THE RETURN OF THE TRILLIONAIRE HEIR

Chapter Five

“Yes,” Rico said, forcing himself to stand tall even though his knees felt weak. “I want a refund on my deposit for the perfume and handbag I’ve been paying for.”

The saleswoman blinked, then tapped rapidly on her keyboard. “Sir, according to our records, you’ve made three payments toward that set. Unfortunately, our policy states deposits are non-refundable once the order has been placed with our supplier. The items are already in transit.”

The words hit him like a wall. “But I haven’t even received them yet,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “I don’t want them anymore—just give me back what I’ve paid so far.”

She shook her head as if brushing off a stubborn child. “That’s not possible. Canceling now would mean a total loss to the store.”

Frustration coiled tighter in his chest. “Then give me store credit,” he blurted, his palms already damp. “Anything I can use today.”

Her lips twitched—not with sympathy, but amusement. “Store credit applies only after the purchase is completed and the goods returned in acceptable condition. You haven’t completed payment. You don’t qualify.”

Rico felt his pulse hammering in his ears. “So you’re just keeping my money and giving me nothing?”

“That’s correct, sir,” she said with a flat smile, the kind that told him she’d already dismissed him in her mind.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman in a sleek red coat browsing the handbag display. Her head turned slightly at the sound of his raised voice. She looked once, then again—her gaze sharpening, her lips curling in recognition.

A sharp scoff broke the air.

“Well, well… look what we have here....the poverty-stricken simp himself.”

Rico froze, that voice dragging him back to nights he wished he could erase. Slowly, he turned. Susan. Melina’s friend.

She stepped forward, heels clicking against the polished floor, her eyes glittering with spite. “What are you doing here, Rico? I heard my girlfriend just dumped your poverty ass.”

His mouth tightened. “Not that it’s your business—”

Her gaze flicked to the counter, to the saleswoman’s stiff posture and Rico’s desperate stance. A slow, cold smile spread across her face. “Oh, this just gets better. You’re trying to get a refund? For the gift you bought her?”

Her laugh was sharp enough to cut. “That’s pathetic—even for you.”

He swallowed hard, shame burning up his neck. “You can save the performance, Susan. I already know. She was cheating on me, wasn’t she?”

Susan’s smile spread like oil over water—cold and slick. “Oh, so you’ve finally caught on. Took you long enough. Yes, Rico... Melina’s been cheating on you for years. And you were too blind to see it.”

She stepped closer, her perfume cutting through the store’s artificial floral scent. “Last summer, when she told you she was visiting her aunt in Manchester? She was in London—with another man. That so-called work retreat in Brighton? Please. She was wrapped around someone who could actually afford her tastes.”

Her words slammed into him, and with them came the memories.

He knew Melissa about five years ago. At that time, she was just a pitiful-looking woman who was scavenging for food for her self and her parents. She was poor, pitiful, with her skin stretched too tightly over her bones, and her eyes dull with both hunger and exhaustion.

She was a girl no one would look at twice, given her appearance, but her innocence and gentle nature had won his love, and despite his own destitution, he had taken it upon himself to take care of her.

He could still remember saving the last spoonful of rice from his own plate so she could eat, lying to friends about why he skipped lunch, pawning his watch to buy her a decent coat for winter.

He remembered patching her shoes with his own hands so her feet wouldn’t freeze, pressing crumpled notes into her palm for transport, and standing proud the first day she walked into a room wearing the clothes he’d saved for months to buy.

He had watched her bloom—her cheeks filling out, her hair regaining its shine, her confidence growing until she no longer hid in the shadows. He had built her up, piece by piece, with his own sweat and sacrifices. And now… she had used that strength to walk into another man’s arms.

The staff exchanged knowing smirks. Two customers nearby pretended to browse, but their eyes were locked on him like he was the day’s entertainment.

His fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The images of her absences, excuses, and the faint scent of another man on her clothes burned hotter in his mind.

He turned back to the saleswoman, desperation clawing into his voice. “Refund. Now. Please.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she flicked her gaze toward the corner.

Two security guards began walking over, their footsteps loud, deliberate, final.

“Sir, you’ll need to leave,” one said in a voice that carried no room for discussion.

“I’m not leaving without my money,” Rico said, and he hated how his voice cracked on the last word.

The guard took a step closer, shadow falling over him. “Leave. Now.”

When he didn’t move, a heavy hand clamped onto his arm, dragging him toward the doors. The second guard moved in behind, making sure there was no way back.

Susan trailed after them, still filming, her laughter cruel and bright. “Wave for the camera, Rico. Let the whole world see what a loser looks like.”

The glass doors slid open, and the guards shoved him into the cold. He stumbled, palms scraping against the rough pavement. His breath came fast, uneven, the sting in his hands nothing compared to the one in his chest.

Behind him, Susan’s laughter rang out like a bell tolling for the dead.

Rico forced himself upright, chest heaving, and pulled out his phone. The screen glowed, the numbers stabbing into his eyes—his one hour was almost gone.

He shoved it into his pocket and bolted toward his bike, the ache in his hands matching the one twisting in his gut. He had to get back before it was too late.

If there was anything left to go back to.