Billionairess By Survival

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW The car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down. And the last person I expected to see… was behind the wheel. “Um… hi?” Her voice was smooth. Effortless. Like silk with a little spice. The kind of voice you hear and instantly know—this woman doesn’t beg for anything. I blinked, frozen. Bianca Brown. The Bianca Brown. Billionaire. Fashion icon. Business mogul. The woman every magazine couldn’t get enough of. Her honey-blonde hair was pinned back in a loose bun, oversized sunglasses on, and a gold watch that probably cost more than my whole life. “Are your good?” she asked, frowning at me through her window. Her gaze swept over my bags, then up to my tear-stained face. “What’re you doing out here with all that luggage?” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “Uh… I—um…” “Look,” she said, voice softening just a little. “You lost or something? What’s your name?” “Sierra,” I croaked, hugging my purse to my chest. She pulled off her gl

SEIRRA’S POINT OF VIEWIt started with a knock.A slow, deliberate knock.I froze.Sitting on Rebecca's couch, curled in her blanket, a bowl of cold mac and cheese in my lap. Not even hungry—just filling the silence.Then it came again.Three sharp pounds. Thunder on wood.My heart rammed my chest.No. Please no.Was it him?Becca said I was safe here. She swore.But what if Logan found me?I crept to the window, pulled the blinds with shaking fingers—and there it was.A Silver Audi.His Silver Audi.And in front of it… two men in black suits. One holding a briefcase.My stomach twisted.My legs moved before I could stop them, carrying me to the door. I didn’t want to open it. But not knowing felt worse.I opened it.And there he was.Logan Hart.Looking flawless.Like he hadn’t shattered me into a thousand pieces just nights ago.Same slicked-back hair. Same cold, dead eyes. Same twisted smirk.“Logan…” I whispered. “Please. Don’t make me go back. I—I can’t.”He chuckled. A low, crue

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW The air felt different today. Maybe it was just me overthinking again, or maybe it was the fact that—for the first time in forever—I had somewhere to go. Somewhere official. Somewhere that didn’t involve pain, or Becca’s couch, or sitting behind a screen like a ghost no one remembered. I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Too long. Maybe too long Becca had laid out an outfit for me like the sweetheart she is—a clean white blouse tucked into a navy-blue pencil skirt. It hugged my waist and flared out a little past my knees. Classy. Modest. Confident. She even handed me a pair of black kitten heels and said, “These are your power shoes today.” I didn’t say much. Just nodded. My hands were still shaking while I tied my hair into a simple low bun. I added some gloss, mascara, nothing too dramatic—just enough to look like someone who had her life together. Even if, deep down, I still felt broken. Becca hovered like a mom sending her kid off to their f

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEWTwo years.It felt like a blink, but at the same time, it felt like a lifetime ago. That scared, broken, unsure version of me? I don’t even recognize her anymore.A recommendation turned into a contract, and that contract turned into five. Soon enough, companies were emailing me, begging me to design their websites. I was no longer just "Sierra Morgan." I was Sierra Morgan, the girl whose name was now on Forbes’ list of top ten youngest female billionaires in America.Who was I kidding?I wasn’t just rich. I was powerful. I was respected. I was living the exact life I once thought I could never have.The office was filled with quiet clacks of designer heels and faint clicks of keyboards. I sat in my personal workspace—clean, minimalistic, but screaming wealth. A Prada bag sat effortlessly on my marble desk. My laptop glowed beside it. Everything in here was tailored, intentional, and dripping with taste.I took a sip from my latte and leaned back in my chair, wa

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW I was already dressed. The heels were clicking softly against the marble floor, and the silk of my wide-leg pants flowed with every step I took. My maids had already gotten everything ready—my bags were packed, everything labeled and zipped. From documents to heels to skincare—I wasn’t playing with this trip. Everything had to be perfect. I took a deep breath and looked around. My mansion was quiet, just the way I liked it. Elegant, dim, soft lighting on the staircase, a soft breeze through the hallway… Everything in here screamed peace. Power. Growth. And I was proud. I was so damn proud of myself. From broken to billionaire… this version of me? She didn’t beg. She didn’t cry. She walked like she owned every room. Because she did. I walked down and there she was—Becca. Waiting by the door. Her hands crossed tightly against her chest like she was trying not to cry. “Don’t do that,” I mumbled, walking into her arms. “Do what?” she sniffled, hugging me ti