The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

Chapter 6 6

Word Count: 579 | Released on: 22/01/2026

ue, preening like a peacock. On his wrist sat a Rolex Subma

," he purred. "It says 'S

g at the back of his head. She felt detached,

d dollars, Jefferso

e brand image." He turned to her, flashing a bright, empty smile.

n, babe. My liquidity is tied up i

ity, that Jefferson had never actuall

, guilty for her feelings about Ace, and trying to fill the v

r Black Card

already taking a photo o

ning in close. "Let him see

"No. Don't tag him

osted it anyway. New addition.

, silence reigned. The only sound was

e buzzed o

at the no

asked, leaning in. She smelled

f cheese," Ace replied, cutting h

a liquidity crisis. Calista Foley needs a husband who

st her dinner on Instagram," Ace

us. Ace has been gone for five years. He's been laying

softly. "For instance, your margin calls on the South Ha

nt. Jaiden's face turne

u...?" Jaid

en in the sewers," Ace said

was a spark in the old ma

ista is tomorrow," Ha

back at his phone. H

text to Sen

he lobby of the building where Jefferson rented his offi

as admiring his watch

ted some suspicious activity on your accounts. We're

houted. "I didn't a

protocol, sir. Fo

ne wen

wiped his mouth with a line

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

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.”