skyrocket. Or at least that was his mentality.In an instant, the doors swung wide. The paparazzi flooded the hall like a tidal wave, mics extended and camera flashes strobing against the velvet curtains."Mr. Adams! What changed?" a reporter shrieked, shoving a microphone toward him. "You demanded total privacy, and now you’re inviting a broadcast?"Adams leaned back, his voice dripping with calculated malice. "I was losing interest. This room is filled with businesses that bore me to tears. How
47. Auction Chaos
"Going once... going twice?" The auctioneer’s voice cracked like a whip through the vaulted ceiling of the hall. "Sold! This item now belongs to the Damien family!"A polite ripple of applause followed Mr. Damien—a man whose suit likely cost more than a mid-sized sedan—as he stepped forward to claim his prize. The auction had been a marathon of a parade of artifacts fetching anywhere from five hundred thousand to a cool million."Ladies and gentlemen, presenting our final and most anticipated item on the menu!" The host beamed. His assistant shuffled forward, treating a cloth-covered canvas as if it were a holy relic. "This is the 'Mourning Lisa'... or rather, the modern reimagining! A piece of soul-shattering art created by none other than Leroy Benjamin, a name that's known in every gallery from Paris to Tokyo."He whipped the cloth away, revealing the canvas to the gasping crowd. The air in the room grew heavy with greed; whoeve
46. Golden year
When Enny hissed the order for security to drag Mark out, Evelyn Clarice—seated among the elite—half-rose from her chair. Her instincts screamed at her to protect him.But then she remembered his words over the phone.No matter what happens, don’t stand up for me.She bit her lip, frozen. Could she really just sit back and watch him be humiliated?Her husband, Steve, noticed her trembling hands. He reached over, interlacing his fingers with hers and squeezing gently. "Trust him, honey," he whispered. "Look at his eyes. Those aren't the eyes of a victim. They’re the eyes of a predator."Evelyn looked. Mark stood in the center of the hall, flanked by three security guards wielding batons. He looked bored."Last warning, kid," the lead guard growled. "Walk out, or we carry you out."Mark didn't move. He didn't plead. He simply kept his hands buried in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a king obser
45. The event
(Saturday Morning)Today was the day.Mark woke up and took a long, refreshing bath. After that, he dressed in the new clothes Evelyn Clarice had bought for him the other day. He checked his phone: 9:58 AM. The event began at ten. He was running late, but that was by design. Impact was everything; he wanted to make his entrance only after Enny was settled, her ego already inflated by the room's opulence.Slipping a few bills into his pocket, he headed downstairs.In the living room, his mother and sister were on their knees, scrubbing the floors. They froze as he descended the stairs, looking like he had stepped off the cover of a luxury magazine."Where are you going, sweetie?" Clara asked softly, wiping her hands on her apron as she stood to meet him.Mark pulled out his phone and typed: *Just a small business meeting.*"Business?" She raised a skeptical brow."Since when did you become a tycoon, Mar
44. A toast
Third-Person Pov[The Simpson Estate: Westgate Town]Reclining on plush, ivory leather couches that cost more than a modest suburban home, Enny and her parents sipped vintage red wine from crystal glasses."So, sweetheart," her father, Sam, began, his voice brimming with curiosity. "How are you finding the CEO's chair? Is Simpson Enterprises behaving itself under your leadership?""Oh, Sam, don’t be boorish," Samantha, his wife interrupted, though her eyes danced with pride. "You know perfectly well our daughter was born for this. She has the family’s business intuition in her blood."Sam chuckled, his gums flashing briefly. "I know, I know. She takes after me, after all.""Hardly!" Samantha scoffed, swirling her glass. "Enny gets her sharp wit from me. I’m the pillar of this family; without my guidance, this house and the business would be in shambles.""What’s that supposed to mean?" Sam asked, smoothing his silver mustache, which was groomed to match his impeccably styled hair."Ex
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