**Chapter One: The Broken Wallet and the Broken Heart**
Jayden Omari pressed his palm against his growling stomach as he walked through the school gates, his backpack hanging loose by a single strap. The dawn mist had barely cleared, and already his shoes were soaked from walking the five-kilometer stretch of muddy road from the edge of Kibera.
His uniform shirt, second-hand and threadbare, clung to him in all the wrong ways. A loose button on the chest had been fastened with a safety pin. His collar had turned a permanent shade of brownish-gray no matter how many times he scrubbed it.
Still, Jayden held his head up. He was used to pretending. Pretending he had eaten. Pretending he didn't mind the stares. Pretending his dreams weren't ridiculous.
Inside the compound of Eastview High—a private school where rich kids rubbed shoulders with scholarship students like him—reality hit harder than hunger. Range Rovers lined the parking lot. Students with iPhones laughed about weekend plans at Java House or a friend's beach house in Diani. Jayden had spent the weekend helping his mother sell second-hand clothes in Gikomba.
But worse than the wealth gaps and mocking stares was Sasha.
Sasha Njeri.
The girl he thought was different.
The girl he thought loved him.
Sasha was leaning against a sleek white car, her legs crossed confidently, her expression detached. She wore the same school uniform as everyone else, but hers was always spotless, always perfect. Her hair was neatly braided, her nails painted light pink. She had once told Jayden, while leaning against his shoulder under the bleachers, that money wasn't everything.
Apparently, that had changed.
"Jayden," she called out just as he passed by, her voice slicing through the morning air like a sharp knife. He froze.
He turned slowly, forcing a smile. "Hey."
"We need to talk." She stepped forward, her arms folded. Her tone was cold. Public. Deliberate.
Jayden glanced around. A group of students had already turned to watch, sensing drama like vultures sense death. His throat went dry.
"Here?"
"Yes, here." She raised her voice. "I can't do this anymore."
Jayden's heart skipped. "Do what?"
"This." She gestured at him like he was a burden. "You. Us. This broke-boy fantasy life you live. I'm tired of acting like I'm okay dating someone who can't even afford airtime."
He blinked. "Sasha, I thought—"
"You thought wrong," she snapped. "You've been lying to yourself. You think love is enough? That it feeds me? Dresses me? Jayden, I'm not here to be a charity case."
He flinched like she'd slapped him.
"I found someone else," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Murmurs spread instantly.
Jayden nodded slowly, his lips trembling. "Alright."
"That's it?" she laughed mockingly. "No begging? No fight?"
He looked her in the eyes. "What's left to say?"
For the first time, Sasha's confident stance faltered. But Jayden didn't wait. He turned and walked away, his backpack bouncing against his spine. Every step felt like dragging the world behind him.
But he didn't let her see him break.
Not here.
Not yet.
---
**Later That Day**
Jayden sat at the farthest end of the school library, hidden behind a row of tall bookshelves. He didn't cry. He was used to disappointment. But for some reason, this one stung like no other.
He took out the single apple he had saved from the school lunch tray. He didn't eat it. He stared at it. Wondering if it was enough to feed a broken heart.
The librarian passed by and said nothing. Everyone knew Jayden. The quiet scholarship student with big grades and small clothes. The boy who always returned borrowed books a day early.
No one knew about the secret letters he wrote to his future self.
Or the way he sometimes whispered to the sky, asking if God had forgotten him.
---
**In an Office Tower Across the City**
Inside the glimmering glass tower of Lexington Holdings, a man with salt-and-pepper hair tapped his fingers against a mahogany desk. His suit was cut from fabric imported from Italy. His wristwatch cost more than most people's cars.
His name was **Richard Lexington**—Africa's most elusive billionaire.
And Jayden's biological father.
"He's starting to feel it," said the assistant standing beside him.
"Good," Richard said. "The boy must suffer enough to understand value."
"Sir, with respect, he's just a teenager."
Richard didn't blink. "And I was a CEO at eighteen."
The assistant stayed silent.
Richard turned the screen on his desk. A grainy photo showed Jayden walking in the rain.
"Soon," Richard whispered. "He will know the truth."
---
**Back in Kibera**
Jayden arrived home just after 7 PM. Their small, two-room iron-sheet house was dimly lit by a single solar lamp. His mother, Mama Clara, was boiling maize and beans on a charcoal stove.
"How was school?" she asked, wiping her hands on her skirt.
Jayden dropped his bag and forced a smile. "Good. Just tired."
She could tell he was lying. But she didn't push. That was their silent agreement—let the lies be if they helped you sleep.
"You're still our star," she said, ladling food into a tin plate.
Jayden took it and sat down cross-legged on the floor. The taste was familiar. The warmth was all he needed tonight.
But just before he went to bed, he found an envelope under his pillow. No return address. Just a golden embossed letter: **L.**
Inside was a single sentence written in bold:
**"Your name is not Jayden Omari. Your life begins now."**
And a key.
And a location.
Jayden stared at the address.
Karen, Nairobi.
He had never been near Karen. Too rich. Too clean. Too far from reality.
But something inside him—an instinct he couldn't name—told him this was real.
This wasn't a scam.
This wasn't a joke.
This… was destiny.
---
**The Next Morning**
Jayden skipped school. He didn't tell his mother. He just said he had an exam late in the afternoon. Then he boarded a matatu with the few coins he had left and took the journey across town.
Karen was nothing like his world. The air smelled like flowers, not burning garbage. Gates were taller than houses. Guards didn't smile.
He reached the address.
There was no house number. Just a black gate with gold linings. As he stood there, wondering what to do, the gate opened silently.
A tall man in a black suit stepped out.
"Jayden?"
"Yes," he said, suddenly unsure.
"Come in. We've been expecting you."
---
Inside was a mansion larger than Jayden thought possible. White pillars. Marble floors. Chandeliers. Oil paintings.
He walked cautiously as the man led him to a study.
There, a man in a wheelchair waited.
His face was familiar.
Not because Jayden had met him—but because he had seen that face on the news, on business magazines, and on Forbes covers.
"Jayden," the man said, extending a hand. "I am Richard Lexington."
Jayden swallowed. "I know."
"You're my son."
Jayden blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I had a relationship with your mother twenty years ago. I couldn't raise you then. It was dangerous. My enemies… they kill to weaken me. But I've been watching you."
"This… doesn't make sense."
"I understand. But everything will make sense soon. I brought you here because it's time you knew your true identity."
Jayden felt the room spinning. "Why now?"
"Because you're about to inherit everything."
**Later That Night**
Jayden stood in front of a mirror in a guest bedroom bigger than his entire house back in Kibera. He was wearing a designer sweater that cost more than his mother's annual income.
But he didn't feel rich.
He didn't feel powerful.
He felt like a lie.
And deep inside, a whisper told him: *Don't forget who you are.*
He picked up his phone and checked Sasha's profile. She was posting pictures with Brandon at a rooftop restaurant.
Jayden smiled.
"Keep eating, Sasha," he whispered. "One day… the bill will come."
He closed the app.
Then he picked up a pen and started writing his first donation under a fake name: **"Anonymous Legacy."**
**End of Chapter One**