THE RETURN OF THE TRILLIONAIRE HEIR

Chapter Six

Rico swung his leg over the motorbike, his hands trembling so badly he could barely grip the handlebars. His breath puffed in the cool evening air, but the moment he secured his helmet, the first drop of rain touched his cheek.

It was light at first. It was a gentle drizzle before thickening into heavy sheets, each drop stinging his skin and blurring his vision like a curtain of water.

“Just… get home,” he muttered under his breath, his voice drowned out by the storm. His fingers fumbled for the ignition. The bike sputtered as if sharing his exhaustion before finally roaring to life.

He pulled away from the curb, leaning forward as the rain slapped his face. Streetlights flickered in the distance, their glow smeared across the wet air. The streets shimmered with reflections of neon signs and passing headlights, distorted by puddles that exploded beneath his tires.

But the weather wasn’t the worst thing tonight. Susan words were. had been sharp enough to cut through skin. You’ve been a fool for love, Rico. She’s been cheating on you for years.

The memory struck him again, so vivid he almost felt the heat of her breath as she said it. The perfume shop was already bad enough—the saleslady’s smug face, the way she didn’t even pretend to care as she told him his deposit was gone. But Susan’s revelation was the nail in the coffin.

All those years… for nothing.

His chest burned, and his eyes prickled. He blinked hard, forcing the tears back. If he broke down here, in the middle of the street, he’d lose whatever little strength he had left.

It was my money… my time… my life. His hands tightened around the handlebars until his knuckles ached. “I didn’t even get the perfume,” he whispered, the words nearly lost in the rain.

The thought repeated like a drumbeat in his skull:

He’d been cheated, and no one cared.

The storm thickened as he approached the narrow lane to his apartment. The rain pounded the world like a thousand fists, and his jeans were soaked to the skin, clinging to his legs like icy shackles.

He parked the bike beneath the rusted awning out front, hoping it might stay dry not that it mattered anymore. The air smelled of wet metal and stale garbage.

The landlady appreared with her arms folded, chin lifted, her eyes sharp enough to slice through bone.

“You brought the money?” Her tone was flat, without even the courtesy of a greeting.

Rico swallowed, his throat so dry it hurt despite the rain soaking him. He shook his head. “I—I don’t have it yet. Just give me a few more days, I promise. I can—”

Her voice sliced through his words like a knife. “You’ve been promising for weeks. Get the rest of your things and go.”

“What? Please, just—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. With a snap of her fingers, two men emerged from the dim hallway inside, moving with a determination that made Rico’s stomach drop.

“No!” He stepped forward, but she raised her hand like a wall between them.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You can’t stay here for free.”

Desperation clung to his voice like the rain clung to his skin. “I’ll work for you. I’ll clean the house, do laundry, fix anything you need. Please. I have nowhere else to go.”

She didn’t blink. “Not my problem.”

The men disappeared into his small, single-room space and began hauling out the pieces of his life—a thin mattress sagging with age, a pile of clothes, a few battered books, and the wobbly wooden chair he’d repaired more times than he could count.

“Careful with that!” he shouted, rushing forward, but one of the men shoved him back like he was nothing.

The noise drew the neighbors. They gathered on their balconies, peering down from behind rusted railings.

“Finally kicking him out, huh?” one woman called, her voice carrying over the rain.

“Told you he wouldn’t last,” another said, smirking.

They were his neighbors and they were laughing at jim. One of them spat on his things and it made Rico’s stomach twist.

The rain showed no mercy. It drenched the mattress until it sagged even more, soaking the thin fabric and foam until they were nothing but dead weight. The ink from his books bled into black-and-blue stains, words dissolving into nothing. His clothes became sodden lumps, each drop of water stealing away their warmth.

“Stop, please! Just… stop!” Rico scrambled to cover the pile, spreading his body over it as if his weight alone could shield it from the storm. But the rain pounded his back, relentless and cold.

One of the men tossed the chair next to him. It landed with a dull, wet thud that echoed in his chest.

“Take it and go,” the landlady said, already stepping back toward the doorway. “By the time I come back, you’d better be gone from my doorstep.”

She didn’t wait for a response. The door slammed behind her, muffling the faint hum of warmth inside from which he was now exiled.

Rico stayed kneeling in the water, his arms wrapped around the soaked bundle that used to be his life. His lips trembled, his hair plastered to his forehead. Rainwater dripped into his eyes, mingling with the sting of unshed tears.

The neighbors slowly retreated, but a few lingered just long enough to make sure they saw the last of his dignity fall apart.

He tried lifting the mattress, but the waterlogged weight dragged him down. His breath came in short, desperate gasps. “This… this can’t be happening…”

The words were useless. The rain didn’t stop to listen.

Finally, he sank down onto the pavement, the cold soaking through to his bones. His hands covered his face, and the sound of rain on the metal roofs grew so loud it felt like the world was trying to drown him out.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he whispered.

A dark thought crept in: Maybe it would be easier to just end it. No more begging. No more shame.

His chest ached. His heart felt like it was folding in on itself. The rain wasn’t just blurring his sight anymore—it was washing away what little hope he had left.

Then he heard a sound moving towards his direction.

At first, he thought it was thunder, but it didn’t fade. It grew louder, deep and smooth.

It sounded like engines. It didn't sound like the rough, rattling sound of street bikes or old taxis. This was different, steady, sounded like the cars were just bought brand new.

He looked up through the rain and saw a line of black cars appeared at the far end of the street. Their headlights cut through the downpour like blades of light. The wet road glistened as the cars moved, spraying water in neat arcs instead of dirty splashes.

Rico’s eyes caught the line of gleaming cars. Rich guys didn’t come here often, only during elections so for a moment, he thought it must be that time again.

“They’re here to beg for votes, I guess... that’s all they ever know how to do,” he muttered, bitterness curling in his chest.

Then he realized it wasn’t even election season.

“Not my problem,” he added, shaking his head, and turned back to his property, fists tight, determined to salvage whatever he could.