The sound is deafening.
Final.
I lie there for a breath. Then another.
The hallway is silent now—no footsteps, no apologies. Just me and the echo of everything I didn’t say.
I push myself up, one palm braced to the floor, the other gripping my ribs.
He’s really going to let it happen.
He’s going to let strangers strip this house bare. Let Mom’s dreams turn to dust. Let her die without the only place that’s ever felt like home.
Unless I stop him.
And I will.
No matter what I have to do, I won’t let her lose this place.
Ihave officially become the most bored tech genius billionaire to ever walk the face of this earth. Possibly the universe. And I’m not being dramatic. This is totally legit.
All my companies are running like oiled machines.
Data centers are operational and stable.
I finished a prototype schematic for a robotic AI assistant with full environmental and spatial AI awareness this morning. You know—just because I had nothing else to do.
I should’ve been proud of it, but I yawned through the whole thing.
Even got into my motorcycle cosplay—leather pants, no shirt, helmet confidence and that whole “is he a criminal or a Calvin Klein model?” aesthetic—and filmed a dozen thirst trap videos for my socials. Nothing fancy. Just brooding helmet-eye contact and flexing in various lighting conditions while my bike purred beneath me like the damn slut she is.
My scripts will post them over the next two weeks, my bots automatically interacting with comments and feeding the fanbase their daily dose of digital wet dreams. I have nearly five hundred million followers. Most of them think I’m an enigma. Mysterious. Brooding.
I’m just really fucking bored.
Maybe I’ll fire off the robot specs to my top teams. Tell them the first team to get a working prototype before I do gets an all-expenses-paid cruise. First-class. Unlimited liquor. Full spa package.
I might even go into the office and challenge them to a build-off. Give the interns heart palpitations.
But even that sounds… meh.
So, I flick on the TV. Open Snapchat on the big screen. Pull up the map just to people-watch. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s out doing stupid shit they’ll regret by morning. Maybe I’ll find some inspiration in an underground fight I can join for shits and gigs.
One avatar specifically screams at me in an instant.
“And what do we have here?”
Cassidy Hayes’ adorable little avatar is bouncing along in a car like she has somewhere important to be.
I narrow my eyes.
“Well, well. Where’s my little chargee off to?”
Because yes—I’m babysitting her.
No—I didn’t ask for this.
Yes—I’m going to have way too much fun with it.
