All Chapters of His Billion-Dollar Secret: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Amara’s POVThe day Damian returned to Cruz Holdings felt… different.Quieter. Steadier. Like the whole building was holding its breath.The glass walls that once mirrored tension now gleamed with a fragile kind of calm. People moved through the halls with cautious optimism — their smiles smaller, but real. After months of chaos and whispers, the company finally felt like it was finding its footing again.Amara adjusted the stack of reports on her desk, her eyes drawn — despite herself — to the reflection of Damian’s office across the floor. The blinds were half-drawn, but she could still make out his silhouette: head bent over paperwork, sleeves rolled, posture intent.He was back. But he wasn’t the same.Neither of them were.Since everything that had happened, what they had existed in the in-between — quiet mornings with shared coffee before anyone else arrived, a brief touch when no one was looking, a look that spoke volumes in silence.They’d promised to rebuild — slowly, private

Amara’s POV The archive room was colder than she expected — sterile, quiet, filled with dust and the low hum of fluorescent lights. Amara hadn’t meant to stay this long. She was only supposed to double-check old HR files for Sophia’s rebranding project. But curiosity had a way of pulling her deeper than she intended. Rows of boxes lined the metal shelves, stretching endlessly — a museum of Cruz Holdings’ history. Contracts, payroll, staff lists — pieces of lives that had built the company long before her time. Her eyes landed on one box labeled: 1990–2000: Household Division — Cruz Estate Staff. Something about the handwriting — neat, deliberate — made her pause. Before she could talk herself out of it, she slid the box open. The scent of old paper and ink filled the air. She flipped through yellowed pages, scanning names — until one made her freeze. Lopez, Maria. Position: Housekeeper. Supervisor: Mr. Julian Cruz. Employment ended: Terminated — circumstances confi

Damian’s POV The conference room buzzed with low whispers — the kind that carried more venom than sound. When Damian walked in, the noise died instantly. No one needed to announce him; his presence was enough. Executives straightened. Assistants froze. And at the end of the table, Sophia Alaric looked up with a perfectly measured smile. Damian dropped a printed copy of the article on the glass table. “Who leaked this?” Silence. Just the soft hum of the AC and a dozen pairs of guilty eyes shifting toward Sophia — then quickly away. He exhaled slowly. “I’ll ask once more.” Sophia leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with practiced elegance. “You think I did?” “I don’t think,” Damian said, voice low and precise. “I know you had access. Internal archives. PR oversight. And the exact timing to make it happen. So tell me, Sophia — was it you?” She tilted her head, feigning thought. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? The public’s fascination with power dynamics. People ju

Damian’s POVHe didn’t wait for her to find him this time.Morning light spilled gray over the skyline as Damian stood by his office window — the same office where his father once ruled with charm and cruelty, where justice was something you could buy.When the door opened, he didn’t turn. He’d called Amara in early, before the rest of the building woke. Her steps were quiet, careful.“You said it was urgent.” she said.“It is.” His voice was rougher than usual, stripped of control. He nodded toward the folder on his desk. “I found something in the archives. About your mother.”She froze. “What did you find?”He looked at her — really looked. The woman who had challenged him, changed him. The woman whose pain his family had caused.“My father had her fired,” he said flatly. “She filed a complaint — harassment, fraud. He buried it. Called her a liar. Blacklisted her so she’d never work for Cruz Holdings again.”

Amara’s POV The house smelled like rain and old memories. Amara hadn’t been back in months — not since her mother’s funeral, not since everything with Damian fell apart into silence and distance. The small bungalow sat at the edge of her old neighborhood, where tricycles rusted in driveways and bougainvillea vines climbed fences like time refusing to move on. She told herself she’d come to pack the last of her mother’s things. But deep down, she wasn’t sure what she was really looking for. Maybe closure. Maybe something to make the past make sense again. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, catching dust in the air like ghosts that refused to leave. Her mother’s favorite mug still sat on the table, faintly stained with coffee. The radio in the corner hadn’t worked in years. Everything felt exactly as it was — and painfully different. Amara sat cross-legged on the floor beside an open box, sorting through papers — old bills, photographs, yellowed receipts. Then she found