THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY MAKER

[LUCIANA’ POINT OF VIEW]

The smell of tinola simmering in our small kitchen filled the air as I sat beside Grandma, peeling vegetables.

Our old wooden table wobbled each time I leaned on it, but we’d long gotten used to it. For us, this little house was more than just walls and a roof. It was love. It was family. It was home.

Then came the knock.

Not the polite, soft kind from a friendly neighbor — but firm, sharp, and full of purpose. I froze, the peeler still in my hand.

“I’ll get it, Grandma,” I said quickly, wiping my hands on my apron and walking to the door.

When I opened it, a man in a crisp barong stood outside. He held a brown envelope and wore the expression of someone who’d rather be anywhere else.

“Good afternoon,” he said formally. “I’m here regarding the Bautista property.”

My heart skipped. “What about it?”

“As of this morning, the house and land are no longer under your family’s name. The property has been sold due to unpaid debts. The new owner requests that you vacate the house as soon as possible.”

His words hit me like a slap. I gripped the doorframe to steady myself. “No… that can’t be. This house… this is ours. There must be a mistake.”

“I’m sorry, miss,” he replied flatly, handing me the envelope. “The papers are final. You’ll find all the details inside. I suggest you start preparing to leave.”

Behind me, Grandma’s weak voice called out. “Luci? Who is it?”

I turned, trying to hide the envelope. “It’s nothing, Grandma.” But her sharp eyes caught it anyway.

The man nodded once and left. The door closed softly, but to me, it sounded like the end of everything.

Grandma’s face grew pale. “Luci… tell me the truth.”

“It’s just… a notice. Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “They’re taking our home, aren’t they?”

I swallowed hard. “Grandma—”

“This house…” Her hands shook as she touched the old wooden wall. “This is where I raised your mother. Where I held you as a baby. Every corner here has our memories. How can we leave this place?”

Her tears fell freely. My chest ached as I knelt beside her, clutching her trembling hands. “Please, don’t cry. I’ll do something. I won’t let them take our home. Not while I’m alive.”

“But, Luci… we don’t even have enough for tomorrow’s meals. How can you fight this?”

“Then I’ll find a way,” I said firmly, even though I had no idea how. “Trust me.”

That night, after Grandma had fallen asleep, I sat alone in the living room. The small kerosene lamp flickered, casting shadows over the walls lined with family photos.

With shaking hands, I opened the envelope.

At the bottom of the page was a name I’d heard countless times: Lorenzo Matteo Illustre.

The billionaire. Young, brilliant, and powerful — but also cold and ruthless.

“Of all people…” I whispered, my stomach twisting.

I looked around the room — the sofa my grandmother had saved up for, the photos of my late mother, the little garden Grandma still watered every morning.

I couldn’t let this go. Tomorrow, I would face him. No matter how terrifying it was.

⸻

The next morning, I stood in front of Illustre Enterprises, my heart pounding.

The glass building towered high above me, glittering in the sun. Inside, the marble floors shone under golden light. I approached the reception desk, my voice trembling.

The receptionist’s perfectly shaped brows arched as she looked up from her computer.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her voice cool and clipped.

“N-no, I don’t have an appointment,” I admitted. “But please, I need to see Mr. Illustre. It’s very important.”

The receptionist’s eyes flicked over my plain dress and worn shoes. She was about to refuse when a tall man in a gray suit approached.

“I’m Gino, Mr. Illustre’s secretary. What’s this about?”

“It’s about the Bautista house,” I said, my voice shaking. “Please, I need to speak with him.”

After a pause, he nodded. “Follow me.”

The elevator carried us up, my stomach tightening with every floor.

When the doors opened, I stepped into an office that looked more like a penthouse. And there he was.

Lorenzo Matteo Illustre.

Even more striking in person — tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp, assessing eyes.

“Who are you?” His voice was deep and cold.

“I’m Luciana Bautista. The house you bought belonged to my family. Please, Mr. Illustre… don’t take it from us. Give us time. I’ll pay you back. Every cent. Please.”

He leaned back, studying me. “The Bautista house. I didn’t expect the owner to come here herself.”

“I’m not asking for me,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’m asking for my grandmother. That house is her whole life.”

Faint smirk touched his lips. “And what do you think you can offer me that would make me change my mind?”

“I’ll work,” I blurted. “Any job you want. I’ll pay you back, no matter how long it takes.”

Something flickered in his eyes — then his next words sliced through me.

“Tell me, Miss Bautista… are you still a virgin?”

I froze, heat rushing to my face. “W-what?”

“It’s a simple question. Yes or no.”

“I came here for help, not to be humiliated,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Then answer me.”

My pride burned hotter than my fear. “You’re disgusting.”

I turned and stormed out, vision blurring.

⸻

By the time I got home, my heart ached. Grandma was waiting by the window.

“Did you find help?” she asked.

“Not yet. But I’ll keep trying.”

Later, while washing dishes, I heard a crash. I ran to the living room — and froze.

Grandma lay on the floor, clutching her chest.

“Grandma!” I cried, dropping to my knees.

Neighbors rushed in, carrying her to the hospital. I held her hand the whole way, whispering, “Please, don’t leave me. I’ll fix everything. I promise.”

And right then, I knew what I had to do.

I would return to Lorenzo Illustre.

No matter the cost.

For her. For our home.

Even if it meant selling my soul to the man who had humiliated me.