Part 3Showdown, I'm not trash, I'm rich

Night fell, and the rain intensified.

I dragged my suitcase through the streets.

My phone had long died, I was soaked, cold, and hungry.

These past five years, all my energy had been focused on the company. I had no friends, let alone family.

I was a lost soul in this city.

As I passed a dimly lit alley, several figures emerged from the darkness and surrounded me.

The leader was a punk with neon-colored hair, holding a steel pipe, smirking with a street-smart arrogance. “You the ungrateful monster, Liam Stone?”

I glanced at them. They were just young thugs, their faces lit with cheap fanaticism.

I knew who they were: Julian Thorne’s fans, Isabella’s blades for a proxy murder.

“Get lost,” I said, my voice low, but it cut through the rain.

The punk seemed provoked.

“F***ing bastard, still got a smart mouth, huh? Get him, boys! Avenge Julian!”

Fists and feet landed on me.

I didn’t fight back, curling up to protect my head and heart.

I felt my bones rattle, my consciousness starting to blur.

A kick slammed into my right ribs.

I heard the crisp snap of bone.

Excruciating pain, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

They got tired and finally stopped.

“Barely put up a fight, did he?” The punk spat on me. “Remember, this is what you owe Julian.”

They left.

Only I remained in the alley, amidst the cold rain.

I lay in the muddy, blood-soaked ground, feeling my body temperature slowly fade.

So, this was what she meant by “rot in the gutters.”

But I didn’t want to die.

I used my last ounce of strength to pull a waterproof, sealed pouch from my soaked inner pocket.

Inside was a discreet, custom phone that was always fully charged.

I pressed the single button.

It was a signal emitter.

For five years, I had never used it.

This was my father’s last gift, my ultimate safety net.

Three minutes.

If my brother, Ryan Stone, didn’t show up within three minutes, it meant my high-stakes gamble had failed miserably.

Rain blurred my vision.

I felt myself fading.

Just as my consciousness was about to disappear, blinding headlights tore through the curtain of rain.

The car door opened, and a tall figure, holding a black umbrella, strode quickly toward me.

It was my brother, Ryan Stone.

He knelt, seeing my bloodied, injured body, and his eyes instantly turned red.

“Liam!”

“Ryan…” I opened my mouth, my voice weak.

“Don’t talk! I’ll get you to the hospital right away!” He moved to pick me up.

I looked at him, using all my remaining strength. “Ryan… the plan, activate. Let them… fly high for a little while longer.”

Ryan froze. He looked at my blood-smeared but clear-eyed face and understood what I meant.

He set aside the idea of taking me to a public hospital, simply helping me into the car.

The car was warm.

Before I lost consciousness, only one thought remained in my mind:

Isabella Hayes, Julian Thorne.

It’s time for me to direct the show.

I disappeared for a full seven days.

During these seven days, the online trial against me reached its peak.