The Billionaire Who Vanished

CH 3– Sparks Beneath the Ashes

The sky had already turned that dull, grayish tone that warns of rain by the time I reached the road. My leg was aching from the uneven walk, my crutch clicking against the pebbled path like a metronome of shame.

I didn't look back. I wanted to. God, I wanted to but pride has this way of chaining your neck forward.

Mike Rainer's workshop sat on the far edge of the village, past the fishing docks and a row of rusted mailboxes. Everyone called him "Old Mike," though he was probably in his late fifties still strong, with grease stained hands and a voice that carried over thunder.

He' had seen me limping past once or twice, and that day I swallowed the last bit of ego left in me and asked if he could teach me something about wiring.

He raised an eyebrow, half amused, half suspicious.

“Electrical work? You? You don’t look like someone who wants dirt under his nails.”

He wasn't wrong. Before the crash, my hands had only known keyboards, signatures, and champagne glasses. But I didn't tell him that.

“I just… need to fix something I broke,” I said.

He stared for a long moment, then shrugged. "Fine. You break it, you fix it. But don't electrocute yourself in my workshop, city boy."

And just like that, I had a teacher.

Days turned into weeks.

Mike wasn't gentle; he was the sort of man that believed pain taught more than pity. I burned my fingers on live wires, got shocked once hard enough to bite my tongue, and nearly fell twice when my crutch slipped on the concrete.

But I didn't quit.

Every spark, every twist of copper, every fuse I replaced it all felt like penance, like I was earning the right to see Lena again, even if she never wanted to see me.

Sometimes, I caught myself visualizing what her face would look like if I finally fixed that broken light. Would she still frown? Or would that rare, shy smile I’d glimpsed once when I first walked into her café find its way back?

It wasn't until one evening, when Mike was closing the shutters, that he looked over and said, "You're not bad for a cripple."

The word should've offended me, but instead, I burst out laughing.

“Thanks,” I said coiling a cord. “Guess I’m learning.”

He grunted. "Learning's one thing. Healing's another. You still walk like a man carrying ghosts."

I paused, unsure how to answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

The crash. The endless night in the waves. The woman's voice, Lena's, calling me back from darkness. It was all blurred together, like some fever dream I couldn't wake up from.

The next morning, I was there early. The sun was soft, brushing the rooftops in gold. I worked quietly, mending a small radio, when a familiar sound drifted through the half-open window laughter.

Not just any laughter.

Hers.

Lena Heart.

She was outside, just across the street, talking to an elderly woman about something I couldn't make out the words. My pulse tripped.

Instinctively, I had ducked, half behind the workbench. My palms were sweating, my heart hammering like I'd seen a ghost.

Mike noticed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I lied.

He peered through the window. “Ah. The café girl.”

He smirked. “Didn't know she was your reason for learning."

I didn't answer. My throat had locked shut.

By the time I dared another glance, she was already walking away her braid swinging behind her, sunlight catching the curve of her neck.

I told myself to stay put, to keep my head down and finish the work. But something in me shifted a pulse of defiance, of need.

I dropped the wrench. It clattered on the floor. Mike frowned, but I was already moving toward the door, my crutch scraping against the wood.

I didn't know what I'd say if I caught up to her.

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

All I knew was that I couldn't stay hidden anymore.

As I limped toward the street, I saw Lena turn- not toward me but toward someone else standing beside her.

A tall man. Smiling.

And for a moment, I wasn't sure if the ground beneath my crutch was shaking or if it was just me.

Outside the café, the air was sharp with the smell of roasted beans and sea salt. I stood across the street, leaning slightly on my crutch, and watched through the glass. She was there Lena Heart laughing softly, her curls falling over her shoulder as she poured coffee into two cups.

And beside her was a man.

Tall, well dressed, oozing with that easy confidence I used to wear like a second skin. He leaned over the counter, said something which made her smile in such a way that it twisted something inside me.

For weeks, I’d avoided this place. I told myself it was better that way that staying away meant moving on. But who was I fooling? Every morning, I found myself walking the same route, just far enough to glimpse her signboard from a distance. The Bluebird Café. The name alone was enough to make my chest tighten.

And now, here I was, standing like a fool in the cold, watching another man make her laugh.

Mike’s voice echoed in my mind from that morning.

"Wires don't lie, kid. People do. Focus on what you can fix."

I'd been learning electrical work now for a month: slow, steady progress under Mike's rough but patient guidance. My hands were still clumsy, my leg still stiff, but I'd learned how to make something broken work again. Maybe I was hoping I could learn that for myself too.

But seeing her now, smiling for someone else, I realized some things couldn't be fixed.

He reached across the counter, brushing a crumb off her wrist. Too familiar. Too easy. She didn't flinch.

It was an ugly, raw spark of jealousy that flared inside me. I turned to leave before it burnt me whole, but the crutch slipped slightly on the damp pavement, the metal hitting the ground with a dull clatter.