They talked tough, but the second they saw blood, they backed off.

I wiped my mouth and looked around.

Same faces.

Some grinned, full of it.

Others stared at the floor, too scared to meet my eyes.

Today's quarterly meeting pulled in Lombardo Corp's top players—most of them I'd handpicked over the last two years.

Before me, Montavia's Lombardo Corp was barely mid-tier.

I took over and flipped everything. Cut the dead weight riding seniority. Gave the overlooked ones a real shot.

Promotions. Raises. I broke rules to make it happen.

Two years later, the company's value tripled. Industry leader.

And yesterday? These same people were lined up outside my office, sucking up.

Now?

Not a single one spoke.

Seeing them hesitate, he shoved Clara aside. "What are you scared of? I'm Lombardo Corp's CEO now—the real Lombardo heir," Philip said.

He jabbed a finger at me. "And him? A fake. Exposing him's doing everyone a favor. Got a problem with that?"

He lifted the signing board again. "Sign it and get a raise."

That was all it took.

A department manager I'd personally promoted stepped up, signed, then spat in my face. "Trash like you belongs in the dump. Why show up and get in Philip's way?"

Philip cracked up and tossed him a bonus on the spot. "Who's next? Make me happy, you get paid."

Their eyes lit up. One by one, they signed, branding me a "fake heir."

"Luca, you trash who stole someone else's life. Your real parents are probably rotting in some dump!"

"A fake's always a fake. That poverty stink on you? Disgusting."

"If you hadn't hit Philip, we might've said a word for you. For old times' sake, maybe we'd let you stay—clean toilets. Hahaha!"

They took turns ripping me apart, grinding me down to nothing.

It hit me—this was almost funny.

I was born rich. People smiled at me my whole life.

After I took over the family business, the respect only got louder.

When I first showed up at Lombardo Corp Montavia, they treated me like royalty.

I thought I'd earned that with my skills.

Guess not. To them, status was everything.

You don't see people clearly until you're down—who's real, who's just a shadow.

Lombardo Corp Montavia? It'd probably been rotten to the core for a long time.

After they had their fun, Philip gave a signal. A few bulky bodyguards stepped in.

They slammed me down and ripped my clothes off.

A neon vest—"FAKE"—went on. A placard hung from my neck. The camera zoomed in for the livestream.

[Hell yeah! You're the king! This is peak content. Every expose hits hard!]

[Thought rich dudes act untouchable why you crawling now.]

[Philip, don't stop. Keep it coming. Need the next part.]

Philip looked down at me. "My fans want it? I deliver."

He had them pin me down, then drove his foot into my chest. Pain blew through me. Blood came up.

"Exposing fakes means a beating. Hit him. Hard."

These guys knew what they were doing—every strike landed where it hurt most.

Cold shot through me. I forced it out, "They're trying to kill me. Call the chairman. If he finds out I got hurt, you all are done."

"Still dreaming?" Philip sneered.

He pressed his foot into the wound. I sucked in air. "Why would my dad help a fake? He wishes you'd disappear. Stop embarrassing the family."

He glanced at the bodyguards. "Keep going. If he dies, it's on me."

So he wasn't stopping.

I shut my eyes, ready to play my last card.

Then the conference room doors slammed open.

Nicolo and Martina stood there, out of breath.

Nicolo took one look at the mess and snapped—

"What the hell is going on?!"