Prologue
I stared at the pills in my hand, contemplating whether or not to take them.
My life had been great until I turned 5. My parents had died a horrid death, and their murderer was never caught.
Without the protection they provided, I was a free target for the aggression of my highly competitive family. I was beaten and abused and made a servant for my cousins.
"Hah, why am I even hesitating?" I swallowed the pills in one fluid motion, all 10 of them, and laid back on my bed. My death would be a painless one where the Grim Reaper's embrace would welcome me, and I would accept it with open arms.
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I woke up to the sound of birds chirping, and the sunlight peeking out from my window.
"Wha- Why am I still alive?" My head was a mess, presumably from the pills, so I took a moment to sort myself out. What I found, however, was not a headache, no, it was memories.
Memories of a story, a story about a guy who rose to the top of the universe as the strongest. His name was Alexander Goldsmith.
There was only one problem with the memories —I was a Goldsmith, and there was no one by the name of Alexander.
"If this is true, then I'm sorry, but I'll be taking your place!" I saw an opportunity to change myself, to change my fate, so I took it with open arms. However, I quickly saw a problem.
'Wait, where am I in the story? I'm a Goldsmith.' I scanned through the story, which was easy to accomplish for the book was branded into my brain. I knew that I would be dead in the book —I had just committed suicide— but I had hoped that, I don't know, I would have been saved. That the protagonist would have helped.
But no, he didn't. I was left to die alone, just like I had chosen to do in this life, except there, I didn't fail to accomplish my goal. It was difficult to find me, but I was mentioned in the story. 400 chapters in. I occupied a single paragraph in the story. I wasn't sure why, but that hurt my feelings. The story went like this.
- I stared at my family, looking at them like they were strangers. The truth that I had just learned was not one that I wanted to know. My best friend, Arthur, had been driven to suicide. I had been told a fabricated truth, that he died of a random heart attack. It was something that could happen, but the odds of it were low. Yet, for some reason, I had so easily accepted the answer. Even the doctor had agreed, although now I realize that he had been bribed. Arthur had never told me that he was being beaten, or that he was forced to work as a servant for our cousins. I should have been able to guess, however, for he always wore long clothes, and he always kept to himself. I was naive, and I was horrible, but my family was worse. They were scum that shouldn't be kept alive.
The story went on with Alexander killing the Goldsmith house, becoming the last of his name, but that wasn't important.
'No shit you were horrible. Also, is this Arthur a retard? Why would he not tell anyone?' I had attempted to call several times for help. I knew that I would achieve nothing by doing so, for my family was extremely powerful, but I had done it anyway. All I earned was a bigger beating, so I wondered if this Arthur feared the punishment too much.
It was an open secret in the household that I was beaten. Whilst none of the servants and maids could act on it, I knew they would make fun of me behind my back.
'Well, at least some things are different. That proves that the story can be changed.' I thought.
"So, when does the story start?" I asked myself. I hoped that the story would start soon because I was not sure that I could last much longer in the house.
There were very few dates written in the story, but the one closest to the beginning was only a week from now. 'Oh, Connor. If only you had survived another week. You could have changed your life.'
I was sad for the other me, he hadn't received the chance that I had. He was so close to salvation, but the grasp of my family proved too much. Well, I was talking like I was unaffected by them. I had also given up, so I couldn't say anything.
"Thank you, whoever gave me this chance. I'll make good use of it." I spoke, facing upwards, to the sky above. I had never believed in God, Heaven, or anything of the sort, but I felt that something must have existed. How could I have survived overdosing otherwise?
I walked to the bathroom attached to my room —I may have been treated like shit, but that didn't mean my family could afford any mistakes. We had many many visitors, and all of them loved to tour our house, for it was so grand, so I was given a regular room.
Standing in front of the mirror that was covered in post-its with motivational quotes, I looked at myself.
I had the amber eyes of a Goldsmith, one of 2 traits that made us a Goldsmith, but unlike my family, I had black hair. Golden hair was the other feature that made you a Goldsmith, and this was one of the reasons I was shunned.
My mother had married a man from Europe, to the dismay of my family. She had gone abroad for a business deal but came home with a husband. The family always spoke of 'bloodline purity' like we were some noble family in the 1500s, but my mother ignored them, which infuriated them.
My facial features were rather handsome; a nice blend of both my parents, and I was of a small, skinny stature. There was not much meat on my bones, for I was only given enough food so that I could put up appearances.
The other reason that I was scorned was that my generation had 14 children. The family was more than rich enough to feed all of us until bursting, for years, I might add, but they chose not to. Our motto was, 'Be merciless, for charity breeds incompetence.' The presence of that many children only increased the competitiveness and their brutality.
They encouraged the children to duke it out with one another, be it verbally, physically, or in business. That meant that, for a decade, from 5-15, I was the target of 13 people's worth of aggression. From the age of 15, when we were entrusted with a business to run, I was still their target.
I had hoped to make a change there; I had inherited the business acumen of both my mother and father. However, I was unable to keep my business afloat. When you were attacked by 13 businesses simultaneously, it was the only result.
Not only that, but my family was equally as harsh when it came to punishments, except for me. I was treated with, 'extra care', as my family put it.
My mother had run one of the biggest business empires in America, but she chose not to share anything with the house. A wise choice, but an equally foolish one. My family may have bred great businessmen, but they were all greedy beyond compare.
This had led to them hating her, and me because I was her son.
She had been killed in an arson attack, alongside my father. Her business was split up among my aunts and uncles. I knew that one of them had killed her, but the case was closed as a gas fire. By the way, the stove was electric. There were no gas lines in the house.
This was something I had learned from the novel in my head and something that I was grateful for. It had given me the answer to a question that had plagued me for 12 years.
I left the bathroom after taking care of my hygiene and having a shower. I wasn't sure when, but I knew that by next week, the world would be in chaos. I had to prepare, but wasn't sure where to begin.
I needed money, first and foremost. Thankfully, the debt incurred by crashing a business was taken care of by my family, but I still had none to use.
There were numerous ways to get cash, but I needed starting capital.
And what way was better than borrowing from my lovely cousins?