Bitcoin Billionaire: I Regressed to Invest in the First Bitcoin!

As the applause continued, the lights dimmed, and the noise slowly died down. Then, a giant screen came alive with cascading digital visuals: bits flowing, vaults opening, assets spinning into coded orbits.

LAUNCHING...

Then, boom! A simulated interface exploded on screen with a bold message:

WELCOME TO STEELE INVESTMENTS.

The lights returned. Louder applause filled everywhere. The launch was finally official.

Amongst the crowd, Brooklyn Baker stepped in after the visual, holding a mic and a knowing smile which Darren replied to with a smirk.

"Some quick questions, Mr. Steele," she teased.

"If it's for you, Miss Baker, why not?"

The rest of the Steele Complex atrium was engulfed with noise. The crowd had dispersed into clusters, drawn to the lavish spread laid out across long tables draped in white linen.

Plates gleamed with offerings: seared scallops drizzled with lemon herb sauce, tenderloin medallions paired with roasted figs, and vibrant salads dotted with edible flowers.

Dessert stations beckoned with tiers of macarons, chocolate truffles, and slices of velvet cake. Overhead, the Steele Investments logo — a stylized speeding "S" woven with digital threads — glowed on massive LED screens, pulsing subtly to remind everyone whose day this was.

Conversations hummed, a symphony of clinking glasses, laughter, and the low murmur of deals being whispered. Investors leaned in close, media reps scribbled notes, and Darren's team worked the room with diligence.

After the interview with Brooklyn, Darren stepped down from the podium, his suit still crisp despite the heat of the spotlight.

As he moved through the crowd, shaking hands and nodding at compliments, his gaze snagged on Cheyenne Lamb Bordeaux.

He could swear that her eyes hadn't left him since she got here. It was sharp and stern, scrutinizing him.

She sipped a glass of wine with the poise of royalty, but still didn't look away. A slice of chocolate cake sat before her, untouched save for a single delicate bite.

Darren's lips twitched into a half-smile, undeterred, before he turned to greet another guest.

Time slipped by, the atrium alive with the clatter of plates and the soft strains of a pianist weaving through the air.

Cheyenne, her wineglass now empty, rose from her chair, fluid and purposeful. She intended to corner Darren, who was now in the midst of yet another interview with Brooklyn Baker, although this time it looked like he was flirting the way they were both smiling.

But as she stepped forward, another figure surged into her path.

Grant Hayes, his suit slightly askew, his face flushed with urgency had nearly collided with Miss Lamb.

He stopped short as her towering frame loomed.

She turned, her silver eyes narrowing to slits.

Grant nodded respectfully. "I'm so sorry, Miss Lamb. I didn't see you."

Her brow arched, recognition dawning. "I know you. You're the son. The one who inherited Albert's fortune."

He nodded, managing a sheepish smile. "Yeah, that's me. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Lamb."

She tilted her head, studying him like a chessboard. "I'm surprised to find you here. You were invited?"

"Yes, though not directly by the CEO himself," Grant said, his tone earnest. "If you don't mind, I really need to go see him before I lose hold of him again."

Cheyenne's lips parted, a desperate scoff masquerading as a chuckle. "You want to go speak with him?" Her voice dripped with disbelief, her gaze flicking toward Darren's direction. "You're walking past me… to speak with him?"

Grant frowned, innocent confusion creasing his brow. "I'm sorry, but is there a problem, Miss Lamb?"

She blinked, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second. "No. No. Do carry on."

"Thank you," he said, already moving on.

But when he glanced toward Darren's spot, the space was empty. Darren had slipped away.

Again!

"No, no, no," Grant muttered, panic creeping in. "Where did he go?" He darted toward the stairs, weaving through the crowd, his eyes scanning for any sign of the man who kept escaping him like a ghost.

Cheyenne stood rooted, her arms crossed, disbelief etching lines into her flawless face.

She was Cheyenne Lamb Bordeaux, CEO of an Empire Company, her wealth measured in billions upon billions. Heads of state sought her counsel; markets shifted on her whims.

If Grant Hayes wanted to speak to anyone about anything... it should be her. She had seen how alight with reverence his eyes were for a 21-year-old upstart investor.

Why?

The audacity stung, bruising her pride. But she exhaled sharply, her fingers brushing the amethyst bracelet on her wrist and at the same time, brushing away the thought.

Then, she turned toward the exit where she knew Darren was.

Outside, she found him standing near a cluster of more interviewers and what seemed like fans. She was with her bodyguards so no one dared come close to her, yet she did feel annoyed by the attention he was getting.

Cheyenne's heels clicked against the pavement as she approached him. "Mr. Steele," she called, her tone clipped. "It's time to meet your end of the bargain. The Pendulum. You have 30 minutes. Don't be late."

She turned toward her custom Rolls-Royce Phantom, but just as she was about to enter, Darren stopped her with his response.

"No."

She paused, one foot on the pavement, and turned slowly. "What?"

"I'm not coming," he said, his tone even, almost playful.

Her silver eyes flared slightly and she fully turned to face him. "You dare?"

Darren was unfazed. "I do. I do dare."

"We had a deal, Mr. Steele," she said.

Darren got closer, hands in his pockets, acting calm even though her aura was a bit terrifying. "And you chose to try to make a mockery out of me. Coming in at the time you did. Your move to exact dominance worked like a charm. But I realized something."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "I have a move too. I don't know what it is yet, but you need me for something, and you seem desperate. So no. I refuse."

Cheyenne said nothing but glared silently and even calmly at him.

"Everyone knows you're stronger, more influential than I am," he continued. "You didn't need to prove it. But until you're ready to admit that needing my help puts us on near-equal footing, I'm not ready to be your business gigolo. Till then, it's a no for me, Miss Cheyenne Lamb."

He held her gaze a moment longer, then backpedaled in a taunting style before turning to walk away.

Cheyenne's jaw tightened, a retort forming, but before she could speak, a woman, young, 19 at most with blond hair and a beautiful pink dress appeared holding a box.

"Hey, Mister Darren!"

Darren spun around, and his heart lurched.

Penelope stood there, holding a slightly lopsided box, her face a mix of sheepish pride and nervous excitement.

"Penelope," Darren muttered with a softer voice. "You're so late. The party's basically over."

She bit her lip, a happy-sad expression on her face. "I know. I spent the whole day trying to make you a cake, but the oven broke, and Dad took forever to fix it, and then I ran out of eggs."

Darren's smile widened, genuine and unguarded. She raised the box high, a little triumph in her gesture. "Cake?"

He glanced at the box, then back at her.

And even though he'd already eaten his fill of the delicacy back inside, he couldn't say no.

"I'd love to," he said. He took the box from her and slung an arm over her shoulder. "Let's go sit somewhere and eat it."

They walked toward the nearby park, laughter ringing out as he cracked a joke.

Cheyenne watched them leave, the angry frown deepening. But as she watched, something shifted, her shoulders softened, her eyes dimmed in an almost sad manner.

She exhaled defeatedly, rubbing her temple as if to banish a thought, and shook her head. "Take me home," she said to her driver.