The world doesn't end with fire and destruction, nor with a zombie apocalypse or a massive tsunami. For Vincent Rothvale, it ended in solitude, buried beneath manipulated contracts and the crushing betrayal of the person he had once considered his entire world.
That was the stark, bitter truth as he walked the cold, polished marble corridors of the Imperial Hotel. Each of his footsteps echoed, a hollow, mournful sound like a funeral march, bouncing off the opulent walls.
Just yesterday, this very place had been his stage of triumph. The grand hall had buzzed with excitement, his name on everyone's lips, splashed across online news outlets and beaming for television screens.
Vincent Rothvale, the New Market King - A Monopoly Deal in AI and Agriculture That Will Reshape the Country's Economy.
His company, Rothvale Enterprises, had been on the verge of securing a multi-billion-dollar deal—a monopoly in AI-driven agriculture that promised to reshape the country's economic landscape.
This deal wasn't just a business transaction; it was his ticket to immortality in the competitive tech world, the culmination of years of relentless work, countless sleepless nights, and profound personal sacrifice.
But today, every news platform told a different story. The headlines now screamed a brutal reality that sliced though him like a cold blade:
The Fall of Rothvale Enterprises - A Failed Deal, A Bankrupt Company.
His long-time rival, Person Rush of Universe Enterprises, had snatched the deal from under him. And Vincent knew exactly how it had happened, the intricate web of deceit that had led to his downfall.
As he approached the grand hall, where Pearson Rush's company was undoubtedly holding their victory celebration, he hesitated for a moment. He stood at the ornate entrance, unsure whether to step inside and face the humiliation, or turn away and disappear into the anonymity of the city.
The guests inside, dressed in expensive suits and gowns costing thousands, turned toward the entrance. A collective hush fell over the room as they noticed him standing there, watching him with a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity.
Vincent was already wearing his black suit, the one he had bought weeks ago. It wasn't for this event, of course, but for his own planned victory celebration.
The person who had helped him choose it, the one who had offered advice and encouragement, was the person he loved most in this world, his partner—the only person he truly trusted.
The low murmurs from the guests, who had clearly recognized him, pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Poor Vincent," one whispered, though the tone held little actual symphaty.
"All his efforts to win the contract ended in complete failure."
Another chuckled, a cruel, dismissive sound. "Haha, he should've known that contract was never meant for a small fish like him."
Vincent clenched his jaw, ignoring their whispers, letting their words was over him without penetration. He wasn't there for them He was there for her.
'You're all wrong. I didn't lose the contract because my company is small,' he thought, his gaze fixed on the brightly lit stage at the far end of the hall.
Standing there was a beautiful woman. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing striking golden eyes.
She was dressed in an elegant black gown, a luxurious fabric that hugged her figure. She was laughing, her hand, encased in a long black silk glove that stretched all the way up to her elbow, covering her mouth in a gesture of refined amusement.
She was not wearing the dress he had bought for her. That dress, a simple yet elegant design, now seemed insignificant.
The gown and the glittering jewelry she wore now looked far more expensive, clearly custom-made. He remembered the exact moment she had stopped in front of a high-end boutique mannequin displaying that very dress, whining playfully, asking him to buy it for her.
He hadn't been able to afford it then, not with all the capital tied up in the deal.
The man standing beside her was undoubtedly the one who had purchased it for her—a young man with sharp, aristocratic features and a strong jawline, dressed in an impeccable suit. He was speaking with a group of powerful businessmen, exuding an air of easy confidence, standing next to the woman Vincent once knew so well.
It was Pearson Rush.
Seeing her, seeing them together, a cold fury began to simmer within Vincent, pushing aside the murmurs of the crowd. He ignored everything around him and stepped forward, walking directly into the grand hall, his eyes locked on her.
Guests who noticed his determined stride instinctively made way, a ripple of movement spreading through the crowd. Some whispered excitedly to each other, other watched with expressions of anticipation, eager to witness the inevitable confrontation unfold.
Selena Hilton. Her name echoed in his mind, over and over, with every measured step he took toward the stage.
His lover. His closest confidante. His manager. The one person he trusted most in this world.
And also, a traitor.
For years, Selena had been his salvation, his unwavering support, his primary source of motivation. He had always worked relentlessly, driven by an intense desire to give her everything she wanted, to build a future worthy of her.
She had been by his side through countless sleepless nights while he painstakingly built the AI-driven agriculture program from the ground up. She had helped him shape complex business strategies, forging crucial connections with influential figures in government and technology.
She had even helped him secure the tender for the very contract that was supposed to change his company's fate forever, propelling them into a new era of prosperity.
But in the end, she had sold what he had spent months creating, what had cost him endless nights of exhaustion and financial strain—she had sold it to his fiercest competitor.
And even worse, his competitor had far greater funding and resources, allowing them not only to buy his core work but also to develop supporting programs for AI and agriculture as and added bonus, creating an unbeatable package.
That damned contract had slipped right into Pearson Rush's hands, leaving Vincent with absolutely nothing. All the funding for developing the groundbreaking program had come from a series of high-stakes bank loans, which required him to put up everything he owned as collateral.
Now, with the deal lost, all of it was gone.
She was the direct cause of it all. The woman who had once been his lover was now standing beside his rival, Pearson Rush, the heir to Universe Enterprises, radiating confidence and success.
And she noticed him. And she smiled as he approached, a faint, almost imperceptible curve of her lips.
Seeing her smile sent a fresh wave of fury through his mind, tangling with the burning, unanswered question—why had she betrayed him?
As Vincent neared the stage, she took a small step away from the group of men she had been conversing with. She tilted her head slightly, holding a champagne glass close to her chest, her golden eyes fixed on him.
"You!" Vincent called out, his voice hoarse, thick with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You stole my hard work and sold it to Universe Enterprises!"
Selena let out a soft, crisp laugh at his words, a sound that carried a hint of pity, almost amusement.
"Oh, darling," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "I only helped more people gain wider access to the program. But what can I say? You were always meant to lose."
She took a relaxed sip of her champagne, her gaze never leaving his.
Vincent felt his blood boil, his hands clenching tightly at his sides, his nails digging into his palms.
"Why? After everything we've been through, why did you do this?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the suddenly silent hall. Every eye in the room was now fixed on the commotion unfolding at the edge of the stage, eager to witness the drama.
Selena sighed, a theatrical gesture of impatience, and took a small step forward, moving closer to Vincent as he stood beneath the stage. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper, audible only to him.
"You will never understand the meaning of power and money, will you?"
Then she straightened her posture, her gaze locking with his, her golden eyes cold and unfeeling. "You were never meant to have it all."
Her words hit him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that stole his breath. He had given her everything—his trust, his unconditional love, his very dreams.
And she had callously thrown it all away, not for love, but for a man who could simply offer her more wealth, more status, more power. The realization burned through him, leaving a hollow, aching void in its wake.
"You're wrong," he said, his voice trembling with barely contained rage, a raw emotion that threatened to consume him. "I built that program. I poured my soul into it. And you—"
"Enough," Pearson interrupted, his tone sharp and dismissive as he stepped forward, placing a possessive hand on Selena's back. "You've already lost, Vincent. Go home before you embarrass yourself further."
With those final words, Pearson grinned, a triumphant, mocking expression, and wrapped an arm around Selena's waist, raising his champagne glass toward Vincent in a silent, arrogant toast.
Moments later, Vincent felt strong hands gripping his arms. Several security guards, who had clearly received a silent signal from Pearson, moved in. They grabbed him firmly and dragged him away, their movements brisk and uncaring.
The guests watched, some with smug satisfaction, their faces reflecting the schadenfreude of witnessing a downfall. Others looked on with a detached pity, as if observing a tragic play.
Even the security staff, mere employees, treated him like garbage, a piece of refuse to be discarded. He was shoved out of the hotel, forced into the biting cold of the street where freshly fallen snow blanketed the ground.
He had no chance to grab his thin coat, left behind in his shock.
The cold bit through his thin suit, but it was nothing compared to the chill that had settled deep in his heart. He turned back, pounding on the elegant glass doors, but the guards inside ignored him, their faces impassive.
One of them, with a final gesture of contempt, tossed his old coat at him. It landed in a crumpled heap at his feet, a pathetic symbol of his fall.
Vincent picked it up, clutching it tightly to his chest as he stood alone in the swirling snow. The city lights blurred around him, distorted by the unshed tears stinging his eyes.
How had it come to this?
Just yesterday, he was on top of the world, hailed as a visionary, a king.
Now, he was nothing—a bankrupt man with a broken heart, a shattered dream, and the chilling realization that everything he believed in had been a lie.