The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

Author: Yuan Xiluo

Chapter 1 1

Word Count: 804 | Released on: 22/01/2026

made for anniversaries, a creamy alfredo he'd perfected over two years. The sauce had formed a congealed skin on t

his watch

abit he couldn't break when the silence got too loud. He picked up the velvet ring box sitting next to the salt shaker. It felt light, almost insignificant in his c

The screen lit u

: Jefferson Medina men

usually a steady drumbeat, didn't spike. It just

dlelit rooftop table, a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in a silver bucket. Jefferson's hand was resting possessively on a woman's

d, stressed smile she gave him when she came ho

things are worth the wa

oman who had found what she was looking for, and it wa

ad replied three minutes ag

ashed over him, a sensation he hadn't felt since he left the sandbox. It was the override. The "Ghost" p

and his desperate need for normalcy. He wanted to be Ace the builder, Ace the boyf

e popped up o

night board meeting, babe

the timestamp. 9:52 PM. The Insta

y clung to him after a ten-hour shift vanished. He walked to the hallwa

black Pelican cas

n lock. Right to 12. L

ed as the pressu

led smartphone and a gold signet ring bearing a crest-

he had sworn to leave behind, the blood money he had rejected. He thought of his mother, Celes

a construction site. He couldn't find the truth w

ed blue, searching for a signal. He dialed a numb

other end was gravelly,

ords tasted like ash. "It's t

e, heavy with unsaid things. T

eady being dispatched

e velvet ring box one last time. He didn't open it. He simply drop

e dark, waiting for

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

Yuan Xiluo Modern

“I spent two years sweating on construction sites, hauling drywall and mixing cement, just to give Brittni the normal life she said she wanted. On our anniversary, I sat in our dark kitchen with a plate of homemade fettuccine and a one-carat diamond ring I'd saved six months of wages for, waiting for her to come home. Then my phone pinged. An Instagram notification showed Brittni at a luxury rooftop gala, a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice, and a wealthy socialite's hand resting possessively on her waist. She was wearing the expensive red dress I bought her for her birthday-the one she told me was "too fancy" for our simple dinner dates. The caption read, "Back with my queen," and Brittni had replied with a single red heart. Minutes later, she texted me: "Stuck at a late-night board meeting, babe. Don't wait up. Love you!" I looked at the cold, congealed pasta and the jagged scar on my ribs from my time in the special forces, realizing the last two years were nothing but a lie built on her pity and my desperate need for normalcy. I didn't scream or throw my phone. Instead, a strange, predatory calm washed over me-the "Ghost" persona kicking in to shut down the noise of heartbreak and focus on mission parameters. I was done being the "simple builder" who worried about rent while she used me as a placeholder until a "better" man came along. I walked to the closet, pried up a loose floorboard, and pulled out a gold signet ring bearing the Hubbard family crest-the symbol of the multi-billion-dollar empire I had rejected five years ago. I dropped the modest engagement ring into the trash on top of the wasted pasta and dialed a number I had sworn never to call again. "It's time, Harve. I'm coming home." The motorcade was dispatched before I even hung up. As I stepped into a blacked-out Cadillac and watched the $50 million deposit hit my account, I realized how small Brittni's world truly was. She thought she was trading up for a Rolex and a social media tag, but she was about to find out that the man she just ghosted was the heir to the very empire that owned her future.”