Andrew Tate: - How To Be A G- Medbay

The private Medbay on his Romanian compound was clinical and cold—white walls, a single monitor tracking his vitals, and a window that looked out onto the concrete driveway where his fleet of rental Porsches sat unused. The silence was broken only by the soft beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor.

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he wasn’t the Top G. He was just Emory, a kid from Chicago who used to be scared of the dark. The one who started kickboxing because he was lonely, not because he wanted to dominate. The one who thought that if he just got rich enough, loud enough, hard enough, he’d never have to feel small again. Andrew Tate - How to Be a G- Medbay

He whispered to the empty room. “I don’t feel like a G.” The private Medbay on his Romanian compound was

Something did. Small. Quiet.