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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Revenge
Scenario:Shane Weber has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a more richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Shane inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-googolaire 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. How will he use his new-found wealth to shape those around him, as he reclaims his life?. With a new-found sense of responsibility, Shane will get revenge on those who mistreated him? Will he succeed?
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Shane Weber
He is a former orphan who was raised in foster care, discovering he is the heir to a multibillion dollar fortune. He is resilient, sarcastic, and determined. Shane faced immense poverty and hardship but never gave up. His life took a drastic turn when his adoptive parents kicked him out due to financial struggles. His exgirlfriend left him for someone richer. Despite criticism and judgment, Shane inherits the wealth, vowing revenge and social climb.
Grandfather
He is Shane’s wealthy grandfather who left him his entire estate. He is wise, secretive, and protective. Grandfather showed kindness to Shane by taking him in as a child and providing for his needs anonymously through gifts. Only revealing the extent of his generosity after his death, Grandfather’s actions ultimately changed Shane's fate from poverty to wealth, giving Shane the means to seek revenge on those who wronged him.
Penelope
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for another man due to financial reasons. She is selfish, materialistic, and shallow. Penelope valued Shane only for his potential wealth, discarding him as soon as she found someone richer. Her relationship with Shane was marked by her constant criticism and desire for luxury, ultimately leading to their breakup and failure of their future plans.
I was an orphan, a poor one even.
I had been in foster care, moving from one family to another until I was seventeen.
At that point, my adoptive parents kicked me out, stating they couldn’t afford to keep me anymore.
They had adopted me to work on their farm, but once I was too old to be useful, they discarded me like trash.
No one wanted to adopt a seventeen-year-old boy.
I was left on the streets until I could find a job and support myself.
That was when Penelope found me.
She was beautiful, gorgeous even, with long blonde hair and blue eyes.
We met at the restaurant where I worked as a server.
She came in with her friends every week, and eventually, we started talking.
I couldn’t believe my luck; she was gorgeous and seemed interested in me.
We started dating, and I thought maybe I had found my soulmate.
But Penelope had expensive tastes; she liked going to places she couldn’t afford herself, but since I was working hard, I tried to give her the life she wanted.
I took myself to be a good catch; I was handsome, hardworking, and willing to do anything for the woman I loved.
Maybe someday, when I had enough money saved up, I could buy her a ring and propose.
That was my dream until she left me for another man.
Standing on my apartment balcony, I pull out my wallet and remove the photo tucked behind my ID.
Penelope’s smiling face mocks me from the glossy paper.
It was taken at that expensive Italian restaurant where I spent two months' savings on her birthday dinner.
I remember how she ordered the most expensive wine, knowing I could barely afford rent that month.
She didn’t care; she just wanted to be seen with a man who could provide for her.
And then she left me for that trust fund kid from her yoga class.
I grip the edges of the photo, feeling the paper bend under my fingers.
Slowly, deliberately, I rip it in half, then quarters, then smaller pieces until they’re nothing but confetti.
"Why did you keep that photo for so long?" my roommate, Jake, asks from the doorway.
"I guess I needed a reminder of what love isn't," I reply, letting the pieces flutter over the railing.
"Well, maybe it's time to find out what love really is," Jake suggests, his voice hopeful.
I lean against the railing, watching the torn pieces of Penelope's photo drift away in the wind.
The city lights flicker on as dusk settles over the concrete jungle below.
Jake stands beside me, a steady presence that feels different now.
It’s like he’s not just a roommate but a friend.
The silence stretches between us, and I realize I’ve been lost in thought for too long.
My fingers drum against the metal railing, a nervous habit I can’t seem to break.
Memories flood my mind—countless lonely dinners eaten in front of the TV, late nights spent working to make ends meet, and weekends wasted on failed dates.
But that was before my grandfather left me his inheritance.
I reach into my pocket and feel the familiar weight of the black credit card.
It’s a symbol of everything I’ve worked for, everything I never thought I could have.
I’m not that desperate server anymore, trying to impress a woman who didn’t truly love him. Jake shifts his weight beside me, waiting patiently for my answer.
I can feel his eyes on me, filled with anticipation and maybe even a little concern.
The question hangs between us like a challenge, filled with possibilities I never considered before.
I grip the balcony railing, steadying myself as the last photo fragments disappear into the darkening city below.
Jake shifts his weight, checking his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.
The evening air carries the scent of nearby restaurants, reminding me of countless nights serving others while barely affording my own meals.
My grandfather's black card feels heavy in my pocket - a constant reminder of my transformed reality.
The same restaurants that once seemed impossibly expensive now await my business.
I turn to Jake, my voice steady despite the lingering emotion from destroying Penelope's photo.
"I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of concern."
I pull my hand away from his touch, not ready for that kind of concern.
The city stretches before us, a maze of lights and opportunities I never had before.
My fingers trace the smooth edge of the black credit card, its weight still unfamiliar in my pocket.
"I spent years serving overpriced meals to people like her," I tell Jake, my voice harder than intended.
The memory of Penelope's dismissive looks when I couldn't afford fancy restaurants burns fresh.
I turn to face him directly, jaw set.
"I'm not that man anymore."
I turn to Jake, forcing a casual tone as I gesture toward the glittering high-rise across the street.
"That place, for instance."
Jake raises his eyebrows, knowing my history with that exclusive rooftop restaurant.
It's where Penelope and I were turned away at the door months ago, and now its golden lights mock me from across the street.
I pull out the black credit card from my pocket, its smooth metal feeling foreign in my calloused server's hands.
My heart pounds in my chest as I dial the restaurant's number.
The hostess answers, her voice as dismissive as I remember.
I clear my throat, steeling myself for the request.
"Hello, I'd like to make a reservation for two," I say, my voice steady despite the nerves.
"For tonight?"
Her tone shifts slightly, curiosity replacing dismissal.
I grip the black credit card tighter as she checks her reservation system, the keyboard clicks echoing through the phone.
Jake leans against the balcony railing, watching me with a mix of concern and curiosity.
The hostess returns with a sugary-sweet voice, "Yes, sir. We have an opening at 8 PM tomorrow."
My fingers trace the raised numbers on the black card, the memory of being turned away from this same restaurant flooding back.
I glance at Jake, his expression supportive.
I press the phone closer to my ear.
"Perfect," I say firmly, "Weber. That's W-E-B-E-R."
I slide the black credit card back into my pocket and check my watch - 7:30 PM.
Jake follows as I head inside, straight to the bedroom to change.
The designer suit I bought yesterday still hangs stiff with newness.
In the mirror, I adjust the silk tie, the fabric smooth against my skin.
For years, I wore a cheap polyester uniform that felt like a second skin.
Now, this designer suit feels foreign, like wearing someone else's life.
Jake leans against the doorframe, already dressed and waiting.
I grab my keys from the counter, the Ferrari fob a constant reminder of how much has changed.
I straighten my tie one last time in the hallway mirror while Jake checks his phone for the time.
The leather of my new dress shoes squeaks against the marble floor as we walk toward the elevator.
My fingers brush the black credit card in my pocket, its smooth surface a constant reminder of this new life.
The elevator doors open with a soft chime.
Inside, Jake catches my eye in the mirrored walls and gives a nod of encouragement.
I press the lobby button, my reflection showing a man dressed in wealth but still carrying the determination of my server days.
I lead Jake through the lobby, my shoes clicking against the polished marble floor.
The doorman, who used to ignore me when I was just a server, now rushes to open the glass doors with a deep bow.
Outside, my red Ferrari gleams under the streetlights.
Passersby can't help but stop and stare enviously at the car.
I fumble with the key fob for a moment, still not used to its weight in my hand.
Jake notices my hesitation but says nothing as I unlock the car and slide into the driver's seat.
The leather steering wheel feels cool beneath my grip.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror - dressed in wealth but still carrying the wariness of my server days.
I start the engine, feeling the hum of possibilities beneath my fingertips.
I pull up to the restaurant's valet station, my Ferrari drawing admiring glances from passersby.
I hesitate for a moment before handing over the keys, still not used to the luxury of having someone else park my car.
The valet attendant, who once shooed me away from this entrance when I was just a server, now rushes to open my door with a smile.
"Good evening, sir," he says, his voice dripping with practiced politeness.
I step out of the car, smoothing my suit jacket as I glance around.
The restaurant's façade is all glass and steel, its modern design gleaming under the city lights.
Jake follows close behind as we walk inside.
The hostess greets us with a warm smile, her eyes flicking over my designer suit with appreciation.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Bistro Bliss."
She leads us through the main dining room, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor.
I can't help but notice the familiar faces of some of our regular customers - wealthy businessmen and socialites who never bothered to learn my name when I was serving them.
They glance up at us with curiosity, their expressions a mix of recognition and confusion. We follow the hostess past the bustling bar area, where patrons laugh and chat over cocktails and appetizers.
She leads us up a private staircase tucked away in a corner of the restaurant.
The stairs curve upward in a graceful spiral, leading to a small landing on the second floor.
There, she gestures toward an ornate door marked "Weber Private Dining."
"This way, gentlemen," she says, opening the door with a key card.
Inside, the room is dimly lit by soft overhead lighting and candles flickering on each table.
Jake pauses just inside the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before he turns to me.
"Are you sure about this, man?" he asks, his voice low and serious.
I nod, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. "It's time they know who I really am."
I settle into my private dining chair, still trying to wrap my head around the luxury that now surrounds me.
The hostess approaches with a discreet smile, her perfume wafting over me like a cloud of expensive flowers.
It reminds me of Penelope's scent, and for a moment, I'm transported back to our first meeting.
"Mr. Weber," she says, her voice low and smooth.
"There's something for you."
She hands me a cream-colored envelope with my name embossed in gold lettering.
I take it from her, feeling the weight of it in my hands.
Jake watches from across the table, his eyes narrowed slightly as he waits for my reaction.
The hostess lingers nearby, her practiced smile hiding a hint of curiosity about what could be inside the envelope.
I break the gold seal, my fingers trembling slightly as I unfold the document inside.
I unfold the document, its cream-colored paper bearing the official letterhead of my grandfather's estate lawyer.
Jake leans forward, his eyes scanning the contents over my shoulder.
My own eyes widen as I read the words, disbelief washing over me.
It can't be true.
Beyond the billions I've already inherited, my grandfather had secretly purchased and developed an entire island chain in the Pacific.
The hostess hovers nearby, clearly trying to catch a glimpse of the document's contents.
I feel her gaze on me, but I ignore her as I continue reading.
The list of assets is staggering - private jets, yacht fleets, and a network of international properties that span every continent.
My hands tremble as I read through the detailed inventory, each item more extravagant than the last.
The paper feels heavy in my hands, weighed down by the weight of this additional inheritance. Finally, I finish reading and carefully tuck the document back into its envelope.
I glance up to find Jake watching me with a questioning expression.
But I say nothing, turning instead to face the hostess who still lingers nearby.
"Thank you," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
She nods with a practiced smile before turning to leave.
Jake leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. "So, what's the plan now? You gonna keep it all under wraps or let the world know?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the enormity of the decision pressing down on me. "I think it's time to rewrite the rules, Jake."
I stare at the document's final page, my vision blurring as I try to process the number before me.
375 googol dollars.
Jake leans closer, his coffee forgotten as he squints at the figure.
The hostess shifts uncomfortably nearby, clearly trying to glimpse the contents.
My hands tremble as I fold the papers, tucking them into my suit jacket.
The amount is beyond comprehension - more wealth than exists in the known universe.
I dismiss the hovering hostess with a wave, then turn to Jake.
"Jake, this changes everything," I say, my voice barely steady.
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "You mean you're actually considering going public with this?"
I nod slowly, the weight of the decision settling over me. "It's not just about the money; it's about what we can do with it."
Jake's eyes widen as he takes in my words.
He leans back in his own leather chair, his expression thoughtful.
I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he considers the implications.
The city lights twinkle outside the restaurant window, a million points of light that seem to mirror the zeros in my new net worth.
My stomach growls, but I have no appetite anymore.
Jake suggests we order dinner, but I shake my head.
Instead, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find the right number.
Richard Chen - my grandfather's most trusted financial advisor.
I stare at his name on the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button.
I've only met Richard a handful of times, but each encounter left a lasting impression.
I press the call button, ready to reshape the world.
I hold my phone tightly as Richard's voice comes through, my finger tracing the edge of the inheritance document on the table.
Jake leans forward, straining to hear the conversation while our untouched appetizers grow cold.
The private dining room suddenly feels too small, too confined for the weight of this moment.
Richard waits patiently on the line as I glance out at the city lights below, remembering all the nights I served wealthy clients in restaurants just like this.
"Richard," I say, my voice firm and resolute, "we're going to change everything."
