Dominic Drayton had once been a man whose name alone carried weight. In glossy magazines and glowing headlines, he was the face of ambition fulfilled: the prodigy who had turned a shoestring startup into an empire. His words filled auditoriums. His strategies reshaped markets. Shareholders toasted his genius, and competitors quietly feared him. He walked through the city like it was his kingdom, every handshake another brick in his castle.

But castles fall. And Dominic's kingdom crumbled with a single betrayal.

It had started with Gideon Laughton. Gideon—his partner, his confidant, his so-called brother. The man Dominic had trusted enough to sign checks blindfolded, to hand over control of numbers more valuable than blood. Gideon leaned in during board meetings with reassuring nods, clapped him on the shoulder after victories, laughed with him over drinks about how unstoppable they were. Dominic once told his wife that if there was anyone in the world he could bet his life on, it was Gideon.

He had been wrong.

The project that ruined him was meant to be his crowning achievement: a billion-dollar investment into renewable infrastructure, pitched as the "future-proof empire." Dominic believed in it so fiercely he put almost everything on the line—his company, his savings, most of his assets. Only his house remained untouched.

When journalists pressed him about the risk, he had grinned: "Risk isn't danger. Risk is where fortune lives."

But the risk had been a lie. Gideon siphoned funds into shell companies, carving his escape while Dominic emptied his soul into the venture. When the numbers collapsed, when green turned to bleeding red, Dominic was left standing alone in the storm.

Investors turned first. Men and women who once begged for his time now shredded him in calls and statements. They demanded explanations, refunds, blood. Lawsuits piled up, each page stamped with the weight of his failures. The press smelled blood too. "Drayton's Downfall.""The King Without a Crown.""From Genius to Fool."

They cheered for me when I won. The moment I bled, they devoured me alive.

He remembered the last day at the office—the glass doors still bearing his name before workers peeled the letters off like dead skin. He stood in the lobby as employees he had mentored filed past him. One muttered traitor. Another spat "idiot". He didn't stop them. What could he say? That he had trusted the wrong man?

And Gideon? Gideon had vanished, millions tucked away offshore, betrayal complete.

Now Dominic was no longer a king. He was a ghost haunting his own house. The study, once a sanctuary of plans and ambition, had become a bunker of decay. Curtains sealed out the sun. The air was heavy with whiskey fumes, the desk buried under bottles and unpaid bills. His phone buzzed endlessly—lawyers, creditors, vultures—but he never picked up.

Let them scream. I've nothing left to give.

The only glow came from the monitor flashing with the chaos of online games. His voice snarled through the headset:

"Piece of shit! If you don't know how to fucking play, quit! Don't drag us down!"

His palm slammed the desk, rattling bottles. Rage burned his throat, but it wasn't at the strangers. It was at Gideon. At the investors. At himself. At the world that crowned him only to laugh when he fell.

From the corner of his eye, a frame gleamed. A wedding photo. Him and his wife, radiant, unshakable. He stared at it, bile rising. That man was gone. That joy was gone. A hollow laugh cracked from his lips as he reached for the frame. For a moment his hand trembled—as though part of him still wanted to hold on. Then—shatter. The frame slammed against the wall, glass raining across the floor, their smiles splintering into a thousand pieces.

Stranger. That's all I am now. Just a stranger sharing her bed. A drunk with a controller in hand.

He tipped the bottle back, whiskey burning down his throat.

Footsteps came from the hall. Familiar. Hesitant. He knew them instantly. His wife. She always walked like that now, bracing for what she might find. He hated that sound, hated that she lingered at his door, hated that her eyes still carried hope.

The door creaked open, spilling a thin line of light into the gloom.

And before she could say a word, he lashed out.

"You're gonna blame me again, huh?" His voice was raw, jagged. He spun in his chair, eyes bloodshot, bottle dangling. "That why you're here? To look at me like I'm some pathetic wreck?"

He laughed then. Not joy. Not humor. A broken, hollow sound. "God, look at you. You still hope. You look at me like I'm some project you can fix. Like this is all just a rough patch." His head tilted, laughter cracking into a rasp. "Newsflash— I'm already rotting."

His voice sharpened, bitter. "Don't pretend you're innocent. You wanted this life too—the deals, the headlines, the bigger house. You smiled every time I promised more. Don't stand there now acting like you weren't part of it."

He jabbed a finger at her, trembling. "All those years, you looked at me like I was invincible. And I killed myself trying to stay that man for you. Well—look at me now. This is what's left."

The bottle slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor, whiskey soaking into the shards of their wedding picture.

Dominic's laugh turned sharp, cruel. "And what's that look on your face? You think you'd have saved me if you'd said more? You think you could've stopped me? Don't flatter yourself. Nobody could."

He pressed a hand hard against his chest, words cracking under their own weight. His voice dropped to a whisper, then spiked back into a scream.

"I'm not the man you married. I'm not even a man anymore—I'm nothing!"

The words shattered into silence, broken laughter lingering in the dark as Dominic sat trembling, eyes locked on her.