Billion dollar adventure : Meeting Mr Arrogant

rd the cracked windowpane, where early morning light spilled lazily over the kitchen tiles. The quiet rustle of wind outside mingled with the faint hum of traffi

sweet moment-one of accomplishment, yet tainted with the sharp sting of uncertainty. Life after matric felt like stepping o

he hadn't meant to go there-to that place in her memory that still held too much pain-but some days, it felt unavoidab

the world in its dreariness. Lucy had been bundled up in a too-big coat, her small hands clutching her mother's fingers as they stood on her aunt and uncle's doorstep. She was only five, too y

r behind without so much as a goodbye? The ache of abandonment had followed her like a shadow, creeping into every corner of he

o correct in Lucy. Whether it was the way Lucy set the table or the way she dressed for school, Patricia's words were rarely kind, though Lu

ily life. Though he never raised his voice to Lucy, she often felt the chasm between them, an emotional distance that neither of them knew how to bridge. Joe

ghts to the hustle and bustle of playground friendships. She'd never been good at making friends, always fearing that they would leave

a determination that surprised even her teachers. She wasn't the smartest in her class, but she was one of the hardest working. Late nights spent bent over textbooks, weekends sacrificed

to. But university wasn't an option. Money was tight, and her aunt and uncle had made it clear that they couldn't afford to s

fe that felt like home. It was a small, unassuming place nestled between a butcher shop and a flower stall on the corner of a busy st

bakery, watching her aunt and uncle work. Her aunt would knead dough with the same stern precision that she approached every

e, a way to avoid the loneliness that often settled over her like a thick blanket. But as she grew older, it be

se in the oven-it all made her feel like she had control over something in her life. Baking was an art, and Lucy found herself lost in its intricate details, l

how to tell when the dough was ready just by its texture, and how to create delicate pastries that melted in your mouth. It was the o

lace where she could lose herself in the comforting routine of flour and sugar, but it wasn't

ing to find work, even those with university degrees. She had no formal training, no qualifications beyond

osed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She couldn't let her fear control her, no

begin building something of her own. She could bake, create, and maybe one da

cy would take thing