Richard's POV The thug leader stood before me, his bravado fading fast. He glanced around, looking for a way out. I smirked. “What’s the matter, tough guy? Lost your nerve?” “Back off, man!” he shouted, but his voice cracked. “Not a chance,” I said, stepping closer. “You messed with the wrong family.” He swung at me, but his punch was slow and desperate. I dodged it easily and landed a solid right hook to his jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his face. “Is that all you got?” I taunted. “I expected more from the big bad thug.” He tried to rush me again, but I was ready. I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him into the wall. “Let’s make this simple,” I said, my voice low and menacing. “You leave Amelia and her family alone, or I’ll break every bone in your body.” “Okay, okay!” he gasped, struggling to breathe. “Just let me go!” “Do you promise?” I tightened my grip, making him wince in pain. “Yes! I promise!” he shouted, his voice panicked. I released
RICHARD’S POV I hadn't invited Dennis, the consortium chairman, to my father's house yet. This was the second task my father had given me and my stepbrothers. Time was ticking, and I knew I had to move fast. So, I jumped into my car and sped to the headquarters. Here I was, back in the opulent shark tank of Consortium HQ, my palms slicker than a politician's promises. This whole "befriend the chairman" charade my old man had concocted felt more like a suicide mission than a family bonding exercise. "Alright, Richard," I muttered to myself, smoothing down my rumpled suit. "Second task, Operation Butter Up Dennis. Let's do this.” With a deep breath, I swaggered towards the receptionist, a woman whose smile could make diamonds jealous. "Hi there, sunshine," I chirped, channeling my inner witt. "Richard Thorne here. See if you can work your magic and get me a quick chat with the big cheese himself, Mr. Dennis." Her smile faltered for a millisecond, then returned, a touch less dazzli
I marched up to the secretary's desk, ignoring the disgruntled sighs from the others in the waiting area. They could wait. I had a chairman to charm."Excuse me," I said, leaning casually on the desk. "Is Mr. Dennis available, by any chance? I have a feeling he'd much rather chat with me than these...gentlemen."The secretary flustered, pushing her glasses up her nose. "I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Dennis is a very busy man. All appointments must be made through...""I'm sure he can spare a few minutes," I insisted, my voice taking on a persuasive tone. "Tell him it's about a matter of utmost urgency. And maybe mention that I'm far more interesting company than those two clowns out there."She hesitated, clearly torn between protocol and my undeniable charisma. It’s a gift, I swear. Finally, she caved."Very well, sir. What name shall I give?""Richard. Richard Thorne." And with a final wink, I added, "He'll know who to expect.""Oh, look who thinks he can charm his way to the
RICHARD'S POV The familiar scent of Dad's expensive perfume filled the dining room, but the usual comfort and warmth of the Thorne family dinner was replaced by a heavy, palpable tension that hung in the air like a challenge, making the formal gathering feel strained and uncomfortable. "Don't tell me," William drawled, his voice dripping with feigned sympathy, "the elusive Mr. Dennis is running fashionably late?" I shot him a glare over the rim of my glass, taking a slow sip of my scotch. "Patience, dear brother. Some things in life are worth waiting for." His laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. "You mean like your inheritance? We're still waiting on you to deliver on that one, Richie." "Enough, both of you," Dad interjected, his voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. He sat at the head of the table, a mahogany throne that perfectly embodied his role as the family patriarch. His gaze settled on me, a mixture of expectation and something unnervingly close to pity in hi
RICHARD’S POV The air crackled with the usual pre-dinner tension. William, my perpetually tanned and smug stepbrother, nudged Jonathan, the lankier one, sending a snort of laughter their way. They were at it again, some inside joke undoubtedly at my expense. My stomach clenched, a familiar feeling. Here we were, about to be subjected to another night of their "subtle" jabs and thinly veiled mockery.Just as the tension threatened to solidify into an uncomfortable ice sculpture, Mr. Billingsworth, our ever-so-serious butler, practically burst through the dining room doors. "Sir," he gasped, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched, "a, uh, very distinguished gentleman has arrived with a rather...extensive entourage.”My father, usually stoic even during a hurricane, shot up in his chair, a flicker of surprise flitting across his usually unreadable face. "A gentleman?" Dad questioned, setting down his glass with a clink. "At this hour? Didn't say who it was?"Billingsworth shook h
RICHARD’S POV The rest of dinner was a goddamn circus act. My brothers, suddenly on their best behavior, didn't dare breathe a word against Cathy after her little outburst. It was hilarious watching them tiptoe around her, terrified of saying the wrong thing. William, the king of backhanded compliments, resorted to showering Cathy with insincere flattery. "You know, Cathy, for someone with such a sharp mind, you're remarkably open-minded about... alternative approaches." He said it with a strained smile, like he was trying to swallow a mouthful of vinegar. Jonathan, bless his simple soul, wasn't doing much better. He kept trying to steer the conversation towards his latest charity project, probably hoping to impress Cathy with his altruism. It fell flat, like a bad joke told at a funeral. Cathy, bless her heart, just sat there with a politely bored expression. It was obvious she saw right through their act. William and Jonathan, sensing the shifting tides of power, did thei
RICHARD’S POV The crisp morning air was practically made for golf, and I was supposed to be enjoying the sunshine and the scent of freshly cut grass. But Jonathan and William, naturally, had to turn everything into a competition. So, there we were, on the green, engaged in a heated sibling rivalry that probably looked ridiculous to anyone within a five-mile radius."Okay, Richie," William said, his voice dripping with mock encouragement. "Let's see if those healing hands of yours can also work magic on a nine iron."I ignored his jab and lined up my shot, focusing on the distant flag fluttering in the breeze. "Don't choke now, little brother," Jonathan chimed in, his tone a mix of amusement and thinly veiled malice. "The pressure's on. Daddy's watching." He gestured towards our father, who was sitting in a nearby golf cart, observing our little competition with a detached air. Dad had never been big on expressing emotions, but I could tell he was secretly enjoying William and Jon
RICHARD'S POVAfter the game, I was driving home, still buzzing with the thrill of victory. The game was still fresh in my mind as I drove home, the taste of victory sweet on my tongue. That’s when the Ultra Billionaire System chimed in."Spend $10 million for 3 Ultra Points.”I almost swerved off the road. "$10 million? What the hell am I supposed to buy with that?”I let out a low whistle. "Damn, that's a hefty sum."I decided to swing by my dad’s place. He usually had something interesting going on. As I pulled into the driveway, I saw Jonathan and William’s cars already parked. Great, a family meeting."Hey, Dad," I greeted as I walked in. Jonathan and William stood nearby, their expressions unreadable. "Good timing," Dad said, looking up from a picture on the table. "Richard, glad you could join us," he added, holding up the picture. "What's up?" I asked, curiosity piqued."Time for your next task," my father said, handing me the picture. Jonathan and William started smirking,