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MidReal Story
The Billionaire Reborn
Scenario:Cameron Kenwood has led a hard-bitten life, being a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Cameron inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-septillionaire family in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. Now, how will he use his newfound wealth to shape those around him as he reclaims his life? With a newfound sense of responsibility, Cameron will get revenge on those who treated him badly. Will he succeed?
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Cameron Kenwood
He is a previously impoverished orphan turned multiseptillionaire. He is resilient, determined, and sarcastic. Cameron's life changed when he inherited his grandfather's vast fortune, becoming the youngest multiseptillionaire in the world. His past labeled him a failure, but he vowed to prove his worth. After leaving a wealthy fiancée for someone richer, he marries Addison, gaining social acceptance. Cameron now seeks revenge on those who wronged him, embracing his new role with both pride and menace.
Addison Kenwood
She is Cameron Kenwood's wife and a former aspiring actress. She is charismatic, manipulative, and ambitious. Addison gave up her acting dreams to marry Cameron for his wealth. With her beauty and charm, she helped win over society. Her relationship with Cameron is complex; she initially uses him for financial gain but grows attached to him. Now married, she supports Cameron's quest for revenge while navigating the highstakes world of social status and power.
Tristan Kenwood
He is Cameron's younger brother who relies on Cameron for financial support. He is carefree, irresponsible, and charming. Tristan often finds himself in trouble due to his reckless spending and lack of a steady job. Despite this, he is wellliked by those who know him. He looks up to Cameron and frequently borrows money to cover his expenses. His carefree attitude often clashes with Cameron's more serious approach to wealth and power.
I was once the world's biggest loser.
I was an orphan, poor, and had no one to care for me.
My girlfriend left me for a guy who had more money.
But then my life changed...
I inherited my grandfather's wealth and became the youngest multiseptillionaire in the world.
All those who looked down on me and called me a failure will soon bow down at my feet.
I'll make them pay for what they did to me!
"You're going to be okay, Cam. I know you are."
I heard Addison's voice behind me, but I just kept staring at the ocean in front of me.
The weather was getting bad; dark clouds were gathering, and the wind was getting stronger.
Soon it would rain.
"I'm not coming back, Cameron. I'm sorry. I really am."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes, but I held them back.
I wouldn't let them fall.
Not again.
"Cam?"
I heard her voice again and felt her touch on my arm.
"I'm sorry. I really am."
She paused before she continued, "You know I never loved you, right? You're just too poor for me."
Her words stung and made my heart break into pieces.
The waves crash violently against the rocks below, and I gripped the metal railing of the oceanfront balcony.
Addison's hand was still on my arm, but I shrugged it off and took a step away from her.
The first drops of rain hit my face, mixing with the tears I refused to let fall.
Behind me, I heard her expensive heels click against the wooden deck as she shifted her weight.
The wind whipped her designer dress around her legs, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of looking back.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as I pulled out my phone from my pocket and checked the notification from my lawyer.
It was all confirmed.
I had inherited everything.
My fingers tightened around the device as I imagined Addison's face when she found out.
"Addison," I said, turning to face her, "you might want to reconsider who you're too poor for now."
Her eyes widened in shock, and she stammered, "What do you mean?"
I smirked, holding up the phone so she could see the message. "I'm the youngest multiseptillionaire in the world."
Lightning flashes as I stride past her, my shoes splashing through the puddles that have already formed on the balcony.
The rain soaks through my shirt, but I barely notice.
Behind me, I hear her heels clicking on the wet concrete as she follows.
"Cameron, wait!" she calls, her voice competing with the wind.
I reach the glass doors leading inside but pause, my hand on the handle.
The cold metal bites into my palm as another flash illuminates the city below.
I don't look back at her, savoring the moment as she scrambles to catch up.
I grip the door handle tighter, feeling the cold metal bite into my palm.
The storm's wind whips around me, sending sheets of rain against the glass.
Behind me, Addison's footsteps grow closer, her breathing heavy from chasing after me.
I wait until she's just a few steps away, close enough to almost touch me, before yanking the door open.
The sudden movement makes her stumble.
Without looking back, I step into the warmth of the penthouse suite, my wet shoes squeaking against the marble floor.
Water drips from my clothes, leaving dark spots on the expensive carpet.
Addison's voice is breathless as she follows me inside, "Cameron, please, let's talk about this."
I turn to face her, my expression unreadable, "Talk about what? How you never loved me?"
She hesitates, her eyes searching mine for any sign of the man she once knew, "I was wrong, okay? I see that now."
I move deliberately to the floor-to-ceiling windows, my wet shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
The city lights blur through the rain-streaked glass, creating distorted patterns that mirror the turmoil in my mind.
Behind me, Addison's reflection shows her wringing her hands, mascara running down her cheeks.
Water drips from my clothes onto the carpet, forming a small puddle.
I trace one raindrop's path down the window with my finger, remembering all the times I'd watched storms from my tiny apartment, dreaming of a better life.
Addison's voice breaks the silence, "I never meant for it to go this far, Cameron."
I keep my gaze on the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass.
"Funny," I reply, my voice cold, "because you went exactly as far as you needed to."
I walk across the plush carpet toward the master bedroom, my shoes still squeaking from the rain.
The sound of my footsteps echoes in the vast penthouse as Addison remains frozen by the window.
I push open the heavy wooden door and step inside, grabbing my leather suitcase from the closet.
Throwing it onto the king-sized bed, I pull open the sliding doors to reveal rows of designer suits and tailored shirts.
Methodically, I begin pulling them off their hangers, folding them into neat squares before placing them in the suitcase.
Each item represents a piece of the wealth that could have been hers if she'd stayed.
I hear Addison's footsteps approaching but don't turn around.
She stands in the doorway, watching me pack with a mixture of sadness and regret on her face.
I methodically check each compartment of the suitcase, making sure everything is secure.
Addison's presence in the doorway is a constant reminder, but I deliberately ignore her.
The leather handle feels cool and smooth as I lift the heavy case from the bed.
My shoes squeak against the marble floor as I walk past her, my shoulder brushing against the doorframe to avoid touching her.
She reaches for my arm, but I quicken my pace down the hallway toward the elevator.
My wet clothes still cling uncomfortably to my skin.
The elevator doors slide shut behind me, cutting off her voice and sealing the end of what once was.
I sit in my new office at Kenwood Tower, staring at my phone as thunder still rumbles outside.
The storm hasn't let up since I left Addison.
My thumb hovers over the group chat with my old friends from St. Charles Orphanage - the ones who stuck with me through everything.
We made a pact years ago, calling it "Code Charlie" after that hellhole of a place.
It was our promise that whoever made it big would help the others escape poverty.
I type out the message slowly: "It's time. Code Charlie."
The phone buzzes almost immediately, and I see Alex's name flash on the screen.
"You're serious this time, Cam?" his voice crackles through the speaker, a mix of disbelief and hope.
"Dead serious," I reply, feeling a weight lift as I finally set the plan into motion.
I lean back in my leather office chair, phone pressed to my ear as Alex's excited voice fills the room.
"Alright, what do you need from us?"
I run a hand through my hair, thinking about the details.
"First, I need specific amounts. Rent deposits, education funds, business startup costs... whatever it is you need to get on your feet."
I grab a pen and start scribbling on a notepad.
"Give me names and figures. We'll go from there."
The storm outside has weakened to a steady drizzle, mirroring the rhythm of my pen scratching across the paper.
Alex rattles off a list of names and needs: Maria wants to attend culinary school; Derek needs capital for his repair shop; Jenny's medical bills are piling up.
I jot down each request, the total amount growing with every passing second.
Finally, Alex mentions his own dream - opening a youth center for underprivileged kids.
I lean back in my leather office chair and suggest, "Why don't we gather everyone tomorrow evening? I'll get the funds ready."
Alex hesitates, "But where should we meet?"
My voice catches slightly as I respond, "How about the old place? St. Charles Orphanage."
There's a pause on the other end of the line.
"You mean the abandoned building?"
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Yeah, that's the one. It's perfect."
I pull up the property records on my laptop while still on the phone.
The familiar image of the old brick building appears on my screen - its boarded-up windows and overgrown yard a stark contrast to the grandeur of my current surroundings.
"I'll take care of getting us access," I assure Alex, already mentally drafting an email to my lawyer about acquiring the property.
"Spread the word to everyone else. See you tomorrow night."
Alex's voice softens, "You really think we can turn that place around?"
I smile, feeling a surge of determination, "I know we can. It's time to make it something better than what it was."
There's a hint of excitement in Alex's reply, "Alright, I'll let everyone know. This is going to be something special."
I lean back in my leather office chair and click "send" on the email to my lawyer about purchasing St. Charles.
The screen's glow illuminates my face as I pull up the property records again, studying the photos of the dilapidated building.
My mouse hovers over each image - the crumbling brick walls, broken windows, weedy courtyard where we made our pact.
Opening my desk drawer, I take out an old polaroid of our orphanage group, creased and faded from years of being tucked away.
I prop it against my computer monitor, a reminder of why I'm doing this.
The phone buzzes again, and this time it's Maria on the line, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
"Cam, are we really going back there? I haven't seen that place since we left."
I nod, even though she can't see me, feeling a mix of anticipation and resolve.
"Tomorrow night, Maria. We're going to make it something new."
The last remnants of the storm clouds drift away, revealing the city skyline outside my window.
The stars are beginning to twinkle in the night sky.
I lean back in my chair, phone pressed to my ear as Maria's breath catches on the other end.
"We're going to turn St. Charles into something special," I say, imagining the possibilities.
"New dormitories for kids, a modern kitchen for culinary classes... maybe even a workshop for Derek's repair shop."
There's a long pause before Maria speaks again, her voice trembling slightly.
"And what about the old chapel? The one where we made our pact?"
I grip the polaroid tighter, feeling a surge of determination.
"I'll make sure it's perfect," I promise, hanging up the phone.
I pull up the blueprints of the chapel on my laptop, studying the intricate details - the stone walls, the arched windows, and the collapsed roof beams.
My finger traces the screen where our "Code Charlie" pact was carved into the old wooden pew.
Opening my calendar, I schedule an emergency meeting with the renovation team for tomorrow morning.
The chapel needs to be restored to its former glory before our reunion - new stained glass windows, reinforced walls, a restored altar.
I grab my coat and head to the elevator, determined to see it all for myself tonight.
As I pass through the lobby, I nod at the security guard, who hands me a set of keys.
The cool night air hits me as I step outside, and I look up at the clearing sky.
The stars are shining bright now, like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse. The drive to St. Charles takes less than twenty minutes.
As I pull up to the old brick building, memories flood back - laughter echoing in the hallways, late-night talks in hushed tones, and stolen moments in hidden corners.
I park in front of the rusty gates and step out into the night air.
The wind carries a hint of rain as I approach the entrance.
The padlock that kept our sanctuary sealed for fifteen years hangs heavy on its chain.
I take out my key and unlock it, hearing the satisfying click as it releases.
The gates creak open, and I step inside, the sound echoing through the empty courtyard.
Maria's voice comes through my phone again, breaking the silence, "Cam, are you sure we're ready for this?"
I pause, looking around at the shadows of our past, "We have to be. It's time to give this place a new story."
I walk through the dark hallways, my footsteps echoing off the walls.
The floorboards creak beneath my feet, worn from years of use.
Moonlight filters in through broken windows, casting shadows on the walls.
The old wallpaper, once bright and cheerful, now hangs faded and peeling.
I run my hand along the wall, feeling the grooves where our height marks were once recorded.
The names and dates are long gone, but the memories linger.
My phone buzzes again, another message from Maria about tomorrow's meeting.
I pause at the entrance to the chapel, running my fingers over the familiar curves of our "Code Charlie" carving in the wooden doorframe.
The initials "C" and "M" are still there, etched into the wood by our own hands all those years ago.
I remember that night like it was yesterday - huddled together in this very spot, making a pact to escape this place and start anew.
I push open the heavy wooden doors, wincing at the loud creak that echoes through the empty space.
The chapel is dark, but moonlight filters in through the stained glass windows, casting colored shadows across the dusty pews.
I take out my phone and turn on the flashlight, casting a beam of light towards the altar.
The walls are cracked, the ceiling crumbling in places.
The floorboards are warped and uneven, and I can see signs of water damage from years of neglect.
I walk slowly down the aisle, my footsteps echoing off the walls.
I take out my phone and open my notes app, beginning to type out a list of all the repairs that need to be done.
The ceiling needs to be replaced entirely, and the walls need to be reinforced with new supports.
The floorboards need to be refinished, and the pews need to be reupholstered.
The stained glass windows are still intact, but they need to be cleaned and repaired.
I walk up to the altar and examine it closely.
The wood is cracked and worn, but it's still sturdy enough to hold its weight.
I make a note to have it refinished and repolished. I walk back down the aisle and examine each pew carefully.
Some of them are still in decent condition, but others are broken or damaged beyond repair.
I make a note to replace them with new ones that match the original style as closely as possible.
As I walk around the chapel, my shoes crunch on broken glass and debris scattered across the floor.
I make a note to have it all cleaned up before construction begins.
I sit down on one of the pews and pull out my laptop, opening up the file with the renovation notes.
I spend the next hour typing out a detailed list of everything that needs to be done, organizing it into two categories: urgent repairs and long-term improvements.
Once I've finished, I save the document and close my laptop.
I take out my phone and open up the internet browser, searching for construction companies in the area.
I find a few promising leads and make a note to call them tomorrow morning.
I also search for secure communication devices, wanting to make sure that our plans stay private.
After a few minutes of browsing, I find a vendor that specializes in encrypted smartphones and military-grade radios.
I place an order for a dozen of each, making sure to specify that they need to be delivered as soon as possible. As I wait for the vendor to confirm my order, I pull up a new tab and start browsing coastal real estate listings.
I'm looking for a secluded beachfront villa with high security features and plenty of space for our group.
After a few minutes of scrolling through listings, I find one that catches my eye.
The property is located on a private beach in a remote area, surrounded by dense forests and towering cliffs.
The villa itself is modern and sleek, with large windows and sliding glass doors that lead out to the beach.
The listing mentions state-of-the-art security features, including motion sensors and cameras, as well as a private dock for boats.
I click on the photos and scroll through them quickly, taking in the panoramic views of the ocean from every room.
There's even a private pool and hot tub overlooking the water.
I click on the "schedule viewing" button and enter my contact information.
Maria's voice crackles through the phone again, "Cam, are you really thinking about moving everyone there?"
I hesitate, glancing around the chapel, "It's the perfect place to start over, away from everything."
She sighs, a mix of hope and doubt in her tone, "I just hope this isn't another one of our wild dreams that never comes true."
I lean back in the pew, phone pressed to my ear as I listen to Maria's doubts about the beachfront villa plan.
Moonlight filters through the broken stained glass above, casting colored shadows across my laptop screen.
I describe the villa's features - six bedrooms, private beach, state-of-the-art security system.
My fingers absently touch the "Code Charlie" carving beside me as I speak.
Maria falls silent when I mention the price, but I cut her off before she can protest.
"Remember when we huddled here, promising to help each other?"
I ask, my fingers tracing our old initials.
Maria's voice softens, "I remember, Cam. We swore we'd find a way out."
I nod, even though she can't see me, "This is our chance to finally make good on that promise."
She hesitates for a moment before replying, "Alright, let's do it. But we have to be smart about this."
I pack my laptop into my briefcase and stand, brushing off my pants.
The chapel is dimly lit, the only sound the creaking of old wooden beams.
My shoes crunch on broken glass as I walk down the aisle.
The moonlight catches dust particles floating through the musty air.
I take one last look at our carved initials, the "Code Charlie" symbol we created all those years ago.
My phone buzzes with a message from the villa's realtor - tomorrow at 10 AM.
I pull out my personal calendar and block off the entire morning.
I'll need time to inspect every detail of the property before making an offer.
Before leaving the chapel, I snap a quick photo of our "Code Charlie" carving.
I step outside into the cool night air, feeling the weight of our shared past and the promise of a new beginning.
