The Billionaire's Ultimate Challenge

Night.

A light drizzle fell, and the wind rustled the branches, producing strange sounds. The small two-story house was shrouded in darkness. About a hundred meters away were several black cars, the person in the first car exuding an exceptionally powerful aura.

Ten minutes later, a man in his forties came out of the little house. In one hand, he held an umbrella while cradling a few-month-old newborn girl in the other. His face was stiff, and his steps were heavy.

The man struggled to reach the first car, where several bodyguards in black suits jumped out and surrounded him. The car window slowly lowered, revealing an elderly face. Although the old man was over fifty, he exuded a regal demeanor.

"Master, I present your granddaughter," the middle-aged man bowed slightly, his voice filled with reluctance. The old man gestured, and a bodyguard came to open the car door, taking the baby girl from the middle-aged man's arms and handing her to the master.

The old man's expression was terrifyingly cold. Ignoring the man, he shut the car door and closed the window. The baby girl, removed from the familiar arms, started crying as soon as she was in the car.

A ten-year-old boy sitting next to the old man reached out to hold the baby. "Abigail, don't cry!" The child, though only ten, spoke with maturity beyond his years, his face serious and cold.

Hearing these four words, the old man's icy face softened a bit. Indeed, this six-month-old baby girl had made the boy speak for the third time. Strangely, the baby seemed to have a connection with the boy, as his words immediately stopped her from crying.

"Abigail! Good girl." The boy, expressionless, patted the baby girl's head. At that moment, not only did the girl stop crying, but she also smiled, her rosy lips puckering as drool dripped from her mouth.

The boy took out a handkerchief and wiped the drool from the baby's lips, his gaze peculiar. Despite being only ten years old, his face lacked any childish innocence; instead, his eyes carried a cold and murderous aura.

"Ricard, you've got this child as you wished. I hope you'll keep your word," the old man spoke, not understanding what attracted his grandson to the child. "Stop the nonsense," the boy scoffed, looking at him disdainfully.

The old man's words were highly disrespectful, yet instead of anger, the old man smiled-a rare sight. The conversation between the grandfather and grandson in the car was unusual, especially the boy's attitude, which was even colder than the rain outside.

The rain grew heavier, and the cars gradually disappeared into the downpour. The middle-aged man remained where he was, his eyes wet with rain, staring helplessly ahead. "My daughter, you've only been in this world for six months, and now you have to leave your parents. When you grow up, don't blame the family; we were forced into this." The man murmured.

...

Eight years later, in country A.

On the deck of a luxurious yacht, a young man in a black coat leaned against the railing, gazing into the distance. A cold figure stood in the back, his face hidden. His long coat fluttered in the wind, and his hair was tousled, exuding a lonely and sinister aura.

Several bodyguards stood beside the young man. Despite the icy wind blowing, none dared to advise him to go inside the cabin. The yacht continued to glide along the river, the surrounding mountains passing by quickly. The young man's eyes never blinked. Against the wind, his hair gently blew forward, looking somewhat unnatural. Suddenly, he turned his head, revealing a clear view of his face.

A face as cold as carved from stone, narrow phoenix eyes lacking any seductive charm, yet exuding a faint chill of danger. "Is the old man really dying?" The moment he spoke, the surrounding atmosphere seemed to freeze, dropping the temperature to its lowest point.

"Yes, master," Henry finally looked up, but still dared not meet the young master's gaze, despite the boy being only eighteen. The young man lowered his eyes, admiring the ring on his left hand, a slight smile on his lips, "Not much difference."

His words revealed no emotion. In theory, the old man was his grandfather, and as the only remaining relative, he should feel sorrow at the impending death, but he appeared indifferent. Henry could only sigh inwardly. Having followed the young master for over a decade, he knew the young man let no one into his heart, except for the doll-like girl.

Oh, no.

The girl had grown up, now an eight-year-old girl. The young man finally moved, leaving the deck. As he walked, he asked, "What has she done in the two days I've been away?" Henry, following behind, knew exactly who the young master referred to.

"The young lady..." He hesitated but quickly continued, "She said she wanted to go to school like other normal children." "She's grown up," the young man replied indifferently, entering the cabin.

In the cabin, the male servant saw the young master enter and immediately brought the prepared refreshments. The young man glanced at the fruit on the tray, noticing the red cherries, her favorite. Thinking of her rosy face and soft lips, his expression softened momentarily, but the smile quickly faded, returning to his haughty demeanor.

He reached for a cherry, popping it into his mouth, savoring the sweet taste. He didn't know how many cherries he had eaten when the yacht docked. Surrounded by several bodyguards, the young man disembarked. On the shore, a large crowd stood respectfully, parting to make way for him.

This was a river on a small private island, with imposing buildings amidst the mountains. The mountains were not tall, but the stone steps were enough to show the extraordinary status of the owner. The young man walking up the stone steps was indeed the master of this small island. Though he had no parents, he had a grandfather who commanded both the black and white worlds, the cold mafia boss. In a few days, he would become the new master of the island, a new mafia boss.