The Billionaire Who Forgot How to Love

Chapter 11: What We Rebuild in the Ruins

New York — The Ghosts That Walk Beside Us

Rain blurred the skyline. Elias stood beneath it, staring at the remains of his old firm — a towering monument once filled with ambition, now reduced to a shell. The building had caught fire in the collapse. The city called it an accident. Elias knew better. It had always been a funeral pyre — he just hadn't lit it.

Beside him, Liv held an umbrella over them both. She didn't speak. Her presence was enough.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked gently.

"No," Elias whispered. "I want to remember it broken. Because that's how it always felt."

The Dinner They Never Had

He cooked for her that night.

Not a chef's meal. A simple dinner. Pasta. Garlic bread. A bottle of wine from a cellar untouched by time.

They didn't speak for the first ten minutes.

Then Liv laughed.

"What?" Elias asked.

"This," she said, looking around the candlelit kitchen. "This feels more intimate than anything we've done. You, nervous about pasta."

"I don't want to mess it up."

She smiled. "It's already perfect."

Later, as they did the dishes, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're trying," she whispered. "That's all I ever wanted."

Selene's Secret

Elias found her crying in the server room.

"I broke it," she said. "I ran a test I shouldn't have. I thought I was ready. I wasn't."

He sat beside her on the cold floor.

"You don't always have to be strong," he told her. "Even I break."

She looked at him, eyes wet.

"But when you break, you rebuild. Me? I just fall apart."

He placed his hand over hers.

"Then let me catch the pieces. I missed your childhood. Don't make me miss your healing too."

The Proposal That Wasn't

Elias held a ring.

He had carried it for weeks, hidden in the pocket of a coat Liv never wore.

Tonight, he planned to ask.

But when he walked into the room, Liv was watching a video — a child's face, blurred by digital decay. A ghost file from Oblivion's earliest tests. A boy who no longer existed.

Her eyes were red.

"This is why I'm scared," she whispered. "Because some stories don't get endings."

Elias sat beside her.

And slipped the ring back into his pocket.

Some moments required presence, not promises.

Montreal — The Child They Almost Had

A woman found them at the edge of a conference.

Her name was Adira. She had lived in one of the cities Elias once digitized for memory testing.

"I was pregnant when the blackout hit," she said. "They told me the system lost my child's records."

Elias didn't speak.

"I never got her back," Adira whispered. "She would've been six."

Liv took her hand.

"We remember her now," she said. "What's her name?"

Adira choked on the word: "Kira."

Elias etched the name on his palm with a pen. Pressed it to his heart.

Memorykeeper's Final Day

The project was over. The system had done what it could. It was time to let people heal without intervention.

Elias stood before the core. Alone. He ran his hands over the cold server shell.

"I forgive you," he said.

He wasn't sure if he was talking to the machine.

Or to himself.

He shut it down.

The New House

It was small. Wooden. On a hill outside Prague. No security. No staff.

Liv painted the walls herself. Selene planted a garden.

Elias built furniture from scratch, following online videos. He cursed every misaligned screw. Liv laughed from the doorway.

"This is what peace looks like," she said.

"I wouldn't know," Elias replied. "But I'm learning."

The Letter to His First Life

He wrote it late at night.

To the man I used to be,

You weren't evil. You were just scared. You thought success could replace love. You thought control meant safety.

You lost so much. But you also gave me this second chance.

I won't waste it.

He folded the letter and burned it in the fireplace.

Ash rose.

So did he.

The Memory Garden — Prague

It started with a single photo. Selene printed it and pinned it to the fence — a child lost during the Memorykeeper collapse. Then Liv added one. Then Elias.

Soon the neighbors joined in. Photos of loved ones, letters, even shoes and toys — a mosaic of lives disrupted, a tribute to those who would never return.

They called it the Memory Garden.

Elias walked it every morning. Read every name. Some were strangers. Some were memories he had tried to forget.

He carried their stories like prayer beads. They reminded him why he chose to stay soft, even in a hard world.

A Letter From Mireille

It arrived without warning. No return address. Just his name on the envelope.

You were right to walk away. I used your heart to build my kingdom. I can't undo that. But I can admit it.

I watched your broadcast. I saw you break. I saw you heal.

I hope one day I can learn to do the same.

Elias folded the letter gently. Then he slid it under a floorboard. It didn't need to be displayed. Just kept.

The Naming

They sat by the fire. Liv's belly had grown. Selene brought a notebook.

"Names?" she asked.

Elias blinked. "Already?"

"We're building a life," Liv said. "Might as well name it."

They argued. Laughed. Cried. Names from the past. Hopes for the future. Selene suggested Kira, in memory of the girl from Montreal.

Liv touched her belly. "Kira Monroe," she whispered.

Elias smiled. "Let her carry what we couldn't."

Selene's Graduation

It wasn't a real university. Just a program she created, then completed, then accredited herself through global forums.

Still, they held a ceremony. Homemade caps. A garden stage. Liv filmed it all, crying.

Selene stood behind the podium and looked at her father.

"You weren't there when I learned to walk," she said. "But you taught me how to stand again."

Elias couldn't speak. He just clapped until his hands stung.

The Storm

That winter, Prague froze over.

They lost power. The roads shut down. The baby almost came early.

Elias lit fires. Hauled water. Prayed.

For three days they lived on canned food and old songs.

And on the fourth day, the sun broke through.

The Day She Was Born

It was quiet. No chaos. No sirens.

Just Elias holding Liv's hand as she screamed, then sobbed, then smiled.

Selene stood outside the room, crying softly.

Kira Monroe arrived under a calm sky. Dark hair. Strong lungs.

Elias held her to his chest.

"I never thought I'd deserve this," he whispered. "But I'll never forget what it cost to get here."

The Promise

That night, Elias sat in the nursery alone.

Kira slept peacefully in the crib beside him. He opened a leather-bound notebook, the same kind he used during his Memorykeeper days.

He wrote:

To my daughters, Selene and Kira,

I once thought legacy was what you build outside of yourself. But it's what you build within others.

I've failed, hurt, forgotten, and walked away. But you gave me the strength to return.

This life… this second chance… it's for you.

He closed the book and placed it in a drawer beside the crib.

No logos. No technology. Just ink. Paper. And truth.