The Billionaire’s Weakness

“Move! Somebody call an ambulance!”

The scream cut through the storm, drawing every eye toward the growing crowd in the middle of the street. Without stopping to think, I pushed my way through the people gathered around the scene. Rain soaked my clothes within seconds, plastering my hair to my face as I fought my way to the front.

The moment I saw the man lying on the wet pavement, my stomach dropped.

A black SUV stood at an awkward angle a few feet away, one of its side mirrors shattered. The driver looked pale and shaken while several bystanders stood around shouting over one another. Some were trying to help, but most had their phones out, recording the accident instead of doing anything useful.

“Give him some space,” I said as firmly as I could while kneeling beside him.

A woman standing nearby looked at me hopefully. “Are you a doctor?”

“No,” I replied as I reached for the man’s wrist. “I’m a sports therapist.”

Blood mixed with rainwater and trickled down the side of his face. He looked young, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but there was enough damage visible to make my pulse quicken. I checked his breathing before focusing on his pulse. It was there, but weaker than I liked.

Then I looked properly at his face. The realization hit me instantly.

Ethan Brooks.

I knew that face. Everyone in America knew that face.

He was one of the biggest athletes in the country and the star player signed under Kingston Sports Group. His image appeared on billboards, sports magazines, television commercials, and social media feeds almost daily. Millions of people followed his career.

Yet at that moment, he wasn’t a celebrity. He was simply an injured man lying unconscious in the rain.

“Ethan, can you hear me?” I asked.

For several seconds, there was no response. Then his eyes slowly opened. Pain flashed across his features as he focused on me. Before I could say anything else, his hand shot out and wrapped tightly around my wrist.

The strength of his grip surprised me.

“Don’t…” he whispered.

I leaned closer so I could hear him over the rain.

“What?”

His lips moved again.

“Don’t let them…”

The words faded before he could finish. His eyes rolled shut, and his hand loosened around my wrist.

I stared at him, my heart pounding. Don’t let them what?

Before I could think about it any further, the sound of approaching sirens filled the street. Paramedics rushed toward us moments later and immediately took control of the situation. I moved aside and watched as they loaded Ethan into the ambulance.

Even after the vehicle disappeared into the storm, his unfinished warning stayed with me.

I couldn’t explain why, but it bothered me more than it should have.

Three days later, my life somehow became even worse.

I sat alone in my apartment staring at the email on my laptop screen, hoping the words would magically change if I looked at them long enough. Unfortunately, they remained exactly the same.

"Due to budget restructuring, your position has been terminated effective immediately."

I let out a short laugh and closed my eyes. At that point, all I could do was laugh.

The rent was overdue, my savings account was almost empty, and the debts my father had left behind continued to hang over my head like a dark cloud. Losing my job was the last thing I needed.

The tiny apartment suddenly felt suffocating. Every corner seemed to remind me of another unpaid bill. A final warning notice sat on the kitchen counter beside a stack of envelopes I had been avoiding for weeks.

I rubbed my temples and tried not to panic.

Somehow, I had to figure this out.

My phone rang before I could spiral any further.

Mia, my best friend.

I answered immediately.

“Tell me you’re celebrating,” she said.

I laughed bitterly. “I got fired.”

There was a brief silence. Then came a string of words that would have made a sailor proud.

I smiled despite myself.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“What happened?”

“Budget cuts.” “Those idiots.”

I sank deeper into the couch and stared at the ceiling. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You’ll find another job.”

“Not quickly enough.”

Mia was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“Check your email.”

“I already did.”

“No, not that one. The other inbox.”

Frowning, I opened my laptop again and checked the folder she was talking about. A new message sat near the top of the screen.

The sender instantly caught my attention.

Kingston Sports Group.

My heartbeat quickened.

“What is it?” Mia asked.

I opened the email and began reading. Then I read it again, and again.

Surely I was misunderstanding something.

“What?” Mia demanded.

I swallowed hard.

“They want to interview me.”

There was a pause. Then she screamed.

I pulled the phone away from my ear before she damaged my hearing.

Kingston Sports Group wasn’t just another company. It was one of the most successful sports organizations in the country. People spent years trying to get their foot in the door.

Yet somehow they wanted to meet me. The position was for a sports therapist assigned to a high-profile client, and the salary attached to the offer was enough to make my head spin.

For the first time in weeks, hope began to creep back into my chest.

“When is the interview?” Mia asked.

“Tomorrow.”

“Then stop sitting around and start preparing.”

After the call ended, I looked around my apartment and allowed myself to believe that maybe things were finally changing.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

The next morning, I stood outside Kingston Tower, staring up at a building that seemed to disappear into the clouds.

Luxury cars lined the entrance while sharply dressed executives moved confidently through the revolving doors. Everything about the place screamed money and power.

Taking a steadying breath, I walked inside.

An hour later, I found myself sitting across from three interviewers on the top floor, answering questions about my experience and qualifications. The interview had gone surprisingly well, and by the time it ended, I felt cautiously optimistic.

Then the door opened. The atmosphere inside the room changed instantly.

Every person at the table sat a little straighter. Every conversation stopped.

I turned toward the entrance and immediately understood why.

Alexander Kingston had arrived. The billionaire CEO carried himself with a quiet confidence that demanded attention. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he looked every bit as powerful as the business magazines claimed he was.

His gaze swept across the room before settling directly on me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You were there,” he said.

My stomach tightened.

“The accident.” Ethan.

Before I could respond, Alexander took another step forward.

“You were the woman who helped him.”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

Something unreadable flashed across his face.

Then he turned to the interview panel.

“Leave us.”

Within seconds, the room was empty. The door closed behind the last person, leaving me alone with one of the most powerful men in the country.

Without saying another word, Alexander reached into his jacket and removed a photograph.

He placed it on the table between us. The moment I saw it, my blood ran cold.

It was a picture of my father.

Slowly, I looked up at him.

“What is this?”

Alexander’s expression darkened.

“Your father stole something from my family.”

My heart stopped.

Because my father had been dead for two years and suddenly, this interview no longer felt like an interview at all.