THE RETURN OF THE TRILLIONAIRE HEIR

Chapter Eight

“Why would I trust you?” Rico asked, his voice cracking, barely more than a whisper.

“Because Eleanor… your mother… would want you to,” the man said softly.

Her name hit him like a punch to the chest. Memories crashed over him, sharp and unrelenting—the antiseptic smell of the hospital, the harsh fluorescent lights, the steady beeping of machines he couldn’t afford to keep running.

I should have saved her… I should have done something… anything… The ache of helplessness and guilt tightened in his chest like a vice.

Rico sank to his knees beside the mattress, gripping it as if it could hold him together. But it slipped from his hands, falling with a dull thud that echoed his own sense of failure. Everything always slips away from me… why does this keep happening?

“What… what did you just say?” His voice trembled under disbelief and grief, raw and ragged.

“Eleanor,” the man repeated, calm and steady.

Tears pricked at Rico’s eyes. His chest ached as if her absence had hollowed a space inside him that nothing else could fill. I can’t believe… I thought I’d lost her forever…

“No… no, this isn’t real. She’s been gone for years! How do you know her name? Who… who are you?”

“I know many things,” the man said softly. “But the answers are not here, on this broken street. Come with me, and I will tell you everything—about her, about your family, about why we’ve been searching for you for so long.”

Rico’s fingers dug into the rusted gate, shaking in the cold rain. His body felt heavy, every muscle taut with fear, grief, and frustration. I don’t even know who I am anymore… how could I trust anyone?

“I don’t know… I can’t trust anyone… not after everything.” He slammed his hand against the mattress, the sound sharp in the quiet street, frustration and anger coiling tight inside him.

“Why now?” he asked, voice hoarse and ragged. “Why tell me this now? After all this time?”

“Because we just found you,” the man said softly, eyes steady. “And… we are sorry about that. Your grandfather wants to meet with you. Please… come with us.”

Rico wanted to turn and run, to flee before stepping into something he didn’t understand, something that could shatter him further. But where would I go? Back to cold streets and empty nights? He thought of sleeping under bridges, curling up on concrete with a jacket pulled tight, pretending it was enough to keep him warm. Nights spent listening for footsteps, wondering if he’d make it till morning.

This offer was strange but it was also a way out. A lifeline thrown across the chaos of his life. Even if he didn’t understand it, he was going to take a chance.

Maybe… maybe this is my shot. Maybe I can actually get something back…

Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He had already lost everything worth losing.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat burning. “Alright… I’ll follow you,” he muttered, voice low and fragile, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the thread of hope he was clutching. “But you’ll tell me everything afterwards, and if this is some trick… if you lie to me—”

The man gave a small bow of his head. “That is fine, young master. You’ll hear it all once you are settled, and I wouldn’t dare lie to you.”

Rico rose to his feet, knees weak, gripping the man’s offered hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. I can’t believe this… I’m really doing this…

“Don’t call me that,” Rico snapped, heat and fear lacing his voice.

“What young master?”

“Don’t call me young master.” Rico’s voice trembled with anger and desperation. Just… Rico. That’s all I am. That’s all I’ve ever been.

The older man’s brows lifted slightly. “But—”

“No buts,” Rico cut him off sharply. “Just call me Rico.”

The man studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Rico it is.”

The car door was already open, waiting. Rico was about to step in when one last thought hit him. “What about my things?”

“You won’t be needing them anymore,” the man replied, calm but gentle.

Rico glanced toward the neighbors, hearing low murmurs carried through the rain-soaked night.

“He’s from the West family, right?” one muttered. “How come they’re going with that loser?”

“I wouldn’t know any reason now,” another replied. “I sincerely can’t think of any reason.”

Rico felt the sting of their whispers, the judgment of lives he had never been part of. But he forced himself to ignore them. He climbed into the car, letting the door click shut behind him. Doesn’t matter what they think… none of that matters now.

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, yet a strange warmth stirred deep inside him, a hesitant, fragile hope that he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

The moment he sat down, Rico stiffened. The leather was warm, impossibly soft, smelling faintly of cedar and something expensive he couldn’t place. It felt wrong under him, like he didn’t belong in it. He shifted, trying to keep as little of himself touching the seat as possible.

The older man beside him noticed. “Please, young ma—” He caught himself. “Rico. Please sit comfortably.”

“I’ll get the seats dirty,” Rico mumbled, eyes fixed on his hands.

“That’s what cleaners are for,” the man replied with an easy calm, as if dirt wasn’t even worth mentioning. “Please, be comfortable.”

The door shut, sealing off the noise of the city.

As the engine purred to life, Rico pressed his hands against his knees, trying to steady the trembling in his body. For the first time in a long while, he felt the pull of something bigger than himself.A future, uncertain and terrifying, but finally worth facing.

The car moved so smoothly he barely felt it start. For a while, neither of them spoke. Rico kept his eyes on the window, watching the streets pass by, but his mind wouldn’t stop turning.

" Was he doing the right thing?" He thought to himself.