جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 80

Amara’s POVThey said the hardest part of rebuilding wasn’t the fall — it was surviving the spotlight after.Today proved that true.The press conference was supposed to celebrate Cruz Holdings’ latest win — the release of their public ethics report. Amara had written half the speech herself, every word designed to sound sincere, humble, forward-looking.But no matter how carefully she crafted it, the audience wasn’t listening to the words.They were watching her.Amara Lopez.The woman standing beside Damian Cruz — the once-disgraced heir turned savior.The daughter of the woman the company had destroyed.“Miss Lopez,” a reporter from BusinessWatch called out, voice sharp enough to cut glass.“How does it feel to be part of the same empire that ruined your family’s life?”The room went still. Cameras zoomed in.Her pulse spiked, but she forced herself to breathe.> “It feels like rewriting h

Amara’s POVThe article dropped on a Wednesday morning — the kind that made the whole city buzz before sunrise.> Cruz Holdings Faces Profit Decline: Transparency Initiative Under Fire.By the time Amara reached her office, the news had already spread through every department like wildfire. Screens glowed with the headline. Conversations stopped when she walked by.Lydia was waiting at the elevator, tablet in hand, worry etched across her face.“Don’t look at the comments,” she warned.Amara managed a tight smile. “Too late.”The investor report had leaked — the same one linking her program, The Transparency Initiative, to the company’s profit dip. Words like idealistic, emotionally driven, image-focused echoed in her mind, each one a small, deliberate cut.“They’re twisting the numbers,” she said, scrolling through the article. “We reallocated funds to compliance audits — to rebuild trust, not lose it.”“I know,” Lydia said quietly. “But they want someone to blame. And it’s easier wh

Amara’s POVThe city faded behind her like an old photograph — blurred lights, muted sirens, a skyline that once felt like home now reduced to memory.It had been three weeks since she left.Three weeks of quiet mornings and slow days in her friend’s small coastal house — a borrowed sanctuary overlooking the sea. Here, the air smelled like salt instead of ambition. The horizon didn’t judge her. The waves didn’t ask questions.And still, Damian lingered in everything.Some mornings she woke expecting her phone to buzz, his name lighting up the screen. Other days she pretended she didn’t care — that she’d finally unlearned him.But healing wasn’t linear.Some days she felt strong.Other days, hollow.“Still no word from him?” Lila asked one evening as they sat on the porch, sharing a bottle of wine while gulls circled overhead.Amara shook her head, tracing the rim of her glass. “No. And maybe that’s for the best.”Lila raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound convinced.”A faint smile tugge

Damian’s POVThe hospital never slept.Machines hummed in rhythm, lights dimmed to a soft, constant dusk. Beyond the windows, the city glowed — a blur of gold and silver under the rain-washed sky. Damian sat in the same chair beside her bed, back stiff, eyes raw, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.He hadn’t moved in hours.Doctors told him to rest. Nurses said they’d call if anything changed. But how could he sleep when the only proof the world still made sense was the sound of her heartbeat?He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. Her hand was colder than he remembered, fragile but steady in his grip. Every time the heart monitor beeped, something inside him steadied too. Every pause between beats stole his breath.“You don’t get to walk away again,” he whispered, voice rough. “Not like this.”The clock on the wall glowed 2:43 a.m. The hour when the world goes quiet — when every regret starts to echo.He thought of her — standing beside him in boardrooms full of sharks,

Damian’s POVRecovery wasn’t a movie moment.No dramatic music, no overnight miracle. Just long days, quiet steps, and progress measured in inches instead of miles.Every morning, Damian showed up at the hospital before sunrise — sometimes with coffee, sometimes with flowers, sometimes just with silence. He’d read her the news, talk about the foundation’s projects, or tell her about Lydia scaring the new interns half to death.Some days Amara laughed. Some days she didn’t say much at all.But she was there — breathing, healing, living — and that was enough to keep him coming back.When she was finally strong enough to walk without help, she was already asking about work.“What happened to the scholarship project?” she asked one morning, her voice still soft but steady.“Paused, not canceled.” he said, smiling faintly.“And the audit program?”“Running smoother than before,” he replied. “They’re actually learning.”Amara smirked, tugging the blanket closer. “Guess miracles really do ha