LOGINAmara Lopez never believed in fairy tales—especially not the kind that involved ruthless billionaires in tailored suits. She only wanted to finish law school and help her struggling family. But fate throws her into the path of Damian Cruz, the cold and arrogant heir to Cruz Holdings. Their worlds collide when Amara becomes his reluctant intern, sparking a war of wills that neither of them expects to lose. What begins as hatred soon shifts into something more dangerous: desire. But Damian isn’t just any man—he carries a billion-dollar secret that could destroy everything they’re building together. His fortune, his family’s dark past, and a legacy bound by betrayal all stand between them. As enemies turn to lovers, Amara must decide whether to risk her heart on a man the world calls ruthless—or walk away before his secrets consume her. In a world of luxury, lies, and love that burns too hot to ignore, can a billionaire with everything to lose hold on to the one woman he can’t let go?
View MoreAmara's POV The first headline hits before I’m fully awake.My phone vibrates on the nightstand—sharp, insistent—dragging me out of a restless half-sleep that never quite turned into rest. I reach for it with clumsy fingers, eyes barely open, expecting a work email or a reminder I forgot to silence.Instead, I see my name.Not once.Everywhere.AMARA LOPEZ LINKED TO OLD FINANCIAL SCANDAL—QUESTIONS RISE OVER CRUZ HOLDINGS’ LEGAL INTEGRITYMy chest tightens so violently it feels like I’ve been punched straight through the ribs. For a split second, my mind refuses to accept it. I blink hard, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less real.They don’t.I sit up abruptly, sheets tangling around my legs as my heart slams against my chest. Notifications flood my screen—news alerts, missed calls, and unread messages stacking on top of one another like wreckage after an explosion. Every vibration feels accusatory, like the world has already reached a verdict without botheri
Damian's POV The city had no idea what tonight meant.Traffic still moved below, restless and impatient. Headlights poured through intersections like streams of light, pulsing through the dark. Office windows flickered on and off as people wrapped up ordinary lives. Somewhere nearby, music floated up from a rooftop party—bass low, laughter careless, the sound of a night that didn’t matter.For everyone else, it was just another evening.For me, everything balanced on a single breath.I stood beneath a canopy of soft lights strung carefully along the terrace railing. Every bulb had been placed by hand. Every one was chosen because Amara once told me they reminded her of constellations—proof that chaos could be arranged into something beautiful if you were patient enough.The skyline stretched endlessly beyond the glass. Steel and light cutting into the sky.Behind me, the table was set for two.Candles burned low and steady. Plates sat untouched. The private chef had left over an hour
Amara's POV I used to believe that love meant knowing when to step away.That sometimes the bravest thing you could do was leave quietly—before your presence became a liability, before the people you loved had to carry the consequences of things that were never their fault.It was a lesson I learned early.Long before Damian.Long before Cruz Holdings.Long before my name meant anything beyond my own family.That night, I sat alone in my office long after the building had emptied. The overhead lights had dimmed automatically, leaving the city beyond the glass reduced to fractured reflections and distant noise. The folder Sophia had shown me was locked inside my desk drawer, but it felt like it was pressed directly against my ribs.I didn’t need to see it again.I already knew every detail.Names.Dates.Signatures.My father’s.My uncle’s.Financial fraud born from desperation—collapsing businesses, unpaid debts, choices made to survive that hardened into crimes they never escaped. E
Sophia’s POVPeople always misunderstand silence.They think it means hesitation. Doubt. Weakness.They’re wrong.Silence is power—especially when you control when it ends. When you choose the exact moment to let words land like a blade.I learned that early. In boardrooms. In negotiations. Watching men talk themselves into mistakes simply because no one stopped them.And now, watching Amara from across the corridor, I knew exactly when to break mine.She stood near the windows, the city glittering behind her like a carefully staged illusion. Her phone was clenched too tightly in her hand, knuckles pale. She looked smaller today—not physically. She was still polished, still composed, still wearing the version of herself she showed the world.But something in her posture had folded inward.Good.That meant the folder had done its work.Fear is never loud at first. It slips in quietly. A missed dinner. Avoided eye contact. The way she stood alone now, instead of beside Damian.I waited.


















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