Chapter Two: Fremed by Fate
James stood frozen, his mind racing. If I clean his shoes, my clothes will be dirty, he thought. But a thousand dollars… He mentally calculated his earnings. His salary as a cleaner barely amounted to that in three years.
This could change everything. I could start a business, get off the streets, stop living paycheck to paycheck.
He took a deep breath and slowly walked toward Grey. Swallowing his pride, he knelt and wiped Grey's shoes with his shirt.
When he stood up, holding back his humiliation, he stretched out his hand. "I've done it. Can I have the money now?"
Grey burst into laughter. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he sneered. "You really thought I'd give you money? For that? Get lost before I deal with you."
Laughter erupted around the room. James felt like the ground could open and swallow him whole. His face burned with shame. He had made a fool of himself in front of everyone—just to be mocked.
Without thinking, rage surged through him. He landed two hard punches on Grey's face, both fists connecting with his nose. Blood gushed out instantly.
Gasps echoed in the room, but James didn't wait. He turned and ran from the house, knowing exactly what would happen next.
"Go after him!" Grey screamed, clutching his face. "Beat the hell out of him and drag him back here! He doesn't deserve to walk away!"
Four bodyguards stormed out in pursuit. James ran as fast as he could, his heart pounding. He didn't dare look back—he knew they were close.
One of the guards, faster than the rest, caught up and grabbed his shirt. The old fabric tore easily—James had been wearing it for over seven years. It was a gift from a friend at the orphanage.
That tear awakened something in him. He stopped running. Enough was enough.
Turning around, he faced them. He didn't care that he was outnumbered. He wasn't going to be humiliated again.
The first guard lunged. James dodged the punch, countering with a swift blow to the armpit and chest. The man collapsed, groaning.
The remaining three closed in. One charged, but James sidestepped and kicked him in the back. The man flew forward, slamming his head into a concrete wall.
The last two hesitated. One of them remembered Grey's orders: Get him, beat him, and bring him back.
But James wasn't the same man who wiped shoes moments ago. He had trained in boxing at the orphanage and practiced regularly to stay sharp.
One guard threw a wild punch. James caught his wrist, twisted it, and delivered a crushing kick to his stomach. The man flew backward, hit a stone, and passed out.
After witnessing what had just happened, the last guide took off running. James let him go and turned his attention to the guide who had earlier torn his shirt. Fueled by rage, he marched up to him. The man was already weak, barely able to defend himself. James landed a powerful punch to his mouth, leaving him injured and bleeding.
Without hesitation, James pulled off the guide's shirt and wore it. He walked away, leaving the humiliated man behind, too ashamed to lift his head.
Exhausted and emotionally drained, James wandered aimlessly until he stumbled upon Sky Bar, one of the most popular spots in the city. He wasn't a drinker by nature, but tonight he needed something—anything—to dull the pain his girlfriend had caused him.
He walked in and ordered two bottles of beer. Taking a seat in a dim corner of the lively bar, he began to drink. The first bottle went down quickly, but before he could start the second, sleep began to pull at him. His eyes drooped. The alcohol hit harder than expected. He had barely started sipping the second bottle when he slumped over and fell off his chair, unconscious.
Several wealthy patrons filled the bar that night—men and women dressed in elegance. One of them, a man of influence and power, had been observing James. With a calculating smile, he turned to his bodyguards.
"Carry him to Room 41. Nora is there. Make sure you place him beside her."
The guards obeyed. Gently, they lifted the unconscious James and carried him upstairs. When they reached Room 41, they found Nora sleeping alone on the wide bed. Without waking her, they placed James on the floor, pulled off his trousers, and carelessly tossed them aside. Seeing he was wearing brown boxers, they carefully laid him next to Nora and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind them.
The man who orchestrated the setup had only one goal: to compromise James.
Moments later, Dora—Nora's older sister—entered the room. She froze at the sight of a strange man sleeping beside her younger sister.
"Oh my goodness," she whispered, shocked but composed. She immediately pulled out her phone and took several pictures. With a few taps, she sent them to their mother, father, and grandmother via WhatsApp.
Their mother, Hannah, was resting in Room 20 when her phone buzzed. She opened the message and bolted upright, furious. She marched straight to Nora's room.
Meanwhile, Dora began waking Nora. "Well done, Nora. So you've got a boyfriend now, and you never told me."
Nora stirred, still groggy. As her eyes landed on James, confusion and fear clouded her face. "What boyfriend? Who is this? How did he even get here?"
James, barely awake, tried to speak, but Dora cut him off sharply. "Save the drama. I've already sent the evidence to Dad and Mum."
"Why would you do that without even asking me?" Nora shot back angrily.
"Because you always hide things from me," Dora replied calmly.
"But I don't know this man! I swear!"
"You'll explain better when Mum gets here," Dora said with a smirk, just as Hannah stormed into the room.
"There you are, Nora! You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend! Why are you hiding things from me?" Hannah snapped.
"Mum, I don't know him. I swear I don't know how he ended up here."