UNDER THE BILLIONAIRE’S SHADOW

ARIA The hospital room felt too bright, too clean… almost mocking me. The bed was empty, sheets folded, the pillow still shaped like her head had been there moments ago. She was gone. I already knew. But hearing the doctor say it still punched the air out of my lungs. “I’m… I’m sorry, Aria,” he said quietly. “Your mother passed earlier this morning.” For a moment, everything went silent, like sound itself had died. “She… she can’t be gone,” I whispered. “I just stepped out. She was still breathing.” “I know.” His expression tightened. “But her condition worsened. And… there’s something else.” A cold weight dropped in my stomach. “What?” He avoided my eyes. “James Hart was contacted when you couldn’t pay the remaining balance. He SIGNED the release forms. Her body—” “What?” My voice broke. “He had no right. None.” “Aria,” the doctor said softly. “They already moved her.” The bouquet slipped from my hands. The world tilted. Of course it was James. Always waiting for a moment to break me more. “I want to see her,” I whispered. “Please.” “You can’t.” His regret showed plainly. “She was CLAIMED thirty minutes ago.” My knees gave out. I held onto the railing of the empty bed, arms shaking. So she was gone. And I never got to say goodbye. A young nurse stepped in, eyes full of pity. “Miss Hart… the remaining balance must be settled before we can close your file.” Money. Even at the end, MONEY. “I’ll find a way,” I murmured. She nodded and left. The doctor squeezed my shoulder. “I truly am sorry.” I stepped past him, whispering, “Thank you.” Two steps into the hallway, a familiar poisonous voice cut through the air. “Aria. LET’S GO.” James. He stood like a shadow I could never outrun, eyes cold, jaw clenched, presence suffocating. “Go?” I let out a cracked laugh. “Go where, James? To the morgue where you dumped my mother without telling me?” “WATCH YOUR TONE,” he said sharply. “No.” My voice rose, raw. “You used the money meant for her drugs, and you dared to sign her body away like trash.” His jaw twitched. “I told you long ago your mother was a LOST CAUSE. I am not wasting resources on—” “Finish it,” I snapped. “Go on. Call her what you want.” His eyes darkened. “Everything you own is MINE, Aria. Including your MOUTH. Remember that.” “You’re a MONSTER.” That did it. He grabbed my arm so suddenly I gasped. “ENOUGH.” “Let go of me.” He yanked me through the hallway, past nurses who stared but said nothing. Outside, rain hit my face as he shoved me into his car and slammed the door. Home was worse. The moment the door locked behind us, the air shifted, heavy and dangerous. “You embarrassed me,” he said quietly. Too quietly. I stepped back. “James—” His hand struck my face. Quick. Sharp. punishing. Not enough to knock me down, but enough to make my vision blur. I staggered and caught the arm of the couch. He grabbed my wrist again, pulling me forward. “You will not raise your voice at me in PUBLIC. Ever.” “James, please—” A shove. Short. HARD. A WARNING. Not his usual drawn‑out beatings, but enough to remind me exactly who controlled EVERYTHING in this house. Pain flared in my shoulder as he stepped back. “LOCK HER UP,” he ordered. The moment he turned away, I moved. Quiet. Fast. Desperate. I grabbed my hidden stash, shoved essentials into a small bag, and opened the window. Rain poured in, cold and sharp. But anything was better than staying. I climbed out and ran. I didn’t stop. Not when the streets blurred. Not when my phone buzzed with threats. Aria. Come back. Aria, you are dead when I find you. You can’t hide from me. I muted everything. At the bus station, I bought a one‑way ticket to anywhere but here. When I sat down, soaked, shaking, numb, a notification pinged. Email Received — From: Cross Empire My breath hitched. Personal Assistant Wanted. Immediate Start. Safety Guaranteed. – Damian Cross, CEO Safety. A word I hadn’t felt in years. That night, with trembling fingers, I typed my résumé. Every sentence a prayer. I barely slept. By morning, a reply came. Interview at 9 a.m. Your safety will be a priority. – Damian Cross Priority. Damian Cross. The name whispered in power and danger. A man rumored to have no heart. A man said to destroy anyone with a single phone call. A man whose assistants never lasted long. But I needed safety. Even if it came from a monster. In my emergency bag, I had packed one spare outfit months ago, just in case I ever had to run. At the bus station restroom, I changed into it: simple black trousers, a plain cream blouse, and my old light jacket. The Cross Empire building rose ahead, glass and steel slicing the sky. The lobby was silent, marble echoing my footsteps. In the elevator, every floor felt like a countdown. My heart pounded. My palms were sweaty. Would he reject me? Would he see the bruises? Would he send me back? The office door opened. Damian Cross stood at the window, tall, sharp, carved from authority. His presence filled the room effortlessly. His eyes locked on mine. Dark. Focused. Unreadable. “You’re Aria,” he said. I nodded,voice barely there. He stepped forward once. Slow. Controlled. “Good,” he said. “Step closer.”