The First Trillionaire in the World

Elara Cruz stood frozen in front of the glowing computer screen. The documents stared back at her, bold letters she wished were just a nightmare.

“Acquisition Complete: All Cruz Architectural Projects are now under Veylen Corp Holdings.”

Her chest tightened. Hindi siya makapaniwala. One click, one contract signed by a man she had never even spoken to, and everything—her father’s dream, her years of sacrifice, her sleepless nights drawing blueprints—was gone.

“Hindi… hindi puwede,” she whispered, shaking her head as tears burned the corner of her eyes. She scrolled down frantically, hoping, praying that this was a mistake. Pero lahat malinaw, every project she had poured her soul into, the low-cost housing plan for displaced families, the eco-friendly school her father once dreamed of building… all under one name. Adrian Veylen.

The world’s first trillionaire. A man who built empires of glass. A man untouchable by laws, governments, and—apparently—dreams that weren’t his.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the worn swivel chair in her small office. For a moment, silence deafened her. Then, memories came crashing in—her father’s warm voice, his hand guiding hers on a blueprint paper.

“Anak, architecture isn’t just about buildings. It’s about lives. Every home we design shelters a family. Every school we build creates hope. Kaya ipangako mo, Elara, you’ll continue this dream. Magiging isa kang tanyag na arkitekto na hindi iniisip ang estado ng kaniyang bawat kliyente.”

She had promised. And now, with one ruthless move, Adrian Veylen had crushed it.

Her phone buzzed with notifications. Social media was already buzzing about the acquisition. Headlines screamed across the screen:

“Veylen Expands Empire to Local Architectural Firms.”

“Cruz Projects: A Strategic Buyout or Corporate Takeover?”

“World’s First Trillionaire Dominates Yet Another Industry.”

Each word was a knife twisting into her chest.

Her best friend, Mia, rushed into the office, breathless. “Elara! Oh my god, nakita mo na ba?”

Elara’s lips trembled as she turned the screen toward her. “He bought us out, Mia. Wala na… wala na lahat.”

Mia covered her mouth in shock. “Pero… bakit? You’re small compared to his empire. What does he need from you?”

Elara’s jaw clenched. “Because he can. Because men like him think dreams are numbers to add on their balance sheets.” She slammed her fist on the desk. “No. I won’t let him erase us. Hindu ako papayag na mawala lahat ng pinaghirapan ni papa.”

Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, something she had never felt before. Revenge.

Mia placed a worried hand on her shoulder. “Elara… huwag ka magpadalos-dalos. Adrian Veylen is… untouchable. He’s—”

“The very reason I can’t back down,” Elara cut her off, standing tall despite the storm raging inside her. “Kung kaya niyang gawin ito sa akin, he can do this to anyone. He needs to learn na hindi lahat mabibili niya.”

But even as she said those words, her heart pounded with dread. She knew who Adrian Veylen was. Every magazine called him a genius, a tyrant, a man who built towers of steel while others crumbled. His photo was plastered everywhere—tall, sharp-suited, eyes like cold steel.

And yet, in that moment, all she saw was the enemy.

She grabbed her coat, her car keys, her determination. “Mia, I’m going to him. Tomorrow.”

“Are you crazy?!” Mia gasped, blocking the door. “Press conference niya ‘yon bukas! The whole media will be there. What if they drag your name through the mud? What if—”

“Then let them,” Elara snapped, tears finally spilling down her face. “Let them see the girl whose dream he destroyed.”

---

The next evening, the grand hall of the Veylen Tower gleamed like something out of another world. Chandeliers rained gold light from the ceiling, cameras flashed, and reporters swarmed like vultures. On the massive stage stood the man himself—Adrian Veylen.

Elara stood at the edge of the crowd, her heart pounding. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t invited. But her anger had carried her past the guards, past the whispers, into the lion’s den.

“Mr. Veylen,” a reporter called, shoving a mic forward. “What do you say to critics accusing you of monopolizing the industry?”

Adrian’s lips curved into a faint smile. He looked devastating in his black suit, commanding the entire hall without effort. His voice was smooth, deep, confident. “Monopoly is a lazy word for progress. I acquire because I see potential. Potential others fail to realize.”

The crowd erupted in applause.

Elara’s nails dug into her palm. Potential? He called her father’s legacy potential? He called her sweat and blood a failed realization?

Her vision blurred with tears of rage. She could taste bitterness on her tongue.

Then, as though fate itself pulled the strings, Adrian’s gaze swept across the hall—and landed on her.

For a second, he faltered. His words slowed, his composure cracked just a fraction. His eyes, cold as steel, widened almost imperceptibly. And in that heartbeat, Elara saw it—recognition. Not of her name, not of her pain, but of her fire.

Something in his expression changed.

“Ms. Cruz…” he whispered under his breath, unheard by anyone else.

Her chest heaved. So he knows me?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Adrian continued smoothly, though his gaze never left hers, “this concludes tonight’s announcement. Thank you.”

The crowd burst into claps, cameras flashed brighter. But Elara wasn’t clapping. She was walking forward, step by determined step, until she stood at the foot of the stage.

'Reporters turned, whispers rising. Who is she? Why is she here?'

Adrian descended the steps slowly, his eyes locked on hers. And as he reached her, towering over her trembling frame, he leaned close enough for only her to hear.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Elara lifted her chin, fury blazing in her eyes despite the tears streaking her cheeks. “You stole my father’s dream. I’m here to take it back.”

The cameras clicked, the whispers grew into a storm. And in that single moment, under the blinding lights of the empire he built, Elara Cruz declared silent war against Adrian Veylen.

As Adrian studied her trembling yet defiant figure, a slow, dangerous smile curved on his lips.

“Then, Miss Cruz…” his voice was like silk and steel, “…why don’t you work for me?”

Elara’s heart stopped.

Gasps erupted around them. Reporters surged forward. And in the chaos, Elara realized with horror—this was just the beginning.