Trillionaire they never noticed

All gone

Scott stood over Iniesta, whose body lay still on the cold concrete floor, blood oozing from the wound in his head. The dark pool expanded slowly beneath him, its crimson color contrasting with the dim light that flickered across the dilapidated room.

"Fool," Scott spat disdainfully.

He had no intention of ever playing the Russian Roulette game. The very suggestion had been nothing more than a clever ruse, a psychological trap set to make Iniesta lower his guard. And it had worked. Iniesta had fallen for it, driven by his thirst for revenge and blind ambition. Scott's calm manipulation had turned Iniesta into the architect of his own death.

Scott stood motionless for several minutes, his sharp gaze fixed on the lifeless body. His mind was already calculating the next steps. He had no need to feel guilt or remorse. In this world, it was kill or be killed, and he had simply survived. The air in the room was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. His muscles remained tense, ready