"You're fired."
Selene's voice was soft. Cold.
It hit him like a physical slap.
William shot up from his chair, his face turning an impressive shade of red. "You can't fire me! I own this company!"
Selene shrugged "Owned. Past tense." She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper. "But don't worry. I am hiring. Maybe janitorial work is more your speed?"
His jaw locked. His fists clenched. His entire body tensed like a ticking bomb.
Through gritted teeth, he growled, "My brother will hear about this."
Selene tilted her head. "Let him. He might be the only one more out of touch than you."
William stormed toward the door, livid. "Security!" he barked.
No one moved.
On the contrary, when he opened the door, he found new guards stationed outside. Some of them, he recognized, were from the Hamilton Group.
Blake stepped in, immaculately dressed, expression cool.
"Mister Sinclair," he said smoothly. "Let's not make this harder than it already is."
William blinked. "You—you're siding with her? We have been partners for decades!"
Blake was momentarily confused. They had all believed that Selene would have come as a representative of the Sinclair Family. What was going on?
But she was already the major shareholder now.
Selene repeated with a sigh, "Blake works for the Hamilton Group. And as of this morning, I'm the largest shareholder. You sold the company, William. I just... bought it."
The words dropped like steel bricks.
Two Hamilton bodyguards entered silently behind Blake, clad in the company's signature slate-black suits. They didn't need to speak—their presence alone was enough to shift the room's oxygen.
Selene didn't blink. "Escort him out."
She waved a hand, almost casually, like she was shooing away a fly.
William didn't move.
Instead, he laughed.
The kind of laugh that didn't sound amused at all. The kind that curled at the edges with something darker.
"You think this makes you powerful?" he sneered. "You think some money and a fancy title can change what you are?"
Selene raised an eyebrow.
"You're still the same little embarrassment who begged scraps from her own family," William hissed. "You fooled the world for a minute. But it'll all come crashing down. You're just trash with money. A paper crown on a pawn."
The guards stepped forward.
William instantly stepped back, "Get lost! I'm a Sinclair! TOUCH ME AND YOUR FAMILIES WILL GET BURIED WITH YOU!"
He turned on Selene, marching toward her—aggressively. All his pride, all his inherited authority, she ruined it.
The bodyguards hesitated. Blake was at a loss for words.
They could not so casually go again a Sinclair, but they can't let their new boss be harmed either. Before either of them could decide how to react, Selene took an instinctive step back.
A flicker of old fear passed through her—being alone, abandoned, with no one to save her from the wretched times of her life.
And for a second, just one second, Selene was that girl again.
Ding!
[Strength Buff Activated!]
Selene grabbed William's wrist before he could slap her. And her grip? It was iron. Painfully so.
William froze.
It wasn't the grip that stunned him.
It was the fact that he couldn't pull away.
His body trembled—one part rage, two part disbelief. He snarled, twisting, trying to yank his hand free but Selene didn't budge.
And she could not understand.
What has she ever done to her uncle? Why did he hate her so much?
[Do you want to know?]
The system's unexpected question took Selene aback.
Before her, William's face was twisted with bitterness. So much anger and hatred that Selene felt more confused than annoyed.
And for a moment, no one moved. His wrist was still gripped in her deceptively delicate hand. But William wasn't done.
Just as her confusion made her hesitate, he used his other hand.
Selene cursed.
Blake moved.
In a few steps, he was between them. William's hand struck him—but Blake kept a calm expression. His gaze was stern yet unbelievably polite.
"Please calm down, Mister Sinclair." He said quietly, and then cast a pointed glance toward the door.
Selene and William followed his gaze together.
There was a child at the door. A small girl—five, maybe six—stood holding a stuffed rabbit half her size. Her pigtails were messy, her cheeks flushed.
"Daddy, are they hurting you?" she asked, eyes wide and wet.
William froze.
His entire body slackened like a puppet with its strings cut.
Selene felt disgusted. 'You feel so much when it comes to your daughter?'
"No, sweetheart," he croaked. "Daddy's fine. It's okay."
Selene slowly released his wrist.
He didn't resist.
The guards exchanged hesitant glances. Selene watched the child. At the way she clutched that rabbit like it was armor. At the tears slipping down her face.
William was immediately at her side.
Consoling her, telling her sweet lies.
And suddenly, all of it—the shouting, the company, the ownership—felt so unbearably small. As William ushered his daughter out of the office, her gaze met with Selene for a second.
They have met a few times before.
Selene offered a smile.
And just like that, it was over.
"Find me a new CEO for Crystal Avenue," Selene sighed, "Someone efficient. And make sure no Sinclair ever steps foot in here again."
Blake hesitated. So many questions were racing in his mind. Everything about Selene Sinclair was confusing. Interesting. He nodded. "Understood."
They left the office together.
Selene said nothing after that.
The world, for the first time in a long time… felt like it belonged to her.
And that made her feel so strange.
What if it was all taken again?
Blake and Selene went to Penthouse 401.
"Miss Sinclair," he spoke as if nothing had happened, brought out his tablet, and began briefing, "Renovations are already underway. We've restored the original floor plan as per archival blueprints."
Selene nodded, impressed.
She had only mentioned to Blake that she wanted penthouse 401 and how she wished it would be in its original state.
But alas, the penthouse was renovated some years ago to suit the minimalistic trends.
The walls were being painted pale dove gray now—soft, warm, painfully familiar. The same color her mother used to describe as "moonlight melted into paint."
It wasn't just being restored.
It was being resurrected.
They moved deeper into space. There were three large bedrooms and four bathrooms. A private cinema. An indoor zen garden, and a spiral staircase that looked like it belonged to a classic villain from the spy movies.
The living room was vast. A ballroom that no one had ever danced in. A library. A terrace with a climate-controlled pool, and…
Selene felt tired just looking around.
It was so huge. So luxurious.
Once these things have been normal for her. Now? It all felt like a fever dream.
Blake left once he had given her an update about the renovations. They would be completed by next morning.
Selene's final stop was the balcony through the master bedroom.
It was entirely made of glass—so impossibly high it felt like the clouds were beneath her. For one breathless moment, with the wind whipping past and the night city sprawling like a simulation below, Selene could almost feel like the world belonged to her.
And all she could think was:
"What if I lose it again?"
She'd lost everything once—family, dignity, hope. It had taken years to stop flinching at locked doors and champagne glasses.
Now she had it all. Power. Wealth. Revenge in progress.
And it still felt like paper.
Flammable.
Selene gripped the glass railing tightly.
[Careful, player. You only have three hours and thirty minutes to complete the quest.]
[Amount left to spend: Eighty Billion Dollars!]
Selene almost fell from the balcony.
"Eighty billions?!" She exclaimed, shocked and suddenly impossibly scared.
Three and a half hours to burn through an impossible mountain of cash—and she was standing around like an emotionally overwhelmed artist.
[Correct.]
The system responded nonchalantly.
"Right," Selene sighed. "Meltdown later."
She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the glowing InstaPay app like it was a magic wand.
A world-class chef?
Private islands?
A diamond-encrusted indoor cat sanctuary?
"Let's make some questionable financial decisions."
And with that, Selene began her next act:
Absurd, satirical billionaire chaos.
Ding!
'Three hundred million dollars have been deducted!'
Ding!
'One hundred million dollars have been deducted!'
Ding!
'Five dollars have been deducted!'
And yet—not enough.
She glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes.
Her stomach twisted.
"System, give me ideas!"
[Here are the next possible purchases in different industries to minimalize suspicions: A fleet of vintage sports cars. A rare diamond collection. A private concert featuring a retired rock legend.]
Selene agreed to all of them.
The Insta-pay app instantly made payments.
'Time remaining: Twenty Minutes.'
"Ugh, not fast enough!" She groaned. "Charities! Let's do them!"
The app instantly showed a list of available charities where she could spend as much money as possible. At the bottom of the screen, there was an option to "Donate All". She pressed it right away.
Ding!
'You have donated a hundred million dollars to the Children's Hospital!'
Ding!
'You have donated a hundred million dollars to Animal Welfare!'
Ding!
'You have donated a hundred million dollars to Carnivorous Rights!'
Ding!
'You have spent fifty billion dollars in total! Fifty percent progress is complete!'
And yet, still not enough.
Selene stared at the countdown.
[One minute remaining.]
Her mind raced. There had to be something—anything—left to buy.
Then, suddenly—
Ding!
.
.
.
.
In a subterranean command center beneath the World Bank, a series of red alerts blinked across twelve different digital vaults.
A technician with a PhD in Financial Systems and a noob in existential dread stared at the screen.
"Sir," Warren whispered. "We've just had fifty billion dollars vanish. Simultaneously. From twelve institutions. All traced to internal movements. No withdrawal records. No recipients. Just… gone."
The senior analyst—a man who hadn't taken a vacation in seventeen years because he didn't trust other people with "the buttons"—removed his glasses slowly.
"Is this a cyberattack? Someone hacked into our vaults?"
Warren smiled painfully. "No, sir. It's... it's like the money politely asked to leave, and the vaults agreed to let it go.""
They both stared at the flickering anomaly report. On every screen, one word repeated over and over in corrupted code:
"FINAL ASCENSION INITIATED."
"ERRORRRRRRRRRRR! INFINITE ANOMALIES DETECTED!"
Someone, somewhere, had just poked a tiny hole in the global economy.
And that someone was curled on a custom velvet couch, eating instant ramen in a diamond-encrusted bowl, completely unaware of the avalanche she'd just started.