THE RETURN OF THE TRILLIONAIRE HEIR

Chapter Two

Rico stood frozen in the hallway outside the hotel room, the delivery bag hanging from his hand. The door had opened, and standing there wrapped in a towel, water still clinging to her skin was Melina.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. Her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something, but her eyes told the story already. She wasn’t expecting to see him. Not like this. Not here.

“Delivery,” Rico said, his voice flat, a bitter edge to it now.

Melina looked like she was trying to fake surprise, but guilt was glaring in her face. Her lips trembled like they wanted to explain, but no words came out.

“Rico... it’s—” she started, but the sentence died before it reached the air.

He stared at her, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The towel. The wet hair. The blush in her cheeks that didn’t look like it came from steam or heat. It all pointed to one thing.

Still, part of him clung to hope. Maybe she has some excuse to be here. Maybe there’s some reason this isn’t what it looks like.

“Tell me this ain’t what it looks like,” he said quietly. “Tell me you’re not doing this.”

Her silence said everything.

Then a man stepped into view behind her. He was tall and had no shirt on. The gold chain he wore bounced lightly on his chest with each step. He looked like he’d just woken up from a good nap he got off smashing someone else’s girl.

“Babe, what’s takin’ so long?” the man asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Rico didn’t say anything. He just stared at the two of them. His grip on the bag tightened, but he didn’t move.

That’s when Melina switched up. Her whole posture changed. Like she flipped a switch and turned cold. She stepped back, reached for the man’s hand, and laced her fingers through his like Rico wasn’t even there.

Then she turned back and said with a fake, sweet voice, “Sorry. This guy keeps showing up wherever I go. I think he’s homeless or something. Can’t take a hint.”

Rico’s chest stopped moving for a second. The words didn’t even sound real.

“Melina… what?” he said. His voice cracked. “You serious right now?”

The other guy looked him up and down and scoffed.

“This the dude you was messin’ with?” he said, shaking his head. “Damn. You really went bottom shelf.”

He chuckled, then added, “You thought a broke delivery boy had a chance? What, you bringin’ her flowers with food stamps?”

Rico stayed silent. He didn’t have to defend himself. What would be the point?

His mind flashed to the countless nights he had worked, the ache of hunger gnawing relentlessly at his stomach and the bitter sting of skipping meals just to save a few coins.

He remembered the night his bike had broken down in the pouring rain, how the cold had seeped into his bones as he walked miles, refusing to spend what little money he had on a bus fare. Those cold nights had felt endless, but still, he pushed on.

Rico had planned to head across town after this delivery to get the perfect gift Melina had wanted—the very one she had stopped to admire months ago in a department store window, eyes bright with a hope he hadn’t dared to share. He could still see her tracing her finger along the glass, as if the delicate bottle held a future they both deserved.

For weeks, he had been hustling through exhaustion and carefully saving every coin to make this moment possible. Today was supposed to be different. After dropping off this delivery, he would finally walk straight into that store and buy the perfume. The cash was tucked safely in his bag,, the weight of it a small but steady reassurance. This last delivery would complete the money he needed—a hard-won victory against a world that seemed determined to keep him down.

“I worked every night for that perfume,” he said slowly, “Walked for hours after my bike broke. Went hungry. Just to save enough. I was gonna surprise you tonight.”

His voice didn’t rise, didn’t shake. But the weight of it pressed down hard—but Melina didn’t flinch.

“You think that impresses me?” she said. “You think I want struggle? I want luxury. I want five-star rooms, first-class flights, real money—not some guy with big dreams and empty pockets.”

Rico’s hand clenched tighter around the bag. His knuckles turned white. But he didn’t respond.

“You’ll never be anything,” she said. “You’re just a delivery guy. You don’t belong in my world.”

Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward—and spit. Right at his feet.

The sound echoed in the hallway like a slap.

“Leave,” she said. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Rico stood still, his heart pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it.

She pushed him hard, catching him off guard. He stumbled back a step. She grabbed the box that had the item he had come to deliver and then stepped back inside.

The man at the door looked at Rico one last time and laughed.

“You forgot your self-respect,” he said, then slammed the door shut.

The edge of it caught Rico across the forehead causing him a sharp pain and warm blood started to trickle down the side of his face.

He didn’t wipe it, neither did he say anything.

He just stood there for a moment, staring at the door.

Rico swallowed hard. The sting of the blood mixed with the bitter taste of defeat. For a long while, he felt nothing but the cold concrete beneath his feet and the echo of her words ringing in his ears.

He bent slowly, gathering the delivery bag Melina had yanked from his grasp, his hands trembling as he took it back. Without so much as a glance behind him, he turned and walked away, every step heavier than the last.