The weather was cold and grey, with not a single ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, hinting at an impending storm. For the residents of Karath, this dreary weather was nothing unusual; it mirrored their cold, miserable lives. As gloomy as it was, they went on with their routines, toiling for the things they idolized, resigned to the sadness that enveloped them.
In an alleyway, Alan struggled to rise and face another harsh day. The night before, he had drunk himself to sleep, wrestling with memories of a life that seemed like a distant dream. As he packed his meager belongings—a bag of moldy clothes stuffed into a pillowcase and a dirty blanket—he reflected on his fall from grace. Tall and of medium build, Alan's body bore the marks of a life lived without privilege. His eyes, foreign in their sincerity, carried a hint of innocence that drew others in, yet they reflected the weight of his struggles. Large, calloused hands told stories of hardship, and though he was only in his late twenties, his sunken eyes and rough appearance made him seem far older. His teeth, stained from years of tobacco, added to his weary visage—a once-promising youth now reduced to a homeless man , just hoping to see another day.
Earlier on in his life,Alan had been adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Williams, a couple revered in the town, as they were unable to bear children. He excelled academically, determined to prove he was worthy of their love and the inheritance they had promised. But envy festered among the other royal community; they could not fathom that a fourteen-year-old adopted from the streets could be heir to the Williams' fortune. Tragedy struck one winter when Alan was away on a class trip—the Williams were found dead under suspicious circumstances. Whispers of foul play circulated in the polished circles of the wealthy, leaving Alan as the convenient scapegoat. Once dining in glittering halls, he was now discarded, a shadow of the boy he once was, a painful reminder of the family's downfall.
Left to fend for himself, Alan had only his school knowledge to rely on—nothing had prepared him for the harsh realities of street life. He lacked the courage to beg for food, and the thought of the rich made his stomach twist with anger. He yearned for revenge, but he was painfully aware that he could do nothing. This realization sickened him. Alone in the world, he had to navigate the unforgiving streets, and over time, the memories of his former life faded, overshadowed by survival instincts. Yet, the warmth of Mr. and Mrs. Williams' kindness lingered in his mind like a fleeting dream.
Despite the despair, Alan had come to terms with his situation, accepting that he could not change the past. He scanned the alley to ensure no one was watching before hiding his belongings in a small crack behind a dumpster—his territory now. With a sigh, he murmured a silent prayer, steeling himself for the day ahead. He set off to seek work, hoping to find a place desperate enough to overlook his tattered appearance. a walking reminder of the harshness of life is what Alan is reduced to now.
*
"Janice,hold all my calls" as John spoke with authority, the air seemed to carry weight as the subtle yet authoritative words reached Janice's ears. She answered him in a calmly manners almost hiding the tremor in her voice "Ok mister Hue i will do so"
John a man in his early thirties was born into a well off family he was white in complexion brown eyes, a goatee that shouted power though he was bald he was the talk of the office 'wow so good looking' 'i hear he is single' he had a kind of aura to him that lured many.He wore the hell out of suits-not 'just' suits but imagine a luxurious, expertly tailored suit crafted from the finest Italian wool. The fabric is a deep charcoal grey with a subtle sheen, exuding sophistication without being overly flashy. The jacket is cut in a slim, modern fit, with sharp, structured shoulders and narrow lapels that convey a sleek, streamlined appearance. Hand-stitched details, such as a delicate pick-stitch along the lapel and pockets, add an artisan touch. The trousers are perfectly tapered, giving a clean silhouette while allowing comfortable movement. His tailored suit's cost could sustain a low class house hold for years.
Everything about him spelt power. He is a power hungry person always on the look to increase his wealth, power and influence.
He inherited his family's vast wealth as an only child, but unlike the typical image of privileged heirs, he wasn't spoiled. Instead, he was disciplined, driven by a strong sense of order and purpose. His father was his role model—a no-nonsense businessman whom he admired deeply and sought to emulate in every way.
Tragically, his parents were killed in an accident, a loss that shook him to the core. Yet, in the wake of their death, he made a solemn vow: to uphold his father's legacy and continue the work with the same unwavering determination that defined the man he revered.
He believed he had discovered the key to perpetual success: maintaining absolute emotional detachment in all matters related to business. By removing feelings from his decisions, he was convinced he could achieve unparalleled clarity and focus. To him, emotional attachments were liabilities, distractions from his goals. He surrounded himself only with people he could benefit from, valuing relationships solely for their strategic advantage rather than any personal connection.
He ultimately achieved his goal, but at the cost of him being hollow. Though respected for his business acumen, he was seen as cold and hollow, a man who had sacrificed his emotions for success. Relationships were a foreign concept to him—he never pursued one, believing that all women were gold diggers by default. His isolation grew as his success did, leaving him surrounded by respect but devoid of true connection.He occasionally sought one-night stands with random women outside of town, drawn by the allure of anonymity. They had no knowledge of his wealth or background; all he desired was a fleeting, lustful encounter.
He carefully removed the gleaming pocket watch from his tailored suit, its polished surface reflecting the light. Opening it, he admired the intricate craftsmanship that spoke of his father's legacy, noting the hands pointing to a time that signaled it was time for him to act. With a gentle click, he closed it, feeling the weight of history and expectation in his hand.
He stepped out of his office, taking small, calculated strides as he navigated through the cubicles of his employees. The moment the door creaked open, all heads snapped back to their work, a familiar scene he had observed before but chose to ignore for now. He was still plotting how to assert his authority without displaying overt disdain, reminding them that they were simply dispensable.
Exiting the building, he slid into his sleek black '98 Chevy convertible. The car's polished exterior gleamed in the sunlight, and a pair of fuzzy dice dangled from the rearview mirror, swaying gently as he settled in. Inside, the scent of leather mingled with the crisp pages of self-help books stacked on the passenger seat—strategies for business success that he devoted the next hour to reading, determined to sharpen his skills and solidify his dominance.His next stop was the park, a quiet refuge where he often went to gather his thoughts in peace. It was here that he spent hours playing chess with strangers and reading books, finding solace in the calm atmosphere.