Mine or his
Lucas Watson
If I want something, I can get it—not by luck, but through hard work. I don’t leave room for failure. That’s why, at twenty-four, I’ve already achieved what most people only dream of: a thriving business, stability, and a life where I want for nothing.
What used to be dreams? Now they’re my reality.
I started small. My game development company was barely worth mentioning—just another struggling startup with too much ambition and not enough resources. But I pushed through strategy and relentless grind, it grew. Now, my name is known across the industry—not just because I worked my ass off, but because of Cavani, the MMORPG I built from scratch.
Cavani isn’t just a game—it’s the most immersive open-world RPG out there, powered by AI-driven NPCs. It’s more than just code. For gamers, it’s a second life. There are quests, adventures, alliances, and rivalries. In Cavani, people get to become whoever the hell they want to be.
But it’s not perfect. As the community grew, so did the toxicity. Trolls, know-it-alls, and cowards who hid behind avatars just to make others miserable.
That’s why I’m here now, in the office with my core dev team, hashing out our next move.
“Lucas, we have data from the latest wave of reports. Harassment cases in the game are up by 30%. Mostly new players getting harassed during guild recruitment.”
Everyone calls me Lucas at work. That was my call. I’m not the only one who built this company. My team stood by me as we rose from nothing. I wouldn’t be here without them.
Brandon, one of my lead devs, rolled his eyes. “We really need a stricter filtering system. No matter how many reporting tools we add, it’s never enough.”
“Bans are too easy to bypass,” Miko, one of our data analysts, chimed in. “They just make new accounts and come back. It’s like pouring water into a bucket full of holes.”
I nodded, deep in thought. These weren’t just numbers. That was the problem with anonymity—it gave people freedom. And cowards used that freedom to be cruel. And I’ll be damned if I let Cavani’s reputation go to shit because of a few assholes.
“I have a proposal,” Jamie, our head of community management, spoke up. “What if we implement verified accounts for higher-level content? Not the whole game, but just the high-tier dungeons, PvP, trade hubs… the places that matter. It might keep the smurfs out.”
I considered it. Risky, but not a bad direction.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t want to force players to give up their anonymity. Cavani wouldn’t be Cavani if people didn’t feel free.”
“Then restrict certain features for unverified accounts?” Miko added.
I smirked.
“That,” I said, “we can work with.”
The team visibly relaxed.
“Draft a detailed plan. And I want our AI moderation integrated into the guild management system. If we can flag toxic behavior patterns early, we can shut it down before it spreads.”
The team exchanged glances—some excited, some anxious. But they knew: if I asked for a solution, we’d find one.
“Any updates on the new project?” I asked, shifting gears to the upcoming expansion.
“Alpha testing starts next month,” Brandon said. “Combat balance still needs tuning.”
“Fix it,” I said flatly. “We’re not releasing half-baked content.”
They nodded. They knew I don't tolerate mediocrity. It wasn’t pride. It was standard. And I never lowered mine.
But then, in the eleventh month of our strongest year, shit hit the fan.
Rumors started. Our finances were shrinking. Investors were pulling out.
“This doesn’t make sense…” I muttered, staring at the financial reports in my office.
We handled all player reports. There were no unresolved issues—nothing we hadn’t already addressed.
So what went wrong?
But then I remembered the most recent update.
The one that had pissed everyone off.
The increased in-game tax on high-tier trades.
In Cavani, players ran the economy—selling rare items, custom gear, and exclusive resources. But gold sellers and market manipulation were destroying balance. We had to intervene higher transaction taxes.
Our goal was stability.
The result? Chaos. Top players with huge inventories were pissed. Trade activity plummeted. The market froze. And now they were threatening to leave.
“Lucas…”
I looked up. Jamie stood at the door, looking exhausted.
Jamie approached, looking wrecked. “I spoke with finance. Investors are getting nervous. They think the backlash is going to tank us.”
“It’s just one damn update,” I snapped. “They’re overreacting.”
But even as I said it—
I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Maybe,” she said. “But the damage is real. Our top-tier players are our backbone. If they leave, we’re screwed.”
Fewer players meant less revenue. Less revenue meant a dying game.
And I wasn’t about to let that happen.
My chest tightened. I wasn’t used to losing—and I wasn’t starting now. If I wanted to win this fight, I needed a move. Fast.
But for two days, I found nothing.
Two days of numbers, strategies, projections—
Nothing worked.
So, I drank.
I drowned myself in alcohol, desperately trying to clear my head and failing.
The bar was loud, but distant—like I was hearing everything through water.
I leaned against one of the corner tables in Echelon Bar, swirling whiskey in my glass. I’d lost count of how many shots I’d had. At this point, I didn’t care. The weight of everything had already numbed me.
A group of women tried to flirt with me. I raised my hand—flashing my engagement ring.
They backed off.
I had a fiancée.
I had a life.
I had everything under control.
…didn’t I?
That’s when someone else stepped in. A man.
He said something—I didn’t catch the words. My vision was too blurry. All I knew was that he handed me a business card. I shoved it into my pocket without a second glance.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Navy-blue suit that looked expensive as hell. Even drunk, I could tell this guy wasn’t ordinary. He carried power—not the fake kind that most businessmen flaunted. Real power. Heavy presence.
Then—everything went black.
I woke up on a soft bed.
At first, I thought I was still dreaming. Then the pounding in my skull reminded me otherwise.
But the pain in my back?
That was something else entirely.
I sat up slowly—winced—and turned.
There was someone beside me.
A man.
Sleeping.
An incredibly handsome man.
Fair skin. A small mole near his left eyebrow. Eyes slightly slanted, but not too sharp. Even asleep, he looked refined—like someone who belonged on screen, not in the aftermath of my drunken mess.
My stomach dropped.
I looked down.
I was completely naked.
My mouth went dry. A chill ran through me.
Flashes started coming back—warm breath against my skin, lips on my neck, sounds that blurred into moans I couldn’t tell were mine or his.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
I couldn’t remember it all. But I remembered enough to know exactly what happened.
I scrambled for my clothes, pain radiating with every movement. I limped out of the room, cursing under my breath.
“It’s fucking painful…”
By the time I reached the elevator, my hands were shaking.
Then my phone rang.
The screen lit up.
Honey.
My chest tightened.
My face went pale.
