Michael Smith was a man who had already won at life.
At twenty-eight, his name carried weight in business circles across the country. A self-made millionaire—no, a soon-to-be billionaire—he was the founder and CEO of Smith Enterprises, a multinational conglomerate that had expanded from tech to finance, real estate, and defense logistics in less than a decade.
Magazines called him a genius. Rivals called him a monster.
Employees called him a legend.
And yet, when night fell and the city lights dimmed, Michael Smith had no one waiting for him.
No family.
No lover.
No home filled with warmth.
An orphan from birth, Michael had grown up moving between foster homes and orphanages. He learned early that dependence was weakness and emotions were liabilities. The world rewarded only those who took without hesitation.
So he took.
At sixteen, he started coding and selling security software.
At nineteen, he dropped out of university.
At twenty-one, he founded his first company.
At twenty-five, he crushed his competitors.
At twenty-eight, he owned the world—or at least a large part of it.
Love never interested him. Friendships felt inefficient. Marriage was nothing more than a contract with unnecessary emotional risk.
Money, power, control—that was enough.
Tonight, Michael was driving away from the city, his sleek black luxury car cutting through the empty mountain road. Tall pine trees flanked both sides, their shadows stretching endlessly under the moonlight.
This villa—hidden deep within the mountains—was his private escape. A place where even paparazzi and corporate spies couldn't reach him. A reward he gave himself once or twice a year.
The engine hummed smoothly as Michael rested one hand on the steering wheel, his sharp gray eyes focused on the road ahead.
The silence didn't bother him.
It never had.
His phone vibrated once on the dashboard. A notification from his legal team.
> "As per your instructions, all company shares will be transferred to registered orphanages and international charities in the event of your death."
Michael glanced at the message briefly, then dismissed it.
No hesitation.
No second thoughts.
If he died tomorrow, his wealth would go where it should—to children who had started life the same way he did. He had already climbed out of that pit. Whether others succeeded or failed afterward was their choice.
He owed nothing to this world.
Suddenly—
KRRRRCH!
A sharp metallic sound tore through the night.
Michael's eyes narrowed.
The brake pedal went soft beneath his foot.
"…Brake failure?"
He pressed harder.
Nothing.
The speedometer climbed rapidly as the road curved sharply ahead. A cliff loomed on the right, hidden by darkness and mist.
Hydraulic failure. No response. No backup system.
A perfect storm of impossibility.
Michael didn't panic.
His mind moved fast—calculating angles, distance, friction, probability. He tried the handbrake.
It snapped uselessly.
The tires screeched as the car skidded across loose gravel.
For the first time in years, something had gone beyond his control.
The car smashed through the safety railing.
Metal twisted. Glass shattered.
Gravity took over.
As the vehicle plunged off the cliff, the world slowed.
Wind roared past him. The mountain spun upside down. The stars blurred into streaks of white.
Michael leaned back against the seat, blood trickling down his forehead, his vision dimming.
And then—
He smiled.
No fear.
No regret.
No unfinished business.
"I lived well," he muttered softly.
No parents to mourn him.
No lover to cry over his grave.
No heirs to fight over his wealth.
Only orphanages that would receive billions.
Only charities that would bear his name.
Only a life lived entirely on his own terms.
As the car crashed into the darkness below, Michael Smith closed his eyes.
His final thought wasn't anger or despair.
It was calm.
If this was the end—
Then it was a good one.