Billionairess By Survival

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW

The onions sizzled in the pan, and I blinked back with the sting on my eyes.

“Damn onions,” I muttered.

Becca laughed from beside me, “Blame the onions, not the trauma, huh?”

I cracked a tired smile. “Both sting.”

She nudged me with her elbow. “You’re doing better though. It’s been a week, Sie. A full week.”

“I know.” I stirred the sauce slowly. "Feels like a blur… but I’m breathing again. Even if it still hurts.”

Becca grabbed the salt. “You watched that film I told you about?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Made me cry like a baby. But it made me feel seen too. Like… maybe I’m not insane.”

“You’re not. You’re healing,” she said softly. “One day at a time.”

“Some days I feel strong,” I whispered, “Other days I still wait for the sound of his car.”

Becca was quiet for a second. “You’re allowed to feel both.”

The silence lingered, comfortable.

Then she grinned. “But seriously… this pasta better be as dramatic as your love life.”

I laughed, full and real for the first time in days.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t end in flames.”

“You know you’ve been here for some weeks now, right?” Becca said, her eyes flicking toward me from the kitchen counter.

I looked up from my laptop, the familiar blue screen glowing on my face. I had a half-finished landing page on the screen, something for a skincare brand I honestly didn’t care much about—but it paid. That was all that mattered right now.

“Yeah,” I murmured, stretching my neck. It ached from sitting all day hunched over. “Feels like a blur.”

Becca nodded, her blonde curls bouncing as she stirred something in the pot. The smell of garlic and butter floated through the air and made my stomach grumble a bit. She always knew how to make food feel like comfort. I didn’t even notice how much I’d missed that.

“I just love that you’re doing something for yourself now,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “This web designing thing? It fits you.”

I blinked slowly, nodding. “I guess.”

Truth is, I poured everything into web designing not because I wanted to become some tech genius overnight—but because I needed something to drown in. Something that wasn’t Logan. Something that didn’t remind me of bruises or broken promises.

Designing websites felt safe. Logical. Structured. Clean.

Unlike my life.

The first few days were hard—my hands would tremble over the keyboard, and my eyes would sting from crying mid-project. But I pushed through. I took courses, begged for jobs in freelance groups, stayed up when Becca slept. And somehow, I got a few gigs. Nothing big, just enough to help Becca out with groceries, the WiFi bill, random things.

It felt good.

Contributing.

Not feeling like a leech.

“I’m just glad I’m not dead weight anymore,” I said under my breath.

Becca dropped the spoon she was holding. “Hey! Don’t ever say that.”

I gave her a tired smile.

“You’re not dead weight. You’re my best friend. You’re healing. And you’re contributing, which I appreciate, but even if you weren’t—I’d still want you here, okay?”

I bit down on my lip and nodded. It felt nice to be seen.

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and sighed dramatically. “Now, I need your help.”

“With?”

“I’m having a very, very important guest over tonight. Like, very influential, can’t-afford-to-mess-this-up kind of important.”

I raised a brow. “Like… politician important or sugar daddy important?”

She laughed. “Ugh, shut up. Neither. Just important. You’ll see. But I want to cook something good, something fancy.”

“Need help with the food?”

“Of course. You’re not escaping that.”

I smiled for real this time.

Maybe it wasn’t a big win—but it felt good. Helping Becca. Building something. Existing outside of Logan’s world.

Even if I didn’t know what tomorrow held, right now, I had purpose.

And it was enough.

The night air was cooler than usual, and the soft hum of Becca’s air diffuser filled the quiet house. Everything looked spotless—she made sure of that. The living room smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and she even brought out that glass dish she never lets anyone touch, just to serve the damn sauce.

I stayed at the dining table, my laptop open like always. My fingers moved quickly over the keys, finishing up a project for some jewelry boutique. Becca had done her makeup, put on perfume, and even brought out wine glasses. Me? I was in an old hoodie and leggings with my hair loosely tied back. I didn’t really care. Guests weren’t my thing. I was just trying to stay out of the way.

Then the doorbell rang.

I glanced at the time. 7:02 PM.

“He’s here,” Becca whispered, then smoothed her dress and walked over to the door like a perfect hostess. Her heels clicked against the tiles as she opened it, and I couldn’t even lie—the man who stepped in actually looked like something out of a rich people catalog.

Tall. Clean-cut. Well-shaved jaw. A black suit that probably cost more than everything I owned combined. His SUV was still parked outside, sleek and tinted, sitting there like it owned the damn street. The way he walked in, confident and calm, made the air shift a bit.

Becca welcomed him warmly, her voice soft and sweet. I could hear her giggle a little, doing her thing. I just stayed focused on my screen. I didn’t even realize he’d moved until I felt his presence right next to me.

I froze a bit.

Then slowly looked up.

He was watching me. Not in a creepy way—more like curious. Intrigued.

“You do design?” His voice was deep, smooth. Like one of those expensive radios.

I blinked a few times. “Uh, yeah.”

He leaned a little, scanning my screen. “That’s impressive. Which company?”

I shrugged lightly. “I work from home. Freelance… clients online. I just started not long ago.”

He hummed, clearly impressed. “Well, you’re talented.”

“Thank you,... uh Sir” I said, still surprised he was talking to me.

He looked over at Becca for a moment, then back at me. “You know… I’ve got a friend who’s looking for someone to build a site for his fashion brand. He’s willing to pay a good amount too.”

My brows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“I’ll recommend you. If you’re interested.”

“Of course I am,” I said before I could even stop myself.

He smiled, gave a small nod like it was already settled, and then stepped back. Just like that.

I sat there, stunned.

Becca winked at me from across the room and mouthed, told you.

I looked back at my screen. My heart was beating just a little faster. For the first time in a long time, something was happening. Something outside of pain, outside of survival.

All I could do now was wait.

And hope this opportunity would be the one that changed everything.