Regret. Funny thing, isn't it? It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. For me, it hit like a freight train at 45, staring at my reflection in the glass window of my penthouse a penthouse no one ever visited. I was a CEO, the kind of man people envied. My name was whispered in corporate boardrooms and plastered on magazine covers.
But when you strip away the designer suits, the seven-figure salary, and the sprawling office with a view of the city skyline, what's left? A man alone, drowning in silence, sipping whiskey on ice while the rest of the world kept spinning.
My phone lit up with another missed call from my sister. Not that I ever answered. She stopped trying a long time ago, but every now and then, she'd send a voicemail reminding me of the family dinners I never attended or the birthdays I forgot.
I didn't bother listening anymore. I knew how it ended: "We miss you. Call me if you ever want to talk."
I never did.
You see, I wasn't born into wealth. Everything I had, I earned. Clawed my way out of nothing, burned bridges, and broke bonds. It felt worth it at the time. Sacrifices had to be made for success. Or so I thought.
That night, as the whiskey burned its way down my throat, the weight of it all settled in my chest. The lives I crushed, the relationships I let crumble. The echo of my mother's disappointed sigh, my father's unspoken words. Even my best friend, the one person who believed in me, was long gone because I had no time for "petty friendships."
And yet, the world saw me as a man who had everything. Funny, isn't it?
By the time the bottle was empty, I was more than a little drunk. Stumbling to my bed, I collapsed face-first, muttering to myself about what I'd do differently if given another shot.
Then everything went dark.
When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Damp earth, old wood, and something faintly sour. Not the crisp citrus air freshener of my penthouse. The second thing I noticed was the noise—voices, harsh and cold, bickering in the distance.
And the third thing? My body.
Everything felt... wrong. My limbs were scrawny, my hands calloused in a way they'd never been before, and when I sat up, I caught sight of a cracked mirror on the wall. What stared back at me wasn't the face of a middle-aged CEO with graying hair and a sharp jawline. No. This was the face of an 18-year-old kid with hollow cheeks, a split lip, and a pair of dull, tired eyes.
I stumbled back, knocking over a wooden stool.
"What the hell?" My voice—higher, weaker—sent chills down my spine.
The door creaked open, and a woman in her late thirties stepped in. Her hair was tied back tightly, and her eyes were sharp, scrutinizing me with a mixture of annoyance and disdain.
"You're finally awake," she said flatly. "Took you long enough."
I blinked at her, my mind racing. "Who… who are you?"
She snorted. "Very funny, Feng. Did your brother knock you on the head that hard?"
Brother? Feng? None of this was making sense. I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled like jelly. The woman—a servant, I realized from her plain clothes and the way she carried herself—sighed and helped me to my feet, her grip firm but impatient.
"Your father's expecting you," she said. "And I wouldn't keep him waiting if I were you."
Father? Expecting me? Panic clawed at my chest as she led me down a narrow hallway. The walls were wooden and cracked, the floorboards creaking with every step. This wasn't my world. This wasn't my life.
And yet, somehow, it was.
The dining hall was a far cry from the luxurious spaces I was used to. It was dimly lit, with a long wooden table at its center. At the head of the table sat a man who radiated authority. His gray-streaked hair and weathered face told me he was in his late forties or early fifties. He looked up as I entered, his eyes narrowing.
"Xiao Feng," he said, his voice cold. "Do you have any idea how much disgrace you've brought upon this family?"
Xiao Feng. That name again. My name now, apparently.
"I…" I faltered, unsure of how to respond. My mind was still reeling, trying to piece together what had happened. Had I died? Was this reincarnation? A second chance?
"Silence," my "father" barked. "You've already embarrassed us enough."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed another figure at the table. A young man in his early twenties, tall and broad-shouldered, with a smug grin plastered on his face. This must be the "brother" the servant mentioned.
"Still alive, I see," the brother drawled. "Shame. I thought I hit you hard enough to knock some sense into that empty skull of yours."
The room fell silent. My fists clenched under the table as a wave of anger surged through me. In my previous life, no one dared speak to me that way. But now, I was at the bottom of the hierarchy, a punching bag for these people.
Not for long.
That night, as I lay in the unfamiliar bed of an unfamiliar room, I stared at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day. The body I inhabited belonged to a nobody, the illegitimate son of a powerful family. Bullied, disrespected, and disregarded. A perfect storm of misfortune.
But I wasn't nobody.
I was a CEO. A man who had built empires, outsmarted competitors, and dominated markets. I had knowledge these people couldn't even begin to comprehend. Stocks, investments, market trends—none of it existed here, but it could. And I'd make sure it did.
This world had given me a second chance. A chance to rewrite my story. To build something real, not just wealth, but a legacy. And maybe, just maybe, I'd find something more meaningful along the way.
I smirked, the fire in my chest igniting.
"Alright, Xiao Feng," I muttered to myself. "Let's show them what a second chance really looks like."