"A man who owns the sky shouldn't be caught fighting for scraps in a basement, My Lord."
The voice was professional and devoid of the mockery I had grown accustomed to. I was standing on the gravel driveway of the Darkson estate, the cool air hitting my face. Behind me, the mansion was silent, likely filled with the sound of shattered glass and the frantic gasps of a family that had just realized they had thrown away a god.
In front of me, the world had transformed. The street was no longer just a street; it was a theater of power. Twenty black SUVs sat idling, their headlights cutting through the dark. A line of men in tactical gear stood at attention, their heads bowed as I approached.
Lannen, my newly appointed chief advisor, stood by the open door of the lead Rolls-Royce. He was a man who looked like he had been carved out of granite and dressed in a suit that cost more than a mid-sized house.
"Lannen," I said, my voice sounding hollow in my own ears.
"My Lord," he replied, gesturing to the car.
"We should move. The press has picked up the signal from the broadcast. In ten minutes, this perimeter will be swarmed. It is no longer safe for you to be in... such proximity to the common public."
I slid into the back seat. As the door closed, the noise of the world vanished. Lannen sat across from me, his iPad glowing with data streams.
"How does it feel, sir?" Lannen asked, his eyes studying my face. "To finally be recognized as the Lord of the City?"
I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.
"It feels... enough. Just enough."
Lannen tilted his head.
"Your expression is dull, Mr. Hudson. Most men, upon discovering they are the wealthiest individual in the history of this nation, would be celebrating. Yet, you look like a man who just lost a long-lost friend."
"I went in there to give her one last chance, Lannen," I said, my voice a low murmur. "I went back to that house—the house where they treated me like dirt for years—thinking maybe, Lina would rethink her decision."
"And?"
"And I found her in the arms of the man who tried to destroy our engagement," I said.
I expected to feel a surge of pain, a crushing weight in my chest. But there was nothing. Only a vast, cold emptiness.
"The divorce is final. I signed the papers. She wanted me out of her life permanently. She got exactly what she asked for."
I looked out the window. The Darkson mansion was shrinking in the distance, its gilded gates becoming nothing more than a speck.
"I don't feel hurt," I added, almost to myself. "Is that strange? I spent years believing she was the only thing that made me whole. But watching her today... I realized our time together has come to an end. It's like a book I've finished reading. I can't go back and rewrite the chapters. I just have to close the cover."
Lannen tapped his screen, his face unreadable.
"It is not strange, sir. You were in love with a version of her that didn't exist, or perhaps, a version that died the moment she chose her family's vanity over your genius. You must remember who you are now. You are the most powerful and richest man in this country. You could have any woman in the world just by asking. A duchess, a CEO, a supermodel—they would all crawl across broken glass for a seat at your table."
"I don't want someone who crawls, Lannen," I said.
"Understood," Lannen said, his tone shifting to business.
"But we must address the reality of your new status. We are currently heading to the Hudson Estate. It is a four-hundred-acre property in the hills, fully fortified. You will occupy it permanently. As the Lord, you can no longer wander into mansions unescorted. You represent the economic stability of the Western world now. If you are harmed, the markets collapse. That is why we had to track you down tonight."
"I wanted to be alone for a moment," I said.
"An understandable luxury, but one you can no longer afford," Lannen replied firmly. "And we need to talk about the power dynamics. New York is not just a city of skyscrapers; it is a city of predators. You have the 'Old Money' families—the Darksons were bottom-tier, barely worth a footnote. Then you have the international syndicates and the mafia gangs that control the docks and the shadow markets. They have all been notified of your rise. Some will come to bow. Others will come to test your resolve."
He paused, looking at my frayed suit and my worn sneakers.
"To step into your full power, My Lord, your skin must match your soul. Your dressing must change. Your public image must be curated. From tomorrow, a team of world-class wardrobe managers, stylists, and image consultants will be at your beck and call. You must allow them to do their jobs. A Lord does not wear off-the-rack polyester. You must look like the man who can buy and sell the people who once mocked you."
"I'm a programmer, Lannen. Not a fashion icon."
"You were a programmer," Lannen corrected. "Now, you are the apex. When you walk into a room, the air should feel thinner for everyone else. That starts with how you present yourself. We have already liquidated the Darksons' primary holdings as per your request. By tomorrow morning, their credit scores will be lower than the temperature in the Arctic. They will be looking for you. They will be desperate."
"Let them look," I said. "They won't find the man they knew."
The car turned onto a private road, flanked by high stone walls and security cameras that pivoted as we passed. The gates ahead were massive, forged from black iron with a gold 'H' embossed in the center.
"One more thing, sir," Lannen said as we pulled into a winding driveway lined with ancient oaks.
"There is a legal strategist waiting for you at the estate. She was hired by the investment group to handle the international contracts and the restructuring of the city's charter. Her name is Amara Vale."
"A strategist?" I asked.
"She is the best in the world. But more importantly," Lannen added with a faint, rare smile, "she doesn't care about your money. She only cares about the law and the mind behind the Aegis software. I think you'll find her... refreshing."
The car came to a smooth stop in front of a sprawling manor that looked more like a palace than a house. The front doors opened, and a line of household staff stood waiting.
I stepped out of the car, the cool mountain air filling my lungs. I looked at the massive structure, the lights reflecting in the fountains, and the sheer scale of the life I now owned.
As I walked toward the entrance, I saw a woman standing in the foyer. She wasn't dressed like the socialites at the Darksons' party. She wore a simple, sharp charcoal suit, her hair pulled back in a practical bun. She held a tablet in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.
She just looked at me, her eyes calm and intelligent, as if she were reading the code of my soul.
"Mr. Hudson?" she asked, her voice steady and clear.
I stopped. "Yes."
"I'm Amara. We have a lot of work to do, and I don't like to waste time. Are you ready to actually rule this city, or are you still mourning the people who didn't deserve you?"
I stared at her, the words cutting through the fog of my evening. For the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of something that wasn't bitterness.
"I'm ready," I said.
She nodded once.
"Good. Because the Darksons just filed an emergency injunction to freeze your personal assets. They think they can still play with you."
She turned and walked deeper into the mansion, expecting me to follow. I looked at Lannen, who simply gestured toward the door.
"The game has changed, My Lord," Lannen whispered. "Try to keep up."
I stepped across the threshold, leaving the ghost of Dray Hudson at the door.