BENEATH THE BILLIONAIRE SILENCE

Damian Cole stared from the 18th floor window of Cole-Tech headquarters, the skyline glittering from the afternoon light. Everything below looked miniature-cars, people, problems. Up here, in his world of suits and glass house, nothing ever felt real anymore.

Behind him, the boardroom was filled with applause. Numbers were up, investors were happy. A new product launch had just crossed a billion in pre-sales. He should've felt something-pride, excitement, at least satisfaction, But all Damian felt was exhaustion. Not the kind that sleep fixes, but the kind that creeps into your bones when your life starts to feel like someone else's script.

"Damian," his assistant Ivy called softly, walking in with his tailored jacket and the day's schedule on her tablet. "You're due at the Forbes interview in twenty, Then dinner with shareholders"

"Cancel it all," Damian said without turning around.

Ivy blinked. "Everything?"

He nodded. "Everything."

The silence stretched between them. Ivy was used to odd requests. He'd once redesigned an entire product line during a migraine, about this being different, Damian finally turned to face her.

"I'm done."

She frowned. "Done with the day?"

"No, done with this life."

He walked past her, leaving the schedule and the silence hanging in the air. Phones buzzed in his pocket, He turned them off. The limo waited at the garage, but he didn't take it. Instead, Damian walked down through the elevator, past the marble lobby, through the noisy streets of Manhattan. His security team panicked. His CFO texted 17 times, His ex sent a sarcastic, "Midlife crisis?"

He ignored all of it.

By midnight, he was in a cab headed out with nothing but a backpack, a passport, and a one-way ticket to nowhere anyone would think of.

---

Three days later, Damian stepped out of a rusty, intercity bus into a dusty town he'd picked blindly from a map. No press, no cameras, no expectations, Just the cold, the quietness and the distant sound of a dog barking behind a fence.

He hadn't shaved. His jeans were wrinkled. No one here knew the man behind the multi-billion-dollar company; That was the plan.

Damian checked into a cheap hotel under the name "Daniel Cross" and stared at himself in the mirror. He barely could recognize the man standing there. No stylists, just a guy trying to take a breathe.

That night, he walked through the streets, looking for where to get food. A glowing "Open" sign radiated in the corner of a narrow road. A small cafeteria sat between a laundry shop and a closed barbershop. Its signage was: "Gramma T's-Home of Real Food & Real Talk."

The inside was not too bright. A few worn boots and an old box were in the corner. A lady stood behind the counter, her dark curls tied up in a loose bun, her apron was stained with flour. She looked up as he entered, her eyes sharp, her arms crossed.

"You look lost," she said.

He hesitated, "Just hungry."

"Kitchen's closed."

"I'll take anything," he replied, "Even if it's a cold bread."

She raised her eyebrow, studying his tired face and dusty clothes. "You have your money?"

"Five dollars," he said, pulling out some rumpled notes.

She sighed, disappeared for some minutes, then returned with a plate of leftover stew and two slices of bread.

He took a seat and muttered a soft "Thank you."

She didn't smile. She just wiped her hands on her apron and returned to the counter.

But before she disappeared back to the counter, she turned back and said, "Name?"

He hesitated, then lied smoothly. "Daniel."

She nodded slowly. "Maya, I own this place. You planning to hang around, Daniel?"

He was yet to know the answer. He only knew he'd found the first honest face he'd seen in years.

Then she added, "If you're looking for a job, the computer store down the street needs someone who can lift things and keep their mouth shut."

Damian looked down at the plate, then looked back at the door. He didn't belong here, But that may be the reason he was there.

Before he could talk, his phone beeped, one of the few texts that had come through the silence:

"Come home. We're losing investors, You can't just vanish."

Damian stared at the screen, his mind hovering on what to reply.

He looked back up, Maya had disappeared back to the kitchen, softly humming, unaware of who he really was.

And just as he was about opened to speak, the door to the cafeteria screeched open again.

A tall, huge man in a long coat stepped in, inspected the room, then locked eyes with Damian.

He froze.

Not here; Not yet.