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Worthy
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2025-11-11 08:04:13Damian’s POV
The wind up on the hill was sharp but clean — the kind that smelled like rain and old memories.Rows of marble headstones shimmered under the early light, and Damian stood in front of one name that had defined half his life.Emilio Cruz.Even carved in stone, it still felt heavy. Still commanding. Still cold.He hadn’t been back since the funeral. Back then, he’d stood here in a suit and tie, holding in his grief behind a face trained for boardrooms and shareholders.Now, he came with nothing to hide. No mask. No armor.The company his father built had changed — and so had he.Cruz Holdings wasn’t a fortress anymore. It breathed now — fair, open, alive.Employees owned shares. Every department had a voice. For the first time in decades, Damian’s office door stayed open.They published transparency reports every quarter. Investors called it “a new era.”But to Damian, it wasn’t a revolution. I
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His Billion-Dollar Secret The Secret in the Folder
Amara’s POVI stared at the folder for a full minute after Sophia left.It sat on the table like something alive—quiet, pulsing, poisonous.My hands wouldn’t move. My lungs barely did.The air felt thick and heavy, like the room itself was closing in.I wasn’t ready to open it.But not knowing would hurt even more.My fingers trembled as I slid the elastic off. The sound snapped through the room like a warning.Then I opened it.And everything inside me cracked.---The first page was a financial record—my brother’s name printed clearly at the top.I blinked. Reread it. Blinked again.Illegal loans.Predatory lenders.A forged signature.My mother’s signature.My stomach twisted hard.I flipped to the next page. My heartbeat thudded louder with each line.Court notices.Threats of asset seizure.A past complaint—withdrawn without explanation.Or paid off.The room swayed for a second.I knew my brother was desperate back then. I knew his debt after my father’s accident was bad. I knew
His Billion-Dollar Secret The Warning
Sophia’s POVPower was a funny thing.People thought you lost it the moment you stepped out of a building or left a title behind. But real power didn’t come from a desk or a nameplate.Real power lived in information.Secrets.Leverage.And I had plenty of that.Amara followed me into a small meeting room on the 18th floor. I chose this room on purpose—quiet, isolated, and well out of Damian’s line of sight. A place where conversations could slip through cracks unnoticed.She closed the door behind her, shoulders tight, fingers gripping her folder. She tried to look composed. Tried not to show she was afraid.She should’ve been.“Relax, Amara,” I said, settling gracefully into a chair and crossing my legs. “I didn’t bring you here to fight.”She didn’t sit.Of course she didn’t.“What do you want? ” she asked, voice steady but strained.Straightforward. Good. She wasn’t as naive as she used to be.I tilted my head. “It’s been a while. You could at least pretend to be civil.”“I’m busy
His Billion-Dollar Secret Sophia Returns
Amara’s POVSome days, the office felt like a living organism—breathing, shifting, absorbing everyone’s anxiety, and releasing it in small waves.Today, it felt like it was holding its breath.Like all the oxygen had been replaced with something sharper, heavier, waiting.And I knew why the moment the elevator doors opened.Sophia was back.Her heels clicked across the marble like a warning shot. She walked beside a board member, smiling like she owned the place—like she hadn’t nearly blown up the company with forged documents and quiet manipulation that sent us spiraling for weeks.And somehow, everyone acted normal. Like the ghost of a near-disaster wasn’t strutting through the hallway in a designer suit.I froze for half a second, clutching the folder in my hands. She looked exactly the same—sleek ponytail, flawless makeup, that signature red lipstick—but there was something colder in her eyes now. Something calculated.Her gaze swept the room.And landed on me.Her smile didn’t fa
His Billion-Dollar Secret The Perfect Moment
Damian’s POV I’ve handled billion-peso mergers, boardroom battles, hostile negotiations, and executives with egos bigger than skyscrapers. I’ve given speeches to hundreds, stared down investors twice my age, and rebuilt entire departments from scratch. But nothing—absolutely nothing—has ever made my hands shake like the idea of asking Amara to marry me. The velvet box on my desk might as well be a live bomb. “This shouldn’t be this terrifying,” I mutter. And yet it is—because this isn’t business. It’s her. And she matters in ways I spent years refusing to admit. Footsteps pass by in the hallway, and I snap the box shut, slipping it into my pocket. Even hidden, it feels heavy. Like it’s carrying every hope I buried, every longing I tried to suffocate, and every future I didn’t let myself imagine until she came back. The proposal has to be perfect. Not extravagant—Amara doesn’t care about that. I don’t need fireworks or a grand hotel ballroom or a dozen photographers. I just need
His Billion-Dollar Secret A Future She Can Imagine
Amara’s POVThe office feels different today.Not heavy. Not tense. Not stretched to its breaking point the way it had been for weeks.Just… quiet.Ethan’s transfer request was approved this morning. The news slipped through the halls like a soft breeze—small whispers, brief questions, concerned glances.Where is he going?When is he leaving?Is he okay?I didn’t answer any of them.Because I was still figuring out how to breathe in the space he left behind.But the strangest thing wasn’t the emptiness.It was the calm that followed.A quiet that wasn’t painful or uncertain anymore. A quiet that felt like a beginning instead of an ending.Maybe that’s why, when Damian stopped beside my desk at noon and asked, “Want to take a break? ”—I didn’t overthink it.I just nodded.---We end up on the rooftop. Not the dramatic version where people break down or confess life-altering truths… even though we’d done all of that here before.Today, it’s just a place touched by soft wind and kind sun
His Billion-Dollar Secret Ethan’s Goodbye
Ethan’s POVI didn’t expect goodbyes to feel like fading out of my own life.For days, I’ve been drifting through the office like a ghost—quiet steps, quick nods, avoiding anything that lasts longer than a polite exchange. People notice, of course. They always do. They just don’t ask.Except Lydia.She’s leaning against the pantry counter when I walk in, coffee in hand, looking half awake and fully judgmental. Her eyes track me before I even reach for a mug.“You look like someone unplugged your soul,” she says.Classic Lydia.I force a smile that feels thin. “I’m fine.”“Which is exactly what people say when they’re absolutely not fine.”I don’t respond. Lydia watches me for a moment, then sighs into her cup like the weight of my emotional crisis personally inconveniences her.“Just… don’t disappear without telling her,” she mutters.My hand tightens around the mug. “I’m not disappearing.”She hums. “That’s what you think.”She leaves before I can answer, and the silence she leaves b
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