From the moment I was born, my life had already been decided.
I was Samuel Carter, the only son of the Carter family—the wealthiest and most influential corporate empire in the world. My father, Vincent Carter, wasn't just a businessman; he was a king. His empire stretched across continents, with industries in finance, technology, and even politics. He shaped governments, decided the fates of smaller corporations, and moved entire economies with a single decision.
And I was his heir.
To the outside world, the Carter family represented power and prestige. To me, it was a prison.
I was raised in a world where money wasn't just power—it was law. Everything had a price, and everyone had a role. My role? To succeed my father, to continue the Carter legacy, to expand the empire he had built.
From the moment I could walk, my days were structured down to the second.
Five AM: Wake up.
Five-thirty: Personal training—physical conditioning, self-defense, and etiquette lessons.
Seven: Breakfast, always with my father. Always silent, always filled with the weight of expectations.
Eight to Four: Business education—finance, economics, law, negotiations.
Four to Six: Language training—French, Mandarin, German, Japanese.
Six to Nine: Private tutors drilling every skill necessary for leadership.
Nine-thirty: Final debrief with my father before bed.
Every day. Every week. Every year.
I never had a choice.
The Tyrant
Vincent Carter was not a kind man.
To the world, he was a genius—an unstoppable force of ambition. Ruthless in business, cold in his decisions. He built the Carter Empire from the ground up, turning a small investment firm into a global conglomerate. Governments listened when he spoke. CEOs feared his gaze. A single sentence from him could elevate a company to success or crush it into nothing.
And he expected nothing less from me.
"An heir does not complain."
"An heir does not fail."
"An heir must be better than his predecessor."
Vincent Carter did not raise a son. He created a successor.
Any mistake was met with cold correction. Failure was not tolerated. If I stumbled in my studies, my tutors were replaced. If I hesitated in negotiations, I was drilled until I could manipulate numbers and people alike. If I ever showed signs of resistance, he made sure I understood that my life did not belong to me.
"You were not born to live for yourself, Samuel," he told me on my tenth birthday. "You exist to uphold the Carter name."
My mother?
She was nothing more than a symbol—a trophy wife who played her rol
Isabella Carter had once been the pride of high society. Beautiful, elegant, cultured—she was the perfect wife for a man like Vincent Carter. She had been an aspiring pianist, a woman with dreams of music, of travel, of love.
But none of that mattered once she married my father.
Her life became one of silent obedience. She attended charity events, smiled at cameras, and played the role of the perfect corporate wife. Behind closed doors, she was a ghost.
I barely remember her touch. There were no bedtime stories, no words of comfort. She was there, but she wasn't. A distant figure in my childhood, cold and detached. Whether it was by choice or by force, I never knew.
But I knew one thing: she never loved my father.
And she never loved me.
Maybe she resented me for being Vincent Carter's son. Maybe she saw too much of him in me.
Or maybe she was just too broken to care.
Despite everything, I was good at being the heir.
I excelled in every subject, surpassed every expectation. I mastered languages, dominated negotiations, outperformed adults in business discussions.
At fourteen, I attended corporate meetings.
At sixteen, I was handling Carter subsidiary deals.
At eighteen, I was set to officially take over part of the empire.
To the world, I was the perfect heir.
To myself?
I was a prisoner.
I had everything. Wealth, power, influence.
But I had nothing that was my own.
Nothing except—
The Sky
Despite all of the responsibilities and expectations placed upon me, there was only one thing that ever made me feel free.
Flying.
My father saw private jets as a necessity for business travel, but for me, they were an escape. The moment I first set foot in a cockpit, I knew—this was where I belonged.
I still remember the day vividly.
I was four years old, already learning four languages and doing high school-level studies. It was my first time attending a business conference, my debut into high society. But none of that mattered the moment I stepped onto my father's private jet.
I wasn't supposed to enter the cockpit, but curiosity got the better of me. The pilot, an older man with a kind smile, let me sit in his chair for just a moment.
And in that moment, I felt something I had never felt before.
Freedom.
High above the world, soaring through the clouds, no one could control me. There were no rules up there, no expectations. Just the endless sky and the roar of the engines.
As I grew older, alongside all the etiquette and business classes, I secretly trained for my pilot's license, using every loophole to gain flight hours. I learned from ex-military instructors, pushed myself beyond limits. Flying became my only rebellion.
But my father?
He saw it as nothing more than a distraction.
"This foolish hobby of yours ends now, Samuel."
"You are a Carter. You were not born to play pilot."
For the first time, I defied him.
And for the first time, I felt alive.
It was supposed to be a routine flight. A short trip between cities.
I was in the cockpit, hands on the controls, the rush of takeoff sending a thrill through me. The co-pilot sat beside me, giving me nods of approval as I handled the ascent.
Then—
Warning alarms. Turbulence. Sudden loss of altitude.
It happened too fast.
One moment, I was soaring above the clouds. The next—chaos.
"Engine failure! We're losing power!"
"Samuel, eject—!"
The last thing I saw was the ground rushing toward me.
The last thing I felt was a strange sense of peace.
I had always wanted to be free.
And in my final moments, I finally was.
Then—
Everything went black.
But my story did not end there.
Because death was not the end.
It was only the beginning.