All Chapters of His Billion-Dollar Secret: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Amara’s POV The ballroom was a different universe. Chandeliers glittered overhead, casting golden light across the marble floors. Waiters floated between tables with trays of champagne, and violins played something so elegant I felt out of place just breathing the same air. I smoothed the skirt of my simple navy dress and muttered under my breath, don’t trip, don’t spill, don’t embarrass yourself. Everyone here looked like they’d stepped straight out of a glossy magazine spread—men in sharp tuxedos, women in gowns dripping with crystals. Meanwhile, my thrift-store find clung to me like a secret I didn’t want anyone to notice. Especially not him. Damian Cruz. And of course, the moment I thought of him, my eyes betrayed me. There he was across the room, all tailored perfection in black, his presence commanding enough to make people shift toward him without realizing. He was listening to one of th

Amara’s POVCorporate functions were not designed for survival. They were designed for slow, glittering torture.The ballroom glowed like a jewel box, chandeliers dripping with crystals that scattered the light across silk gowns and polished shoes. Champagne flutes clinked, laughter rippled like wind over water, and somewhere, a string quartet was playing a song I didn’t recognize.I tugged at the hem of my dress—a borrowed black sheath that felt too plain for this room of polished perfection. My heels pinched, my hair refused to behave, and the only thing keeping me from bolting was the glass of sparkling water I clutched like a shield.I told myself if I stayed small, if I stayed quiet, I could blend into the wallpaper.But invisibility never worked when Damian Cruz was in the room.He stood near the stage, tall and composed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my entire student loan balance. He wasn’t just part of t

Amara’s POVThe office was never quiet enough. Even late at night, with most of the floor empty, the hum of the fluorescent lights pressed in, steady and relentless. My computer screen glowed pale against the darkness, spreadsheets open like a fortress I was determined to hide behind.I told myself I was fine. That if I poured every ounce of myself into work—into numbers, into clean lines on a screen—I wouldn’t think about him. I wouldn’t hear Lydia’s laugh echoing in my skull. I wouldn’t remember the sting of the word engaged.But numbers blurred when your chest was hollow.I pressed my palms against my eyes and exhaled, trying to will the ache away.And then I felt it. That shift in the air. The sense of being watched.I looked up—and there he was.Damian Cruz stood in the doorway of my office, his tie loosened, his jacket slung over one shoulder. He didn’t belong in fluorescent light; he belonged in ballrooms and boar

Damian’s POVControl had always been my greatest weapon.Numbers, contracts, deals—they bent to logic, to rules. If I kept every piece in order, nothing could fall apart. That was the world I knew, the world I was raised to rule.And Lydia fit perfectly into that order.She was polished, calculated, expected. The woman my family approved of, the woman the board had once quietly encouraged. With her, I knew the script: smiles at the right events, negotiations wrapped in laughter, a life free from chaos.But Amara…Amara was everything I couldn’t control. Sharp where she shouldn’t be, defiant when silence would be easier. She was late nights and fire, a kiss I couldn’t erase, a temptation that made me reckless.I told myself she was dangerous. And yet, when Lydia cornered me in my office, all I could think about was the woman I couldn’t have.“Damian,” Lydia purred, settling into the chair across from me without i

Amara’s POVHeartbreak makes you sharp.At least, it did for me.I poured myself into work with a ferocity that startled even me. Every contract, every report, every client meeting—I attacked them with precision, refusing to let my thoughts wander toward Damian Cruz or the way his words had hollowed me out.If he wanted to reduce me to nothing but an intern, fine. I’d show him—and everyone else—that I was more. That my worth didn’t hang on his approval.The opportunity came faster than I expected.A high-profile client dinner. The kind where every detail mattered—the seating chart, the subtle cues, the quiet negotiations over dessert. The restaurant gleamed with crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors, every corner designed to impress. Waiters moved like shadows, carrying trays of wine so expensive I didn’t dare glance at the label.Normally, I would’ve sat silently, scribbling notes on the agenda. Tonight, though