He Pretend To Be Broke But He Owns Everything

Damien Cross — POV People always reveal their true selves when they think you’re beneath them. That was the first thing I learned when I decided to disappear. I adjusted the sleeve of my worn-out black shirt, the fabric thin and slightly torn at the edge. It smelled faintly of cheap detergent, but it was clean. That was enough. It had to be. No one could ever connect this version of me to Damien Cross. Not the heir to Cross Holdings. Not the man whose name alone could move markets. Not the one they were all secretly trying to destroy. Here, I was just a nobody. A broke boy sitting quietly at the back of a crowded café, watching the world treat me exactly how I wanted to be treated. Like I didn’t matter. “Hey, you.” I didn’t look up immediately. I didn’t need to. The tone said everything—sharp, entitled, dismissive. A rich kid. I finally raised my eyes. He stood there in expensive clothes, a watch that probably cost more than everything I was wearing combined. “You’ve been sitting here for over an hour,” he said. “Are you even going to order anything, or are you just here to take up space?” A few people turned. Some smirked. Others whispered. Judgment always comes easily to people like them. I leaned back slightly, my expression calm. “I paid for my seat.” It wasn’t a lie. Just not the full truth. “With what? Spare change?” he mocked. A ripple of laughter followed. They were waiting for a reaction. For embarrassment. Anger. Anything. But I gave them nothing. Because this was exactly why I was here. To see who would step on me. And who wouldn’t. If they knew who I really was, they wouldn’t even dare speak. But they didn’t know. And I needed it that way. For now. --- Luna Hart — POV I hated people like him. Not the quiet boy sitting alone. No. The loud one. The one who thought money gave him the right to humiliate others. I had been watching from the counter, my hands tightening around the tray I was holding. Maybe it bothered me because I understood it. The feeling of being looked down on. Of being treated like you didn’t belong. My eyes shifted to the quiet boy again. He didn’t fight back. Didn’t argue. He just sat there, calm, like none of it touched him. That made it worse. Before I could stop myself, I walked over. “That’s enough.” The words came out firm. Both of them turned toward me. The rich guy frowned. “Excuse me?” I ignored him and placed a cup of coffee in front of the quiet boy. “It’s on the house,” I said, then looked back at the other guy. “And he has every right to sit here. Just like you.” Murmurs spread again, but this time, they sounded different. The rich guy scoffed. “You’re defending him? Do you even know who he is?” I met his gaze without hesitation. “No,” I said. “But I know who you are.” Something in his expression shifted. After a moment, he clicked his tongue and walked away. Just like that. Gone. I exhaled slowly, then turned back to the quiet boy. Up close, he didn’t look weak. There was something in his eyes. Something hidden. “You’re okay, right?” I asked. --- Damien Cross — POV Interesting. I studied her properly this time. Simple clothes. No sign of wealth. But her eyes held something rare. Courage. Most people would have stayed silent. Pretended not to see. But she didn’t. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said. My voice remained calm, but my attention stayed fixed on her. She shrugged slightly. “I wanted to.” No hesitation. No hidden agenda. At least, none that I could see. That was new. “Thank you,” I said. She nodded, offering a small smile before stepping back. But I didn’t look away. Because for the first time since I started this, something had changed. And I don’t like unexpected variables. Especially not ones that look at me like I’m human. -- Across the street, inside a black car, a man lowered his phone slowly. “Sir,” he said quietly. “We’ve located him.” A pause. Then: “Yes. Damien Cross is here.” His gaze remained fixed on the café. On the girl standing beside him. “…but he’s not alone.” ---