Lahat ng Kabanata ng IT'S A JOB, NOT A RELATIONSHIP, MR. BILLIONAIRE : Kabanata 161 - Kabanata 170

ISLA'S POVIf you asked anyone at Titan's Holding who the best designers were, they’d probably mention two names: Lucas Grant and me. And if they were being honest, they’d say there was no love lost between us. We weren’t friends. We were civil because we had to be, but the tension between us had been brewing for years like a storm waiting to break.At first, I told myself it was because he once asked me out, and I turned him down politely. That maybe it bruised his ego. But as time went on, I realized that Lucas didn’t just dislike rejection—he disliked competition, especially from someone who he thought shouldn't outshine him.Today was a perfect example of that silent war. The office was buzzing over a major contract from Valentina Vogue, a globally renowned fashion conglomerate looking to launch their eco-sustainable line in collaboration with Titan’s Holding. It was the kind of project that could change a designer's career forever. And only one of us would get it.The executives

ISLA'S POVThere was something deeply personal about defeat—especially when it came at the hands of someone like Lucas. I sat in the break room at Titan’s Holdings my hands still trembling from the meeting we’d just left. My team tried to act like everything was normal, like Lucas hadn’t just presented a concept eerily similar to mine in front of the board. Like he hadn’t taken the very essence of what I was working on and turned it into his own showcase.He’d stolen it.There was no other explanation. The sketches, the mood board, the fabric selections—even the campaign pitch. He hadn’t just guessed. He knew. And that meant someone had access to my drafts, my system, my internal files. And the only person who knew the depth of my initial draft—who I had discussed pieces of it with when brainstorming—was in that building. I felt betrayed. Furious. But more than anything, I was determined.I couldn’t let him win. Not like this."You okay?" Tara, one of my designers, asked softly as she

ISLA'S POVTitan’s holdings was unusually quiet that morning—too quiet. I’d arrived earlier than usual, hoping to get ahead of the mountain of files waiting on my desk. The halls were bathed in early sunlight, casting long golden streaks across the floor. Even the elevators hummed softer, almost respectfully.I pushed open the door to my office and froze.Someone was sitting on the edge of my desk.She was tall, maybe late twenties, wearing a navy-blue power suit and red lipstick that somehow made her look even more intimidating than the oversized sunglasses still perched on her face.“You must be Isla Morgan,” she said smoothly, not bothering to stand. “Right on time. I’ve heard... interesting things about you.”“And you are?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as I shut the door behind me.She stood slowly and removed her sunglasses. “Elizabeth Caine. Creative director of Silken Edge, Paris division. We just acquired a small stake in Titan’s Wooden. You and I have a lot to discuss.”My stom

NATHAN'S POVThe morning sun poured through the blinds of my apartment, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, tying the laces of my sneakers, my mind not quite here but drifting to Isla. Lately, she’d been on my mind more than ever—her laugh, the way she tucked her hair behind her ears when she was frustrated, even the quiet way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching.It wasn’t just infatuation anymore. This was something bigger. And now that we had decided to move in together, it felt like the start of something real—something solid.I grabbed the folder of apartment listings I’d been collecting over the last few weeks and headed out. Today, Isla and I were supposed to see three different places. One near Central Park, one in Brooklyn, and one close to Titan Holdings. I was leaning toward the one near the park. Not just because it had a view of the trees, but because it reminded me of something stable, something permanent.We met

ISLA'S POVI didn’t expect the day to spiral the way it did.It started with a presentation. A simple design walk-through for the Stratmore Redesign team. I had rehearsed it twice, my slides were clean, my outfit sharp, and my confidence steady. Everything was in place.Except the projector.“This thing hasn’t worked since last week,” Kareem muttered, kneeling beside the wires.“Perfect,” I whispered under my breath, forcing a smile as the panel of Stratmore reps watched us troubleshoot.“Give me two minutes,” Ava said, already on the phone with maintenance.I nodded, holding my breath. In the world of high-stakes design, a tech failure could sink an entire pitch. But I stayed composed. I’d come too far to let a faulty cable rattle me.We finally switched to a backup screen, and I walked them through the revised floor plans, material swatches, and digital mockups. My voice was clear, my points well-paced. By the time I ended with the 3D animation, the energy in the room had shifted. A