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

The silence wasn't peaceful.

It was the kind that gnawed at the edges of sanity, the kind that festered in the shadows of ambition and secrecy, brewing schemes behind closed doors and billion-dollar firewalls.

High above the city, on the top floor of Moon Wealth Management's gleaming headquarters, the air was thick with calculation.

Ryan Anders stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, a tumbler of rare, amber-hued whiskey cradled in his hand.

Behind him was the city sprawled before the gallant building, its twinkling lights swallowed by the bruised purples and fading golds of the dusk sky.

Before him was a massive digital display screen. It had a surface made of mosaic of financial charts, company rosters, and a single, striking graph that dominated the room: Steele Investments' growth trajectory, a meteoric spike that seemed to pierce the heavens.

"It's like watching a startup go supernova," came a voice from the shadows.

Anders turned his head.

Cyrus Weller, the man he had summoned for this precise moment, lounged on a sleek leather couch, one leg crossed casually over the other.

Cyrus was bald, with piercing, eagle-like eyes.

He was a former intelligence analyst turned corporate fixer— a man who could weaponize data with the precision of a sniper.

Ryan returned to the screen. "Supernovae explode eventually," he said softly. "We just have to time the detonation."

He took a slow sip of whiskey, the liquid burning a path down his throat as he finally pivoted to face the room.

Using the remote in his free hand, the digital screen shifted, replacing the triumphant graph with a new interface.

This one displayed a meticulously curated list of startup names, each categorized by investment stage, risk profile, and network influence. The data was a map of opportunities— and traps.

Cyrus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. "You sure you want to bait the boy with this one?"

Ryan's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Darren Steele has been a rather surprise for me. Better than I gave him credit for. But like most who climb fast, he has a fatal flaw: he believes he can save everyone."

Cyrus arched a brow, his silence an invitation for Ryan to continue.

Ryan's finger hovered over the screen before tapping a single name: 'Delverate'.

The words glowed briefly, a promising AI-powered logistics startup that had quietly received funding through one of the company's Moon Wealth managed.

Sinclair Group.

Delvarate was a rising star, a beacon of innovation— and now, it would be the sacrificial lamb in Ryan's carefully orchestrated game.

"Delverate is perfect," Ryan said, his voice smooth as polished steel. "Small enough to seem vulnerable, ambitious enough to catch his eye. If we dangle it in front of Steele, he won't be able to resist."

He scowled. "His obsession with startups will be his own downfall."

Cyrus nodded, his mind already racing through the logistics of the plan. "And when he bites?"

Ryan's smile was cold, predatory. "We let him think he's the hero. Then we pull the rug out."

--------

Later, at Moon Hotels Private Lounge— a study in understated opulence: dark wood paneling, plush velvet chairs, and a crystal chandelier that cast fractured light across the room, air smelling faintly of leather and expensive cologne— Ryan was ready for the next act of his plan.

Across from him and Cyrus sat the two young founders of Delverate, their faces a mixture of ambition and unease.

Jonah, the leaner of the pair, had a boyish charm that belied his sharp intellect, his fingers fidgeting with the cuff of his tailored jacket.

His partner, Ethan, was slightly heavier, his curly hair and darting eyes betraying a nervous energy he couldn't quite mask. They were in their mid-twenties, young enough to dream big, old enough to know the cost of failure.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, glass in hand, his gaze dissecting the two men before him. "You'll go in clean and sad," he instructed, his tone clipped, authoritative. "You've just lost everything. Moon Wealth backed out. A big contract vanished overnight. You're desperate, you're broken, and you're looking for a savior."

Jonah shifted uncomfortably. As expected, the boys were nervous and tentative, but him mostly so. "What if he doesn't buy it?" he asked.

Ryan's eyes locked onto Jonah's, unyielding. "He will," he said with absolute certainty. "Darren Steele is practically allergic to missed potential. That's your mask— you're ambitious kids who got crushed by the corporate machine. He lives for underdogs."

Cyrus interjected, his voice calm but laced with menace. "But don't forget, the poison's in the paperwork. We've buried a licensing dispute under a shell IP clause. Once Steele signs, he'll inherit the whole mess. We trigger the legal action, leak it to the press, and boom— Steele Investments is tied to a fraudulent AI startup. Regulators will swarm, public trust will crater, and his empire will start to crack."

Jonah swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Ethan nodded slowly, his jaw tight.

"Wouldn't that just affect our product as well?"

"No." Cyrus shook his head. "Of course not. Didn't you hear what I said? It's only the licensing. Moon Wealth are the ones in charge of your deal with the Sinclair Group. Nothing is going to happen. Once this is done, you return back to business and we continue our work as partners."

The two boys still appeared uncertain, glancing at each other as though wishing the other would say something or decide so they could blame them later.

"100 thousand," Anders suddenly stated.

The boys snapped their heads at him. "What?"

"100 thousand reunion clause. 50 thousand contract cancellation clause. That's 150 thousand dollars. This should assure you that we're not here to mess around. Your business is safe as it has always been with us. Now you either go big..."

He sat forward. "...or go home."

The two boys looked at each other now, having expressions that said, '150 thousand is 150 thousand.'

So they both nodded at this same time, turned to Ryan and declared in unison. "We're in!"

Ryan's smile was a practiced blade, cold and precise. "This is your show, gentlemen. Win his sympathy. Sell him the dream. Then fall into his arms like good little orphans."

The founders exchanged a glance, their resolve hardening under the weight of Ryan's expectations. With that 150 thousand dollars, they were in too deep to back out now, and they knew it.

-----

That same day, they performed the fake press conference.

Moon Wealth's press room was a calculated space, designed to project authority without ostentation.

It was almost similar to Steele Investments' but rather than silver walls, the walls were white, framing a centered screen.

A furnished podium stood at the forefront, and a digital banner flickered with the name 'Delverate' in bold, accusing letters.

The room was modest by design, but every detail— from the angle of the lighting to the placement of the chairs— had been engineered to control the narrative.

Ryan stood before a small army of cameras, flanked by Moon Wealth's polished spokespeople. In his hand was a fabricated press release, its words crafted to wound without drawing blood. He wore a somber expression, his navy suit impeccable, his posture radiating regret.

"Representing the Sinclair Group, it is with deep regret," he began, measuring his voice, "that we announce the termination of our partnership with Delverate, due to irreconcilable internal disputes and a fundamental misalignment with our future goals. We wish the young founders well as they explore new opportunities."

Camera bulbs flashed, their staccato bursts illuminating Ryan's face. A few journalists leaned forward, their pens poised, sensing the faint whiff of scandal beneath his polished words.

Ryan allowed a pained smile to flicker across his lips, the kind he'd practiced in mirrors for moments like this. "Business is a world of hard lessons," he said, his tone heavy with feigned solemnity. "Sometimes, the market simply doesn't forgive idealism."

Off-stage, Cyrus watched from the shadows, his faint smile a mirror of Ryan's. The trap was set, the bait laid. Now, it was only a matter of time.

As the broadcast ended and the screen faded to black, Ryan set the press release down on the podium. He cracked his neck, a rare moment of informality, and turned to Cyrus.

"Let's see how our boy Steele handles this one," he said, his voice low, almost playful.

Cyrus's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "You really hate this fucker, don't you?"

Ryan glanced at him. "I am slightly ashamed of the things I could sacrifice just to see him fail."

And so they waited.

After the press was over and the journalists were all gone, in the silence of the top-floor office, Ryan stood once more by the window, ending the day like he had started it.

Another whiskey was in his hand, but this one was nearly gone, and his mind was alight with possibilities.

He hated to admit it, but that young pest, Darren Steele was shaping to be a formidable opponent, a man whose rapid rise had shaken the foundations of Moon Enterprises's carefully curated empire.

An empire he was obligated to protect.

Carefully going after the children of the powerful families because he knew they would inherit their health.

And for the one person who had no children, he went straight for the owner— Cheyenne Lamb.

How could a twenty one year old be so methodical?

Ryan felt goosebumps grow in his skin. It has been a while since he felt this thrill in the world of business. Being as powerful as he was, crushing companies that dared Moon Enterprises was easy.

So, somehow, this battle was bittersweet to him.

Ryan thrived on challenges like this— on outmaneuvering those who dared to stand in his way.

Delverate was just the beginning. If Darren Steele took the bait, the fallout would be catastrophic: a public relations nightmare, a legal quagmire, and a blow to his reputation that no amount of charm could undo. And if he didn't? Well, Ryan had other plans, other traps waiting in the wings.

One of which was about to strike a certain ally of his.

Hahaha. It was all coming to place.

Cyrus joined him at the window, his reflection a ghostly silhouette in the glass. "You think he'll see it coming?" he asked, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Ryan's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He might. But by the time he does, it'll be too late."

"Little Mr. Duckling wouldn't know what hit him."