Venard West sat on the rooftop of his penthouse, champagne bottle cracked open, glass raised to the city skyline like a king mocking his own kingdom. The air smelled of power, wealth, and betrayal—his three closest companions."You all thought I'd fall, didn't you?" he muttered to himself, a smirk forming beneath his thick beard. "You bet against me, whispered behind my back, called me 'too ambitious'—as if that was an insult."He took a slow sip, letting the bubbles remind him of every deal he closed, every empire he built, and every enemy who choked on their own arrogance. The same people who laughed at him now sent him messages at 2 AM, begging for a seat at his table. Too late.The city below was a machine, running on lies, greed, and desperation. He knew because he had learned to control it. He had politicians in his pocket, billionaires on speed dial, and women who claimed they didn't love money—but somehow always found themselves in his world of luxury.Venard chuckled, shaking his head. "They love to call me ruthless. But what's worse—being the lion who takes what he wants or the sheep who waits to be slaughtered?"As he took another sip, he glanced at his phone. A missed call from an old friend turned enemy. He laughed. "You wanted to see me fail. Now you need me to save you. Funny how life works."
The night was young, and the game never ended. He poured another glass—this one, for the fools who still didn't understand: he doesn't lose.