I Became Rich With My System

Chapter 7

I Hours passed like years until at last the doors swung open. A doctor emerged, his mask hanging loose, his eyes were heavy.

Aria bolted to her feet, storming him. “What happened to my son?!” she cried, clutching his sleeve.

“Ma’am, please—” he tried to calm her, but she ripped his hand away, screaming,

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Tell me what happened to my Liam!”

The doctor’s gaze shifted to me. “Are you the father?”

I swallowed hard, standing tall though my knees wanted to buckle. “Yes… of course, I’m his father. Tell me what happened to my son.”

Then suddenly the ICU doors pushed open wider. My stomach turned. Liam was wheeled out on a stretcher, his head was wrapped in thick white bandages, and the sheets were drenched with blood. The blood was so much. His small chest rose shallowly under the machines. He looked half alive, half gone.

Aria screamed, lunging forward. “My baby!” She tried to grab him, but I pulled her back, holding her tightly even as she kicked and wailed in my arms. Tears blurred my vision, but I forced my voice steady. “Doctor… tell us. Now. What happened to our son?”

The doctor exhaled and gestured for us to follow. “Please… my office.”

We followed him, silent except for Aria’s sobs echoing down the sterile corridor. Inside his office, he flicked on a screen, medical scans flashing to life.

He pointed with his pen. “The bullet entered here—through the frontal bone.” He traced the glowing image where Liam’s skull had been breached. “It fractured the left frontal lobe and penetrated into the cerebral cortex.”

Aria gasped, her nails digging into my arm.

“The operation stabilized him,” the doctor continued. “But… the projectile damaged neural tissue. We fear possible memory loss, motor impairment… and post-traumatic complications. When he wakes—if he wakes—his condition will have to be assessed carefully.”

Aria broke. Her cry shattered the sterile silence of the room. She fell to her knees, covering her face. My heart clenched, but I crouched and wrapped my arms around her. I was whispering to her, "We’ll get through this… I promise. He’ll fight. He’s strong—just like you.”

When we stepped out of the office, the quiet was gone. The hospital lobby was swarmed with flashing cameras. Reporters barked questions like vultures.

“Mr. Kael, we heard about your son—how is he?”

“Do you think this is retaliation from people you wronged?”

“Is this connected to the comrades you allegedly betrayed?”

Allegedly. My fists curled. Even now, they still believed the lies. That I had killed my own brothers-in-arms. How gullible.

I opened my mouth to answer when a new commotion rippled through the crowd. “The former Prime Minister, Dr. Carroway Milton of Black Spire, has arrived!”

Heads turned. The sea of people parted as Milton walked in, flanked by his towering aide and Jessica. He carried himself with polished arrogance, but his bow to us was low. He must have rehearsed it so well.

“My deepest sympathies,” Milton said smoothly. “I am truly sorry for what happened to your boy.”

His words bounced off me like stones on steel.

“I assure you,” he continued, “from this moment, Liam will receive the best treatment available. My personal resources are at your disposal.”

I scoffed, stepping close, locking eyes with him. “Tell me, Milton—can you swear you had no hand in this?”

He tilted his head, smile faint. “Understandable, Kael. You’re grieving, desperate for someone to blame. I won’t take offense.” He was twisting it, framing me as unstable before the cameras. Clever bastard.

“Really,” I muttered. “We’ll see about that.” I turned, guiding Aria away.

Later, I found a quiet café for her. She sat hunched over the cup I’d bought, her hands were trembling around it. I sat beside her, watching the tremor in her lip.

“Kael…” her voice was small. “You never told me about the results before.”

I looked into her red, swollen eyes. “Liam is free,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t carry the psychopath gene.”

Her body sagged, then she broke again, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t know… God, Kael, I thought—how could I think my own son was a monster? I’ll never forgive myself.”

I pulled her against me, stroking her hair. “Enough. None of this is your fault. Everything will be fine. We just need him to wake up.”

Just then, my phone buzzed. *Seraphina Voss.* I answered quickly.

“Kael,” her voice was sharp, urgent. “We checked into what you asked. You were right. We traced the license plate from the attack vehicle. It’s foreign… the payment was made from an account under Milton’s Black Spire holdings.”

I tightened my grip on the phone, teeth grinding. “That bastard is a sly snake.”

“Be careful,” Seraphina warned. “Milton’s influence runs deep. You can’t move against him recklessly. And Kael—there is something you need to know. We’re investigating, there is possible ties between Milton and Malik Radwan.”

Seraphina’s voice lingered cold and sharp in my ear. I clenched the phone tighter.

“Seraphina,” I muttered, my voice was low, “keep me updated about the status. I want every detail—no matter how small.”

There was a pause for a while then she reply, her reply was steady and calm. “No problem, Kael. You’ll have my updates as they come. And… Kael—” her tone softened, “I’m sorry about your son. Truly.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing words out. “...Thank you.” Then I ended the call just before I could show the crack in my voice.

Aria’s voice cut in behind me, trembling but sharp. “Who was that?”

I turned to her slowly. “It was Seraphina.”

Her eyes widened. She stood up so quickly her chair scraped against the café floor. “Kael.” My name left her lips like an accusation.

“Listen to me,” I said, raising my hands, trying to steady her spiraling emotion. “Let me explain how everything is happening—”

But she cut me off, her voice slicing through mine. “Why, Kael?! Why are you still in contact with them? Don’t you remember? Those people nearly cost you your life!”

I breathed hard through my nose, holding her gaze. “I didn’t contact them. They were the ones who reached out to me first.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, disbelief flickering across her face.

“There are… things,” I continued, softer now, “many things going on that I can’t disclose to you yet. But I promise you, Aria… when all of this settles, I will tell you everything.”

She shook, still angry, still afraid. I knew why—she had every right. After all, those people’s mission had destroyed our family, torn apart everything we once were. Because of them, I’d lost my home, my town, my prestige. And here I was, tied to them again. If I were her… I would hate me too. But I couldn’t stop now. Too many truths were buried. Too many ghosts demanded answers.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her trembling body close. “Trust me, Aria. I’ll explain when the time is right.” She didn’t reply, only cried quietly into my chest.

We returned to the hospital. Liam lay in his bed, pale and still, his little frame hidden beneath wires and tubes. He looked so calm it terrified me. Too calm. We weren’t even allowed close. So we stood at a distance, watching our boy as though he might vanish if we dared breathe too loud.

Then I heard it—my name. “Kael.”

I turned. Darren was there, my brother, walking toward me with his wife at his side. Relief and pain crossed his face as he pulled me into a rough embrace.

“I heard,” Darren said, his voice thick. “I came as soon as I could. Kael… Liam will be alright. He has to be.”

I nodded, voice low. “I believe so.”

We sat later in the hospital restaurant. Neither of us touched the coffee before us. Darren tapped his fingers against the table, his jaw tight before he finally spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Kael… maybe it’s time you relocated. At least for now. I can talk to my in-laws—they have subsidiaries abroad. You can work there. Lie low, just until this storm passes.”

I shook my head immediately. “I can’t. There are too many businesses, too many threads I need to hold together here. If I run, I only confirm the rumors. Everyone already believes I killed my comrades—that prison was proof enough for them. But the truth is here, Darren. Malik Radwan is here. If I find him, I clear my name.”

Darren leaned forward, eyes fierce. “And for how long are you going to risk your life? Your family’s life? Do you remember the sniper attack, Kael? The very day you were released? And now Liam—God, Kael, do you know who will be next?!”

His words pierced me, sharp and raw.

“You need to let go,” he pressed. “Think of your family first. That’s all that matters.”

I opened my mouth to reply—then the hospital intercom blared to life.

Attention, medical staff to Room 406! Code Blue. Repeat, Code Blue, Room 406!”

My blood turned to ice. Room 406. Liam’s room.

“Liam!” I roared, bolting to my feet.

I ran, Darren’s footsteps pounding after me. The hallway blurred, every breath jagged in my chest.

When I reached the room, Aria’s scream nearly split me in two. She was clutching the edge of the bed, tears streaming, crying Liam’s name over and over. Doctors swarmed, shouting orders, their movements fast and frantic.

“Charge to 200!”

A defibrillator whined, then slammed into Liam’s chest. His small body jerked violently, his head rolling to the side.

“No!” Aria screamed, fighting against the nurse holding her back.

“Again! Clear!”

Another shock. His body arched, then collapsed back into stillness.

I pressed my fist to my mouth, tasting blood where I’d bitten my lip. My knees wanted to give, but I couldn’t—wouldn’t. Not while my boy was fighting for breath, for life

The sharp, rhythmic beep of the machine pierced through the thick silence of the room. For a second, my chest stopped moving, my breath caught in my throat. Then one of the nurses gasped softly before calling out, her voice was trembling.

“Doctor, his vitals are stabilizing!”

Relief crashed into me like a wave. My eyes darted to Aria, and I caught the way her body gave out as she collapsed onto her knees, her hands trembling, tears streaming freely down her pale face. The sound of her sobbing clawed into me, raw and desperate, as if the very weight of the world had just been lifted and then dropped again.

I didn’t think. I rushed to her, scooping her. She clung to me instantly, her arms wrapping around me with such force that it felt as though she was trying to anchor herself to reality through me.

“Aria… hey,” I whispered, my hand stroking her back, my own voice thick though I forced steadiness into it. “It’s fine now. Do you hear me? Everything is fine. Our son is strong—he’s going to be okay.”

Her sobs only grew harder, muffled against my chest, but she nodded weakly.

The door pushed open then, and the doctor stepped out, his expression solemn, exhaustion written on his face. I held Aria tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his tone grave. “After the success of the surgery, your son suffered a seizure. It’s not unusual in cases as complex as his. But… fortunately, we managed to intervene in time. He’s stable now.”

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My arms tightened around Aria when she stiffened against me. The doctor continued, bowing slightly, “You should rest your minds. He is safe. Please trust us to monitor him closely.” With that, he excused himself.

Aria’s sobs returned, softer but endless. I shifted, holding her upright, guiding her into the room where Liam now lay sleeping peacefully, his small body dwarfed by the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling faintly. The sight twisted something deep inside me.

I pulled her closer. “Look at him, Aria. He’s fighting. He’ll be fine. Don’t worry, alright?”

Her wet lashes lifted, meeting my gaze with silent fragility. She nodded faintly, trusting me—believing me because she had no choice but to.

Just then, the shrill vibration of my phone cut through the silence. I slipped it from my pocket and pressed it to my ear.

“Kael,” Seraphina Voss’s voice came through, “I don’t know how you’ll take this, but I had to dig into who was behind the attack at the restaurant. The one that… led to your son’s condition.”

My jaw clenched. “And?”

“It was Hawthorne,” she said bluntly, her words like ice water running through my veins. “Right now, Mr. Hawthorne is at Club Obsidian.”

A muscle ticked in my cheek. My voice dropped, cold, certain. “No problem. I’ll head there now.”

“Good,” she replied, and then the line went dead.

I lowered the phone, my silence speaking louder than anything. Aria lifted her tear-stained face generate .

“That bastard… was it him? The one who hurt our child?” she asked, her voice trembling but laced with a quiet rage.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence was confirmation enough.

Her hands balled into fists, her fragile body shaking. “Kael… make him pay. For trying this with our son—make him pay.”

Her words struck me harder than any blade ever could. I paused, staring into her eyes for a long moment before nodding once. My voice was low, almost a promise to the air itself.

“No problem.”

I turned toward the door, my resolve burning like fire in my chest. But before I could step out, her voice stopped me again.

“Kael…”

I froze, half-turned.

Her eyes glistened, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut through me. “Be careful out there.”

I only nodded once, silently, and walked out.

Not long I reached the club, the bass hit me the moment I pushed past the velvet curtain — heavy, vulgar, and pounding so hard it rattled my ribs. The club reeked of sweat and liquor. There were Strobe lights carved through the smoke, painting the dance floor in fractured flashes of red and violet. Bodies moved like shadows in heat, grinding, colliding, forgetting themselves. Laughter bled into curses, the sound of glass breaking somewhere in the back, and the DJ’s voice screamed into the microphone like a dying animal.

I’d been in clubs before. I knew what they were — temples of excess, hiding places for broken people. But tonight, I wasn’t here for the noise or the liquor.

I was here for one man.

Hawthorne.

Milton’s right hand.

And if Milton had ordered the attack, then Hawthorne was my direct line to him.

I moved through the crowd, shoulders brushing against bodies that smelled of cheap perfume and alcohol. My pulse was steady, my eyes scanning. Somewhere above the chaos, the government’s lies pressed against the back of my skull. They thought they could bury my team in silence, erase us from history like we were nothing but disposable ghosts. They thought the world wouldn’t care — or worse, would turn against us if they knew what really happened.

But the world wasn’t my concern anymore.

Milton was.

And Hawthorne was my way to him.

A hand brushed my arm, soft, lingering. I turned — quick, sharp — and found a woman standing too close. She was dressed like the others who haunted places like this: short skirt, painted lips, and a smile that wasn’t a smile at all, but bait.

“Looking lonely, handsome,” she purred, dragging her manicured nails along my sleeve like a promise. “Why don’t you buy me a drink? I’ll make it worth—”

My hand snapped out, iron around her wrist. The glare I gave her could’ve dug her grave right there on the sticky club floor.

“Get. Off.” My voice was low, guttural. Deadly.

Her painted face twisted, and she hissed, yanking her hand back like I’d burned her. “Psycho.” She spat the word before vanishing into the crowd, heels clicking like daggers.

I didn’t waste another thought on her. My eyes tracked upward — movement. A group of men in tailored suits slipping toward a staircase at the far end of the club, heading for the rooftop’s private rooms. Special rooms. That’s where Hawthorne would be.

I pushed past the last row of dancers, ignoring the curses thrown at me, and slipped out into the cool night air. The rooftop was quieter, but not safer.

As I neared the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs, I felt it — the shift. That sixth sense, that whisper in my bones.

The gunshot would’ve split my skull open if I hadn’t turned at the exact moment. My hand clamped over the attacker’s wrist, twisting the weapon away before the trigger could pull fully. His eyes widened, panic flashing — too late. My elbow crushed his nose, my knee drove into his gut, and I slammed his skull against the concrete with a crack that silenced him forever.

His body dropped, lifeless, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Blood spread beneath his head like a dark halo.

Screams erupted behind me. Clubgoers had followed up, wide-eyed, horrified. But their fear was gasoline, feeding the fire I carried inside.

The door burst open. More men spilled out — black suits, earpieces, eyes cold. Milton’s men.

Good.

They came at me in a wave. The first swung a blade — I caught his arm, twisted it until I heard the snap, then buried his own knife into his thigh. He screamed, collapsing. Another came from behind, fist flying — I ducked, drove my palm into his chest so hard I felt his ribs fold.

Three, four, five of them. All trained. All lethal. But I was more.

I moved like shadow and steel. Fists breaking jaws. Boots crushing knees. One man drew a gun — I slammed his arm against the railing, made him drop it, then drove his face into the metal until it caved. Another lunged with a roar; I caught him mid-charge and hurled him over the side of the rooftop. His scream cut short as the ground devoured him.

It was a storm. A minute of bone and blood and silence. When it was done, the rooftop was littered with broken bodies, groaning, twitching, or not moving at all. My breathing was heavy, but steady.

I shoved open the door and stepped inside.

The private room was soaked in cigar smoke. A long table stretched across the space which contains the bottles of expensive whiskey.

And there he was.

Hawthorne.

He sat at the head of the table like a king, his suit immaculate, his smirk deliberate. A gun lay casually on the chair beside him, within reach — but untouched.

“Well, well.” His voice was silk and poison. “The ghost himself decides to pay me a visit. I was beginning to wonder if you’d crawl out of the ashes.”

I stepped forward, my jaw clenched, my eyes never leaving his.

“Why?” My voice cut through the smoke like a blade. “Why did you do it?”

Hwarthorne slowly rose to his feet, his shadow stretching long across the room. His eyes were fixed on me, sharp and unflinching.

“I’ve heard many things about you, Kael,” he said, his was tone calm. “Your braveness, your unshaken attitude, your refusal to bow before fear. Perhaps tonight… I’ll see for myself if all of that is true.”

I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening. His words brushed past me, but the fury inside was already lit, burning hotter with every breath.

“Why?” My voice cracked the air, low but cutting. “Why did you do it, Hwarthorne? Tell me why.”

I stepped forward, my eyes boring into his. “My son was just nine. Nine, damn it!” My chest heaved, anger and grief tangled in every word. “Why did you have to let Liam witness such pain? Why?”

Memories crashed through me—the hospital lights, the doctors’ rushed footsteps, the way my boy’s small hands trembled as he fought to hold on. My throat tightened, but I forced the words out, each one like glass shredding through my chest.

“He was operated on for twelve hours. Twelve long, brutal hours.” My voice shook now, but I didn’t care. “My son had to spend twelve hours fighting for his life… and you did that to him.”

I could see Liam’s pale face again, the machines keeping him alive, and I snapped my gaze back at Hwarthorne, my teeth gritted. “Does my son deserve that? Tell me, does he?”

My breath came ragged, and I pressed a hand to my chest as though it could cage the storm breaking inside me.

“For six years…” I paused, swallowing hard. “…I was gone. Six years I couldn’t be the father he needed. Six years of silence, distance, mistakes I can never take back.” My voice fell, raw with regret. “But I came back to him. I returned to act like a father—to give him what I couldn’t before.”

I raised my head, eyes locked on Hwarthorne like steel. “But did you have to do this to him? Did you have to rip apart the little boy who finally got his father back?”

The words spilled from me, heavy, unrelenting, each one aimed straight at him.

Hwarthorne let out a dry, mocking scoff, his lips twisting into something between a smirk and a snarl.

“You really piss me off, Kael,” he spat, his tone dripping venom. “That day at the Black Spire—you came into my space, looked me in the eye, and acted like you owned the damn place. Rude. Arrogant. As if you were above me.”

I narrowed my eyes, every muscle in my body tense, my blood boiling with restrained rage.

He jabbed a finger at me, his voice rising. “And what made it worse—what I’ll never forgive—was how Milton praised you in front of me. Dr. Milton, of all people, telling me that your skills outshone mine. That you were the one worth admiring.” His jaw tightened, eyes glinting with madness. “I hated it. And now… I want you to prove yourself to me.”

My breath came sharp, my patience long gone.

“That’s your reason?” I barked, my voice thundering across the room. “That’s your excuse for hurting Liam? For nearly breaking a child’s life because your pride was bruised?” I stepped closer, every word fueled by rage. “You don’t deserve to stay alive, Hwarthorne.”

The smirk flickered into something darker. In a flash, he yanked a gun from his side. My instincts screamed.

The crack of the gunshot split the air. I ducked as the bullet tore past me and shattered a glass cabinet behind. Shards exploded across the floor, the sound was deafening in my ears.

Another shot rang out—then another. I darted behind a pillar, keeping low, waiting, listening to the rhythm of his madness. Bullets slammed into walls, tables, chairs, sending splinters flying. My pulse beat steady—I had to wait him out.

Click.

Silence followed. The sound of an empty chamber.

That was my moment.

I surged out from behind the pillar like a storm unleashed. Hwarthorne barely had time to register me before my fist connected with his jaw. The impact cracked through my knuckles, and he staggered back, blood flying from his mouth.

He tried to swing the gun at me, but I grabbed his wrist, twisting it with brutal force until the weapon clattered to the ground. My other fist drove into his gut, then an uppercut snapped his head back violently.

The club erupted into chaos—people screaming, rushing for the exit, tables overturning in the stampede. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

I pummeled him again and again, each punch heavier than the last, fueled by every image of Liam’s suffering burned into my memory. Hwarthorne’s face became a canvas of blood and bruises, his body collapsing under the weight of my fury. Still, I drove my fists into him—nose broken, lips split, skin torn. Until finally, he slumped unconscious at my feet, his face scattered and unrecognizable.

My chest heaved as I stood over him, knuckles dripping red, the rage inside me still burning.

“Freeze!” a voice roared from behind.

I turned sharply, blinking sweat and blood from my eyes. A group of armed officers had poured into the room, guns trained on me.

“Hands up!” another barked.

I lifted my hands slowly, breathing hard, my gaze still locked on the broken shell of Hwarthorne at my feet.

Two of them advanced, fast and sharp. Cold steel snapped around my wrists as the handcuffs bit into my skin.

For the first time that night, I exhaled, but not in relief—only in bitter defiance.