PART 4
Within a mere twenty-four hours, St. Jude University had completely transformed. The usual atmosphere of arrogant privilege was replaced by a trembling, cautious silence.
The students who had once laughed loudly at “the guy in the ragged hoodie” now kept their heads bowed whenever they walked across the central lawn. They had come to realize a terrifying truth: in this place, anyone could be a god walking among them in plain clothes.
For Chloe, those twenty-four hours were an eternity of torment in the deepest depths of hell.
Twilight was falling. A cold, gray autumn shower poured down upon the campus.
Chloe trudged out of the gates of the VIP dormitory complex. There were no flashing designer outfits left, no haughty layers of makeup. She wore a plain, dark coat, her hair matted from the rain.
Her family was completely bankrupt. Her black credit cards had been frozen. The administration of St. Jude—the very people who used to bow before her father’s multi-million-dollar donations—had sent an email expelling her in the dead of night, citing a “violation of the university’s moral standards.”
Chloe dragged a cheap plastic suitcase containing the few meager belongings the bank had not yet confiscated. The wheels of the suitcase were jammed, screeching pathetically against the cobblestone road.
She stood shivering under the bus shelter, her pale lips trembling as she waited for a run-down bus to take her away from what used to be her kingdom.
Everything was over. Her entire existence had been erased with a single snap of Arthur Sterling’s fingers.
But just as despair was drowning Chloe into the absolute bottom, a brilliant beam of light pierced through the curtain of rain.
A sleek, pitch-black Rolls-Royce Phantom with no license plates glided to a halt like a silent ghost on the drenched pavement. The car stopped directly in front of her, blocking the splashing rain.
The rear window rolled down smoothly. An elderly gentleman sat in the shadows of the plush leather cabin, dressed in a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit. On his index finger was a platinum ring engraved with a serpent biting its own tail.
“Weeping in the rain will not restore your father’s bank accounts, little girl,” the man’s voice echoed. It was raspy but carried a terrifying authority that easily cut through the downpour.
Chloe startled backward, clutching her suitcase tightly. “Who… who are you?”
The man tilted his head slightly, revealing a cold, half-hearted smirk.
“Who I am is not important. What matters is that I know exactly who pushed your family over the edge. Arthur Sterling.” He tapped his ringed finger against the window ledge.
“The boy thought he could hide under the guise of a poor student to escape his family’s war. But yesterday, out of petty personal pride against you, he made a fatal mistake: he bared his fangs. And that allowed him to be tracked.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. The freezing rain seemed to vanish. In its place, a toxic flame of hatred and hope began to ignite in her chest.
“Get in the car, Chloe,” the man said, casting a gaze as sharp as a razor toward her. “Decide. Do you want to remain discarded trash, or do you want to become my pawn to make the Sterling family bleed?”
Chloe looked down at her battered suitcase, then up into the warm, luxurious cabin of the vehicle. Without a shred of hesitation, she pulled the door open and stepped inside. The Rolls-Royce vanished into the night, swallowing the fallen queen into an even deeper darkness.
The Predator in the Penthouse
At that exact moment, on the highest floor of the Sterling Tower in the heart of midtown Manhattan…
Arthur Sterling stood before a towering sheet of transparent tempered glass, looking down at the brilliant, glowing grid of the city. Through the glass, all of New York seemed to lay beneath the soles of his shoes.
The ragged gray hoodie—his perfect disguise for the past year—now lay inside the fireplace, burning away into crumbling patches of ash.
Arthur gently swirled the glass of whisky in his hand, his deep eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He knew the consequences of unlocking that Ferrari in the middle of the campus lot. The video had gone viral. The mask was shattered. The sleeping dragon had officially awakened, and his brief taste of freedom was dead.
Bzzzt… Bzzzt…
The encrypted satellite phone resting on the marble table suddenly vibrated. The screen displayed no caller ID, only a flashing, deep red glow. Only three people in the entire world knew that line.
Arthur set his glass down, walked over, and calmly pressed the answer button.
“You made a great deal of noise, Arthur,” a woman’s voice spoke from the other end. Her tone was sharp, elegant, and chilling to the bone. It was his mother, the supreme matriarch of the Sterling empire.
“Erasing a worthless tech company just because of a schoolyard argument? That is not how a hidden heir operates.”
“It was the fastest way to clear the trash, Mother,” Arthur replied, his voice completely level without a single ripple of emotion.
“And it was also the fastest way to tell our family’s enemies exactly where you are,” his mother sighed, a sound heavy with calculated foresight.
“Your patience has run out, and so has the family’s protection for you at St. Jude. That video has already reached your Uncle Victor and the Board of Directors. They are already making their moves.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I can handle it myself.”
“I certainly hope so,” the voice on the other end grew deadly serious. “Because ten minutes ago, the tower’s cyber security system was breached. They didn’t steal anything. They only left a message on the main monitor.”
Arthur frowned. “What message?”
“‘The child has left the cradle. The hunt begins.’” Before Arthur could even respond, the line went dead.
The moment the dial tone echoed through the massive penthouse, every single light in Arthur’s room instantly cut out.
The warm glow was swallowed by pitch-black darkness. The automatic blinds slammed shut. A red emergency beacon on the ceiling began to rotate, casting blood-colored streaks across Arthur’s expressionless face.
From the darkest corner of the room, where the emergency light could not reach, came the distinct, heavy click of a gun’s safety being switched off.
Click.
May you like
Arthur did not turn around. The corner of his mouth slowly curled into a highly dangerous smile. The game of playing a poor student was over.
And the bloody war among the elite had only just begun.
