Chapter 2: Rivalry Renewed

My footing was unsteady; I was almost knocked over by my brother’s shove.

My sneakers squeaked on the worn linoleum, and for a split second, I teetered, nearly toppling into the billionaire’s perfectly pressed suit. Embarrassed, I straightened up, glancing at the staff behind the food counter—someone tried to hide a laugh behind their hand. My brother’s push wasn’t just physical; it was a message, loud and clear.

Startled, I looked at the smug, gleeful expression on my brother’s face and suddenly realized—I had actually been given a second chance.

It hit me like a cold splash of water. All the regret and pain from before crashed into this one moment: the universe handing me a do-over. I could see the triumph in my brother’s eyes, but underneath it all, I felt a jolt of something else—hope, maybe, or just the dizzy fear of getting things wrong all over again.

Back at the turning point of my fate.

I could almost feel time itself holding its breath, the entire group home frozen in the possibility of what came next. The world seemed quieter, more focused, like the universe was giving me one more shot to choose my own path.

"Sir, my brother is afraid of hard work. All day and night, he keeps telling me he wants to be a trust fund kid, to live a life of luxury. Please just take him away as your son."

My brother’s voice was syrupy-sweet, loud enough for everyone to hear. He didn’t even try to hide his ambition. The billionaire’s lips twitched as if amused, but there was a flicker of calculation in his eyes. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as I realized how thoroughly my brother was stacking the deck in his own favor.

"I like studying. I’m not afraid of hard work. Knowledge can change your life. I choose to go to school."

I heard my own voice echo off the cafeteria walls, steadier than I felt. Every syllable was a small act of rebellion, a claim staked on my own future. The staff by the kitchen doors murmured their approval. One of the teachers—Mrs. Evans—gave me a discreet thumbs up.

After hearing my brother’s words, the billionaire looked at him with appreciation.

The billionaire’s gaze lingered on my brother, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. It was the look of a man who saw a reflection of his own youthful ambition. I felt my own heart sink a little.

As for me, there was a trace of disappointment in his gaze.

When his eyes flicked to me, I saw it—the faintest tightening around his jaw, a shadow of letdown. It stung, even though I knew better. I clenched my hands, determined not to let it show.

"Then you come with me, but I have to make something clear to you first. Being my son isn’t about living a life of luxury, and you don’t get to blow through money."

"Each month, I’ll only give you five thousand dollars as an allowance. If you spend more than that, you’ll have to figure it out yourself."

Five grand a month? That was more than my entire group home budget. That was new Nikes, every month. The billionaire’s voice was firm, almost parental, but the numbers he tossed around were wild compared to the thrift-store life we’d always known.

Upon hearing this, my brother’s chest trembled, then he snorted, trying to play it cool.

For a second, my brother’s mask slipped—his eyes went wide, his mouth open just a bit. But then he smirked, all bravado. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, pretending five thousand dollars was pocket change. The staff exchanged wary glances, probably thinking he’d hit the jackpot.

In my previous life, when he was adopted by the billionaire, there were no rules about how much money he’d get each month.

Back then, my brother had strutted around the halls of our new home, flashing his credit card, the king of every sleepover and school trip. The freedom had gone to his head; he had no idea what it meant to work for a dollar.

So once he got the credit card, he basically spent money like water, partying day and night.

The stories got back to me even at college—parties that ran until sunrise, Uber rides across the city, dinners at places I couldn’t afford to even look at. Every Instagram post seemed to scream, “Look at me now!”

It wasn’t until the billionaire finally couldn’t stand it anymore that he limited his spending to a fixed five thousand a month.

Eventually, the billionaire cracked down. The party ended, the limits set. My brother sulked, but the damage was already done—a lesson learned too late.

And now, my brother was throwing shade at me, saying I was afraid of hard work and greedy for comfort, directly shaping the billionaire’s first impression of me, causing him to stereotype me right off the bat.

His words felt like a trap, meant to stick to me no matter what I said. I could see the billionaire’s eyes narrow, the gears turning as he tried to figure out what kind of kid I really was.

This time, he didn’t bother grilling me with questions or chores. Guess my brother’s mouth did all the work.

In my previous life, he’d put me through all sorts of little trials—questions, chores, odd jobs—testing to see what I was made of. Now, thanks to my brother’s fast-talking, I didn’t even get that chance.

"Bro, you’re toast in this life."

He whispered it out of the corner of his mouth, confident he’d won the prize. I caught a whiff of cheap cologne—his, borrowed from the donation bin—and forced myself not to react.

I ignored him.

You can plan all you want, but life has its own ideas.

That thought kept me steady. I’d learned the hard way: you can stack the deck, but fate always has another card up its sleeve.

The billionaire only wanted to help us because we were pitiful.

I glanced around at the faded posters on the walls—messages about hope, about changing your life. Sometimes, that was all people wanted: to feel they’d done a good deed. No matter what anyone said, the choice would always be mine.

Which path to take still depended on ourselves.

Even standing in the billionaire’s shadow, I knew the real test was what we’d do with the hand we were dealt.

I took a step forward and nodded in gratitude.

I tried to stand tall, my voice even. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.” I tried to let my gratitude show, just enough to be polite but not desperate.

Then I said,

"Dad, I don’t need that much money. Just give me two thousand a month for living expenses."

I tried to keep my voice calm, but I felt every eye in the room flicker to me. Two thousand bucks felt like a fortune, but compared to the billionaire’s world, it was spare change.

Here, the average salary is just over a thousand. For me, two thousand is already a lot.

Most of the staff at the group home worked overtime just to make ends meet. I’d seen enough of real life to know what a gift this was.

In my previous life, when I was studying, the billionaire only sponsored my tuition—I had to earn my own living expenses.

I’d worked summers at grocery stores, picked up odd jobs, even tutored other kids. Every dollar was hard-earned, but it taught me how to survive.

I’ve been through hard times.

Sometimes I’d gone hungry, skipped lunch to save for books. I’d patched my jeans and found pride in stretching every dollar. It made me careful, made me value what little I had.

The key is that he’s a kind person; I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness as an excuse to waste money.

Even now, I wanted to show respect for his generosity—not milk it. I knew how people judged charity cases, and I was determined not to become a cautionary tale.

When I cut the amount by more than half, my brother was stunned, but his face was full of sneers.

He stared at me, mouth open in disbelief, before covering it up with another eye roll, as if I’d just pulled the oldest trick in the book.

"Mr. Billionaire, my brother really is afraid of hard work, but he’s great at playing people."

"He knows that asking for too much money at the start is annoying, so he has to take it step by step."

"At the group home, whenever kind people brought snacks and gifts, my brother always refused at first."

"After a few times, those kind people paid special attention to him, saying he was so mature."

"Once he got that label, my brother started asking for money from everyone. He was the first kid in the group home to have an iPad."