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The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes Novel Cover

The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

I spent two years sweating on construction sites, hauling drywall and mixing cement, just to give Brittni the normal life she said she wanted. On our anniversary, I sat in our dark kitchen with a plate of homemade fettuccine and a one-carat diamond ring I’d saved six months of wages for, waiting for her to come home. Then my phone pinged. An Instagram notification showed Brittni at a luxury rooftop gala, a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice, and a wealthy socialite’s hand resting possessively on her waist. She was wearing the expensive red dress I bought her for her birthday—the one she told me was "too fancy" for our simple dinner dates. The caption read, "Back with my queen," and Brittni had replied with a single red heart. Minutes later, she texted me: "Stuck at a late-night board meeting, babe. Don't wait up. Love you!" I looked at the cold, congealed pasta and the jagged scar on my ribs from my time in the special forces, realizing the last two years were nothing but a lie built on her pity and my desperate need for normalcy. I didn't scream or throw my phone. Instead, a strange, predatory calm washed over me—the "Ghost" persona kicking in to shut down the noise of heartbreak and focus on mission parameters. I was done being the "simple builder" who worried about rent while she used me as a placeholder until a "better" man came along. I walked to the closet, pried up a loose floorboard, and pulled out a gold signet ring bearing the Hubbard family crest—the symbol of the multi-billion-dollar empire I had rejected five years ago. I dropped the modest engagement ring into the trash on top of the wasted pasta and dialed a number I had sworn never to call again. "It's time, Harve. I'm coming home." The motorcade was dispatched before I even hung up. As I stepped into a blacked-out Cadillac and watched the $50 million deposit hit my account, I realized how small Brittni’s world truly was. She thought she was trading up for a Rolex and a social media tag, but she was about to find out that the man she just ghosted was the heir to the very empire that owned her future.
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Chapter 7

Ace stood in the library of the Hubbard Estate. The walls were lined with books that hadn't been touched in decades. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a woman with sad eyes and a gentle smile.

Celesta Hubbard. His mother.

Ace traced the gilded frame. His fingers came away dusty.

"She was beautiful," a voice said from the doorway.

Dosha entered silently, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug. She poured two glasses of cognac from a crystal decanter.

"But she was too soft for this house," Dosha added.

Ace turned. His gaze was sharp. "Softness isn't a weakness, Dosha. It's a choice."

"In this family, it's a death sentence," she retorted. She handed him a glass, her fingers lingering on his for a second too long.

Ace pulled back subtly. He didn't trust the 'sisterly' affection. Dosha was a survivor, and survivors were dangerous.

"What do you want, Dosha?"

"To be on the winning side," she said, taking a sip. "Jaiden is a snake, but he's a predictable one. You... you're a ghost. I don't know what you're capable of anymore."

"I'm a Hubbard. That should be enough for you."

"Is it? Harve only brought you back because Jaiden is failing. You're a tool to him."

Ace smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "A tool can also be a weapon. It depends on who's holding the handle."

Meanwhile, in the East Wing, Jaiden was locked in his private study. He was screaming into his phone.

"How did he find out about the Hamptons? I scrubbed those files! I paid the auditors off!"

His assistant's voice was shaky on the other end. "He didn't just find them, sir. He... he seems to have the originals. The encrypted drives."

Jaiden slammed his fist onto his desk. Ace had been planning this. He had been watching.

He hung up and dialed a different number.

"Mom," Jaiden whispered. "He's back. And he's dangerous."

Evelyn Hubbard, Harve's second wife, answered. Her voice was cold, calm. "Then we do what we did to his mother. We find the brake line."

In the library, Ace heard a faint click.

He didn't react physically. He didn't look around. But his PMC instincts screamed. A bug. Hidden in the bookshelf behind him.

He leaned in close to the spine of an old encyclopedia.

"I can hear you, Jaiden," he whispered into the hidden microphone. "Sleep with one eye open."

In his study, Jaiden ripped his headphones off, throwing them across the room as if they were burning. His face twisted in fear.

Ace turned back to Dosha.

"I need the security logs from the night of the accident. Five years ago."

Dosha's eyes widened. "Those were destroyed in the fire at the archives."

"Not all of them," Ace said. "Sen kept a backup. I just need to know where."

Dosha looked at him with a mix of fear and obsession. "You're going to burn this house down, aren't you?"

"Only the parts that are rotten," Ace said. He downed the cognac.

He walked out of the library, heading toward the guest wing. He checked his phone one last time.

Brittni had sent a photo. It was a selfie of her crying, mascara running down her face. Please call me.

Ace deleted it without opening the file.

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