THE RETURN OF THE TRILLIONAIRE HEIR

Chapter Three

Rico turned and walked down the hall. His steps were uneven, heavy, like his legs didn’t know whether to run or give out. He had just caught the woman he thought was his future wrapped in a towel in another man’s room, and the image clung to him like a curse.

He pushed through the hotel lobby without looking at anyone. His vision tunneled; the chandeliers, the polished floor, the quiet murmur of guests, all of it faded into the background. His chest felt tight, his throat raw, like he’d swallowed something sharp.

Outside, the air hit him, but it didn’t cool the heat behind his eyes. He climbed onto his bike without thinking, his hands gripping the handlebars until his knuckles whitened. The engine roared, but he didn’t hear it. He rode into traffic, weaving through c popars without noticing the horns, the curses, the chaos around him.

For nearly half an hour, he rode aimlessly, trying to outrun the memory of Melina’s guilty eyes — and the man’s smirk behind her shoulder.

When he finally rolled into the delivery yard, the familiar lineup of bikes was there, and the other riders were gathered, smoking and laughing. But it was the manager who caught his eye — standing outside the office door with his arms folded and a look that said he’d been waiting just to pounce.

Rico stopped the bike, dropped the stand, and stepped off. His shoulders sagged, but before he could speak, the manager’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Why the hell haven’t you been picking up your phone?”

Rico paused, he was sure he didn't get any calls.

"I..." He muttered and then decided to check if he missed anything. He pulled his cracked phone from his pocket, blinking at the missed calls. “Didn’t see them. I was riding here.”

“Riding here after harassing a VIP client and his woman?” The manager’s lip curled into a sneer.

“What?” Rico’s voice was hoarse.

“They called,” the manager said, dragging out the words like he enjoyed each one. “The woman said you showed up at their hotel room, made a scene, scared her. You know what kind of people they are? People who can end this business with one phone call.”

Rico froze. She called? Melina? His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

“That’s a lie,” he managed, his voice cracking.

“Don’t care,” the manager said flatly. “You’re done. Fired. Get your pathetic self out of my yard.”

“This job is all I have,” Rico said quietly.

“Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went sniffing around a client’s woman. Now you’re nothing. And just so we’re clear, you’re not getting paid either.”

“I worked for that money,” Rico said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

The manager stepped closer, his breath hot, his tone venomous. “You think I care? You’re lucky I don’t make you pay me for making my phone ring all morning with their complaints. Now get out.”

Laughter broke from the riders. “Too proud before, look at him now,” one said.

“Told you he’d crash,” another added.

Rico ignored them as he squared his shoulders, his voice sharp with defiance. “I worked for it. You can’t just steal my wages.”

The manager’s lips curled into a cold smirk. “Watch me.”

Without breaking eye contact, he snapped his fingers at the security guards lingering by the door. “Drag him out.”

Two burly men moved in, their heavy boots thudding against the floor, and Rico’s heart pounded—not from fear, but from the burning injustice clawing at his chest.

The men grabbed him, shoving him hard into the dirt. Pain shot through his leg, but worse was the burn of humiliation as the others watched and smirked.

“Don’t come back,” the manager called after him. “Not for work. Not for anything. You step in here again, I’ll have you arrested.”

Rico got up, limping to his bike. His bag sat on the seat, the zipper half-open. He started the engine and pulled away, riding past the corner store, the bus stop, the market where he used to deliver.

At the red light, Rico’s gaze fell on the delivery bag resting in front of him. A strange unease pressed against his chest, his stomach felt hallow but he didn't know why. He unzipped the bag slowly, and noticed that all the money he made to complete the deposit was gone.

For a few seconds, his mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. The cash—the money he had been saving to complete his deposit—was gone. Just like that, his last thread of security had been cut.

A sharp ache rose in his chest. He stared at the bag as if the bills might somehow reappear if he willed them hard enough. His fingers dug into the handlebars, knuckles whitening. The blaring honk of a horn behind him jolted him from his trance. The lights had turned green.

“Move it, man!” a driver shouted, irritation dripping from his voice.

Rico blinked rapidly, his throat tight. He zipped the bag shut with a harsh tug, sighed heavily, and rolled forward.

The ride home felt endless. His chest burned from the crushing mix of disbelief, fear, and anger.

When he turned onto his street, the sight waiting for him made his stomach drop.

Rico zipped the bag shut with a sharp tug, sighed heavily, and rolled forward as the light turned green. The ride home blurred past him, but every turn of the wheels seemed heavier.

When he reached his building, a murmur of voices caught his attention. There was a small crowd gathered near his doorway. His stomach tightened as he stepped closer.

A man leaning on the railing smirked. “Ah, Rico… finally home. You didn’t pay your rent, did you? The landlady’s done with you.”

Rico’s eyes flicked past him to the doorway, where the landlady was dragging out a box and dropping it onto the pavement with a thud. His old shirts spilled onto the ground, mingling with a cracked photo frame and his dented kettle.

“What the hell is this?” Rico demanded, his voice already shaking with frustration.

The neighbor chuckled under his breath. “What does it look like? She’s making space for someone who can pay.”