"Please, just hear me out!"
Nathan Cole stood in the marble lobby of Zentara Capital, soaked in sweat, desperation clinging to him tighter than his crumpled button-up.
Across from him stood Aaron Voss—ex-best friend, current billionaire tycoon, and the man who once promised they'd build an empire together.
Aaron gave him the same look one might give a beggar who smelled like cigarettes and lost dreams. "You think this is a charity, Nate?"
Nathan's voice trembled. "We started this together. I brought you your first investor. I introduced you to real estate. Hell, you crashed on my couch when your mom kicked you out—remember that?"
Aaron didn't flinch. "And then I got up. Moved on. Unlike you."
Nathan stepped forward, ignoring the curious glances from passing executives. "I don't need much. Just a quarter mil. That's pocket change for you. I can flip it in two months, max. I just need breathing room."
Aaron's smirk widened. "Quarter mil? For a bankrupt idiot who sunk a logistics firm, torched investor confidence, and got divorced by email?"
Nathan's chest tightened.
He didn't need the reminder. He lived with it every fucking day.
"I'm not asking for charity," Nathan whispered. "I'm asking for a chance."
Aaron sipped his espresso. "And I'm saying no."
The silence hit like a punch to the gut.
"You're not a businessman anymore, Nate," Aaron said, tapping his custom watch. "You're a walking cautionary tale."
He turned. "Security."
Two guards moved fast. Professional. Polished. Soulless.
Nathan didn't resist. "Aaron, please—just—don't do this—!"
He didn't finish.
The guards grabbed his arms and dragged him across the lobby floor like a sack of meat. Executives turned their heads. Some laughed. One girl filmed it.
Nathan's legs scraped the floor. His shoes came off. Dignity went with it.
As the glass doors slammed shut behind him, the cold wind slapped his face.
And then it rained.
Of course it did.
That night, he wandered.
No destination. No direction.
Just another nameless ghost in a city that forgot its own children.
He passed stores where he used to be a VIP customer. Passed buildings where receptionists once flirted with him for fun. Passed a hotel where he'd celebrated his first million.
Now he had $86 in his wallet, a phone at 9%, and enough shame to drown in.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a bar that looked like a dump: Coyote Red's. Neon sign half-flickering, floor sticky, a jukebox playing sad country songs out of tune.
Perfect.
He slid onto a cracked vinyl stool and tossed two bills on the counter.
"Whiskey. Strong."
The bartender barely looked at him. "All our whiskey's strong when you've hit rock bottom."
Nathan gave a tired laugh. "Then make it a double."
He drank.
And drank.
Every shot brought a memory.
The office he lost.
The ex-fiancée who took his last painting.
The staff who cried when the company shut down.
The article that called him a "wannabe Musk with a boner for bad deals."
By his sixth shot, he was slurring.
By the eighth, he was singing with the jukebox.
At ten, he pissed in the fake plant.
"Alright, out." The bartender waved to the bouncers.
"What? No—I'm—I'm good—hic—I'm a CEO…"
"Of what, failure incorporated?"
Two bouncers grabbed him.
"Wait, lemme just—one more—"
He was yanked out like yesterday's trash and dumped on the wet pavement.
Cold.
Raining.
His breath came in weak gasps. His shirt clung to him like damp paper.
He lay there, staring up at the blurred city lights.
"Fuck…"
His lips trembled. "Fuck you, Aaron… fuck this city… fuck this life…"
His fingers curled into the pavement.
"If there's a god out there…do something."
Nothing.
He closed his eyes.
Maybe he'd sleep here. Maybe he'd die here. Who the hell cared anymore?
But then—
A sound.
Ding.
Like a notification chime, but deeper. Resonant. Inside his skull.
The rain slowed.
No—stopped.
Even the noise of the street vanished.
His body went still as a blue screen blinked to life above him, floating in the air like a translucent hologram.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
[Welcome, Nathan Cole.]
[Profile matched: Emotionally unstable, financially devastated, high sexual frustration. Ideal Candidate.]
Nathan blinked, drunk and soaked.
"What…the actual hell?"
[You have been selected by the Harem Tycoon System™]
[Mission: Rebuild your empire by conquering powerful women, acquiring influence, and dominating the world of business and pleasure.]
[Would you like to begin your first conquest? Y/N]
Nathan stared.
Rain resumed.
But now he wasn't cold.
Now, for the first time in weeks, something inside him stirred.
Not just hope.
But hunger.
And maybe—just maybe—he wasn't done yet.
"Yeah…" he muttered to no one.
"…Let's begin."