THE DISGUISED BILLIONAIRE:Nicholas Creed's Secret

“Welcome back, Mr. Creed,” his subordinates greeted the moment he stepped off his private jet. A sleek motorcade of luxury cars stood waiting, lined up like an honor guard. After seven long years serving in the military, Nicholas Creed was finally back in Velmora. He removed his sunglasses with a slow, calculated motion, his eyes scanning the familiar skyline as he descended the aircraft steps. The air felt heavier, almost nostalgic. His subordinates bowed respectfully, acknowledging his return. “Craig,” Nicholas said, irritation flickering in his voice as he took in the extravagance before him, “I thought I told you this wasn’t necessary. I don’t need all these formalities.” “I’m sorry, sir,” Craig replied, adjusting his glasses nervously. “But I wanted to welcome you properly.” Though Craig appeared older, he knew better than to speak casually to the man in front of him. Nicholas Creed wasn’t just another returning soldier he was the King of CEOs, the kind of man no one in Velmora dared to challenge. “Fine,” Nicholas relented with a sigh. “Then take me to the hotel. I want to freshen up before I meet Isla.” The mention of Isla softened his features, and for a moment, the stoic warrior was replaced by the man he used to be young, in love, and full of dreams. Memories rushed in like a tide. Back when he was just a poor kid with nothing to offer, Isla had been his entire world. She had always dreamt of becoming an actress, and he had dropped out of high school to work multiple part-time jobs just to pay off her father’s debts and support her studies. From his coat pocket, he pulled out a worn sketch. A simple drawing of a boy and a girl wrapped in each other’s arms. He traced the lines with his fingers before whispering, “I hope you haven’t changed, Isla. I know I’ve been gone a long time, but I want to give you everything now.” He pressed a soft kiss to the drawing, tucking it away as the driver pulled up to the hotel. “Craig,” Nicholas called out as they settled into the car, “Did you get my email about the preparations?” “Yes, sir,” Craig nodded. “But... if you don’t mind me asking, why go through all this effort? Is it really necessary?” Nicholas chuckled, gazing out the window at the bustling streets of Caelbourne, Velmora’s capital city. “It might seem excessive, but I want to see if she still loves me for who I am. Before she knows I’m the King of CEOs.” Craig blinked, taken aback by the simplicity in his boss’s reasoning. “I swear, sir, she’ll fall for you all over again the moment she sees you.” “Let’s hope you’re right,” Nicholas said softly. “Also, postpone the welcome banquet,” he added, his voice growing firm. “I’m not ready to make a public appearance yet. As for the blogs and tabloids speculating about my return make sure they’re silenced. I want my privacy.” The commanding tone sent a chill down Craig’s spine. It reminded him of the battlefield the same voice Nicholas used to lead men into war. Though the order was harmless, it felt like a veiled threat. “Understood, sir. I’ll handle everything,” Craig replied quickly, pulling into the hotel’s private car park. Nicholas gripped a manila folder tightly as he stepped out. Inside were the medical records detailing his injuries proof of what he’d lost in battle. As Craig led him to his suite, Nicholas’s mind raced with the memories he tried to bury. Once in the room, he collapsed on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Images from the war flooded his mind grueling training, blood-soaked missions, and the night he saved Velmora’s president during a deadly ambush. That mission had left him disabled, unable to walk for years. The military had finally allowed him to retire, but even then, they begged him to stay. He was one of the most decorated soldiers in the country’s history. But the truth was, he couldn’t bear the sound of gunfire anymore. The doctors called it PTSD. His hands shook when he held a weapon now. And after losing the function in several tendons, he simply couldn’t aim properly. He wiped away a tear as the pain clawed its way back into his chest. The only thing that kept him going during those dark days was the memory of Isla. The picture he always carried reminded him of what he was fighting for. He forced himself off the bed and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he stepped out to find his old uniform laid neatly on the bed. He dressed with reverence, buttoning each part with precision. Then he searched through his belongings until he found his old phone the one Isla had given him when he first left for war. It was barely functional. The screen was cracked, and the casing held together by first aid bandages. The company that made it no longer existed, and sourcing parts had become nearly impossible. Still, Nicholas had spent hundreds no, thousands just to keep it alive. With a deep breath, he flipped the phone open and dialed the number he still remembered by heart. It rang. Once. Twice. Ten times. Then, finally, a voice answered. “What do you want? If someone doesn’t pick up the first few times, take the hint and stop calling,” snapped a woman’s voice. Nicholas froze. It was Isla. But instead of irritation, he felt pure joy. After seven long years, he was hearing her voice again. He didn’t even register the annoyance in her tone. “Isla... it’s me. Nicholas,” he said softly, almost reverently. There was a pause. “Nicholas?” she repeated, her voice sharp. “When did you get back?” “Just now,” he said, smiling. “I wanted to surprise you. Can we meet?” She hesitated for a moment before responding. “Fine. There are things we need to talk about. I’ll send you the location. Don’t be late my schedule is tight.” With that, the call ended. Moments later, a text arrived from an unfamiliar number with a pinned location. Nicholas jotted it down, grinning like a boy again. He didn’t notice the coldness in her voice, or the fact that she hadn’t said she missed him. All he could think about was that after all this time, he was finally going to see Isla again.