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

Darren was in his office now. As usual, it was silent, though this silence was more heavy — not peaceful, not calm, but smothering.

He leaned forward on his desk, eyes fixed on the real-time mining dashboard on his computer as if sheer his willpower could cool the rigs down.

For Rig 4, hr could see its indicator pulsing with an ominous orange glow. The oil pressure warnings were getting louder, the margin of safety thinner.

Even here in his office, it felt terrifying to listen to, and he started to wonder how it must be for the workers back in the Operations Room. It surely would be hard to concentrate.

Every second ticked like a countdown to disaster.

1,950 BTC mined so far.

However, that number could be 0 BTC in some hours, and that was what terrified Darren. Almost turned him mad in fact.

If Rig 4 failed, they could lose all of it. Not the future. Not potential. Real, tangible Bitcoin. Gone.

His jaw clenched. 'Come on, Darren. Think! Think! There had to be something!'

He had earlier spent time admonishing himself for spending time angry at himself.

You see, if Darren hadn't told Ryan about Terry's theft, then the company wouldn't have been dissolved, and his oil would have arrived today.

1,950 BTC wouldn't have been on the line!

Darren had been so angry at himself for that till he realized how stupid it was for him to condemn himself. He'd disrupted a rival business, and even though it had happened at the wrong time, the system was still going to reward him for it.

All he had to do now was brainstorm ways to solve this issue.

He'd done it before. He could do it again.

His phone rang.

Darren picked it up, seeing it was Kara. Her voice came through the speaker: "Eight hours left, boss. It's still mining at 82 MH/s. I think… it could give us two more Blocks, maybe three. But after that… it's done."

Darren closed his eyes for a breath. Two more Blocks meant 100 BTC. At the current rate, that was $70.

"Alright, keep mining and keep an eye on the heat."

That $70 was $7 million in the timeline Darren came from, and the 1950 BTC was almost 200 million.

Fuck...

He rubbed his eyes, then opened them before speaking firmly. "System. Scan for high-end logistics and chemical transport companies within Los Alverez. Prioritize mineral oil capacity. Speed is a priority."

┏Affirmative┛

┏Scanning┛

┏...┛

Ding!

┏Result: Aureole Hauling & Chemical Freight Co.┛

┏ETA: 2–4 Days (Standard)

Emergency Deployment: Restricted

Parent Company: Bordeaux Corporation┛

His eyes narrowed. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He stared at the name glowing in purple on the Investor System's interface. There it was. Bordeaux Corporation. Of course.

'Why does it seem like all my past decisions are just coming back and biting me on my ass!'

Disgruntled, Darren took a breath and picked up his phone. He opened CryptoTracker's messaging system, scrolled to his last conversation with the ice queen herself and typed:

Mr. Duckling: Are you available for a talk?

On the other side of Los Alverez, in the Bordeaux Tower, Miss Cheyenne Lamb Bordeaux was coming out of the building, an expensive white fur wrapped around her neck and a beautiful purple, formal gown draping her elegant, feminine and matured form.

Realizing she had a message, one of her guards handed her her phone — the latest Apple product — and she read the message.

Miss Lamb scoffed.

CheyenneLamb: What do you want, Steele?

Seeing how fast the reply came, Darren realized she was not completely angry with him.

Or at least, she still desired conversation with him.

He quickly replied:

Mr. Duckling: I need to ask you for something. I'm in a tight fix and one of your subsidiaries, Aureole Hauling, is the closest that could help. This request can't be met by the director of the company which is why I need to speak to you.

Cheyenne read that with a feeling of satisfaction. So the little, smug investor wanted her help.

She took her time this time. Then, finally:

CheyenneLamb: So now you ask for a favor. After refusing to meet your end the last time.

Mr. Duckling: That was on you. Help me this time and then... I'll owe you.

Cheyenne looked at the message. She did like the idea of this handsome, prideful investor being indebted to her. As a business owner, there were multiple things she could ask of him.

Darren meanwhile, waited impatiently for her response. He stared at his phone screen, teeth clenched. 'Come on... Come on.'

There was a long pause.

Then the message appeared.

CheyenneLamb: Alright then. Meet me at La Villette. I'm sure you can find your way there. 30 minutes.

Darren exhaled, his fingers already typing back.

Mr. Duckling: I'll be there in twenty.

Cheyenne — with a smirk on her face — gave the phone back to the guard, long fingers smoothing the front of her gown. Her silver eyes sparkled, not with joy — but with something cold and triumphant.

"Driver," she called as she stepped into the luxurious black vehicle. "I'll be having lunch at the La Villette today."

"Yes, ma'am." The driver nodded and started the engine.

---

La Villette was a quiet oasis of green and elegance nestled within the busy city. A restaurant garden built like an aristocrat's courtyard: tall hedges, smooth stone floors, string lights, and a long row of pristine white tables under cream parasols.

When Darren arrived, she was already there.

He spotted her seated under a wisteria-draped trellis. Purple silk blouse. Sunglasses. Wine already poured.

That was surprising, seeing that he had hurried. Was she more excited for this visit? The Bordeaux Tower wasn't that close to this restaurant, was it?

Darren shook the thoughts away, seeing that they were nowhere near important.

He walked to the table, adjusting his suit and steeling his face. Even though he needed her help, he didn't want to look too vulnerable in front of a woman like Cheyenne Lamb.

She didn't rise when he approached, merely crossed one leg over the other and waited. Her confidence was absolute.

He slid into the seat across from her.

"You're late," she said.

"You said thirty minutes. I made it here in twenty three."

Cheyenne tilted her head. "I said thirty minutes. You said twenty. So you're late."

Darren looked at her. "You look good," he said, coolly. "Purple suits you."

She smirked, but didn't thank him. "Let's not talk about my looks, Mr. Steele. I thought you were a more cutthroat type of man? Go on now. Let's skip the small talk. Tell me why I am here."

Darren sat back, crossing his arms. "One of our main rigs is on its last legs. We burned through our clean oil."

"Main rigs?" she raised a curious brow. "You are mining?" She chuckled, her voice was quite sweet, even though annoying in the moment. "What is with this obsession with Bitcoin? Do you really think digital numbers are ever going to be worth anything?"

Darren looked at her coldly. "You wanted us to skip small talk."

"Oh, that is right." She took a sip of her wine. "Well then, I apologize. Do go on, Mr. Steele."

He didn't waste time. "The distributor we were working with— Wilson Logistics— is gone. Your subsidiary, Aureole, is the closest high-capacity hauler that can deliver the oil we need."

"And what," she said, stirring her wine slowly, "do you need from me?"

"An override," Darren said. "Standard order routing takes two to four days. I need the oil in six hours."

Cheyenne looked unimpressed. "That's not a small ask. That would require priority reallocation, jump a dozen queues, and bump two military clients. Not to mention the legal liability."

Darren leaned in slightly. "Come on, Miss Lamb. It's oil. Not uranium. And I'm willing to pay above contract rate. I'm not asking for free."

She met his gaze. "You're asking me to move a branch of my company at your command, on short notice, under my name, for your convenience. I don't care what the rate is. This isn't about money. It's about leverage. Power. And I'm the one who has that power."

She darkened her gaze, tauntingly. "Don't you think it'll be wise to be nicer to me."

Darren's face was flat. He knew ultimately, she was right, so he changed his tone quickly. "You're right. I'm sorry. Just… tell me… What do you want in return?"

Cheyenne paused, set her wine glass down. Her silver eyes didn't blink. "What do I want in return, Mr. Darren Steele? We never had that initial meeting did we?"

"Is that what you want? The meeting?"

"Well, to be precise, I want you," she said.

Darren tilted his head slightly, skeptical. Confused.

She clarified. "Not romantically, obviously. I want your loyalty. Or rather, I want access. What I'm saying here is when the time comes — and it will — I will request something of you. Maybe a data set. Maybe a partnership. Maybe something else. When that moment comes, you don't ask questions. You don't stall. You do what I ask."

Darren considered this. The deal wasn't just about favors anymore — this was a future debt. One with no terms defined.

"You already have something in mind, don't you?" he said. "You just don't want to say it to me. Not now at least."

"You should have just come with me to The Pendulum," she replied.

"I'm here now."

A pause.

He nodded. "Fine. You'll have it. The favor. But only one. I won't complain. I won't refuse. Just get me the oil."

Her lips curled.

She picked up her phone, dialed with ease.

"This is Bordeaux," she said. "Priority override on Aureole Hauling. Destination: Steele Complex. I want that oil moved in under six hours. Reroute whatever you need."

The person on the other line responded.

Then Cheyenne ended the call.

"It's done," she said. "Check your delivery tracker."

Darren checked. Sure enough, Aureole's logistics system was pinging a loading notification.

He looked back at her.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Cheyenne lifted her wineglass again, her nails gleaming like sharp glass.

"Don't thank me." She raised the glass. "You owe me now. And I'll be coming to collect."