The Billionaire Amongst Us

“You, houseboy, get in here!”

"Kairo! The wine rack is ordered wrongly. Fix it!”

“Kairo! Where’s my curling iron?!”

“Kairo! Why is the dog wearing the guest’s bowtie?!”

For over a year, this has been the order of events in the DeLancey's estate.

Kairo Dune, the houseboy of the estate sees it as all so normal.

He’d been running endless errand trips for the DeLanceys for years, picking up groceries, dropping off dry cleaning, or fetching ridiculous items in the dead of the night.

It never ended and they never stopped treating him like a rag, like he was nothing.

Kairo wasn’t just a houseboy. By day, he was the quiet, obedient servant in the luxurious DeLancey estate, but by night, he was Lord Harrison, the billionaire owner of a popular Casino empire.

No one in the city, not even the DeLancey family, had any idea that this lowly servant was the mastermind behind the wealthy empire.

The quiet, obedient houseboy who answered to snapped fingers and insults was the same man who owned the popular casino by nightfall.

They saw him as the houseboy, disposable and invisible. Still, once night falls, the houseboy would sneak off into the night, trade his apron for Italian leather, his mop for a million-dollar suit, and walk into the Casino as if he owned it because he did.

He had his reasons for doing so, reasons that had been set in motion long ago.

When he was a child, his family and inheritance were burned to the ground by a fire, orchestrated by the Delancey family themself.

But now, he has the duty of revenge against the family who had erased his legacy.

Today, the DeLanceys were expecting a very special guest and judging from how orders were screamed, gold-plated cutlery clinking against ceramic plates, and Lady Delancey checking and rechecking menus for uniformity;

the billionaire casino mogul in the tri-state area was to be betrothed to her daughter, lady Celeste.

People in the neighbourhood said the kind of riches the casino Mugol had was the type that made other rich people feel poor.

If all went according to plan, he’d leave engaged to Celeste DeLancey, the youngest, prettiest and fairest of DeLancey's household.

And tonight, the irony was amusing.

The DeLanceys are dying to impress the billionaire, the man to be betrothed to their daughter and at the same time shouting insults to that same billionaire, only that he was scrubbing their floors and emptying their trash.

So Kairo, the houseboy extraordinaire, was still scrubbing the marble tiles in the DeLancey estate when Lady Delancey walked in, her heels clapping like judgment itself. “Faster, boy,” she snapped arrogantly, "Guests don’t wait for dirt.”

“You’re lucky we let you sleep under this roof,” sneered Brandon, the eldest son of DeLancey, as he shoved a stack of plates into Kairo’s arms. “Trash like you should be grateful.”

He didn’t answer, he just moved silently, swallowing the indignity with calmness.

"I see. I was beginning to think you'd finally done the noble thing and followed your pathetic parents into the grave.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” he murmured, voice smooth, hollow. “I won't take too long with the scrubbing.”

Brandon leaned against the piano, smirking like a cheap villain in a horror movie. “I always forget your tragic little orphan tale. Fire, wasn’t it? How poetic. Your whole family smoked out like rats.”

Lady DeLancey chuckled. “It’s practically charitable that we keep you here. A roof and warm meals. You should be calling me your saviour.”

Kairo had lost count of the number of times he had been reminded of this same story.

Lady DeLancey turned, her voice sharp as the diamond edges on her necklace.

“Well, don’t just kneel there like a pagan, the master's room also needs polishing. Our rich billionaire will be here before nine, and everything must glisten, unlike your future.”

Branton snorted. “Yeah, wouldn’t want our visitor to trip on the dust and sue us. Not that a guy like him would notice you, huh, Kairo? He probably wipes his shoes with houseboys like you.”

Kairo stood slowly, deliberately. “Of course, sir. I wouldn’t want the dust offending your guests.”

Branton made a mocking bow, and Lady DeLancey tossed her scarf over her shoulder like a queen excusing a peasant.

They left him standing in the hallway, brush in hand, pride in ruins. Kairo turned the corner, loosening the stiff collar of his servant uniform, and he froze.

There she was, Evelyn, the newspaper girl whom everyone called the journalist.

Leaning casually against the marble column near the garden walkway, she was soft and beautiful, eyes sharp like she already knew half the secrets spoken.

Her brows lifted when she saw him, and that ever-curious smirk played on her lips like she was about to ask something dangerous.

“Running off again, Kai?” she asked, voice soft, teasing. “You disappear more often than a Christmas party thief.”

He forced a chuckle, masking the jolt in his chest. “Just an errand. Lady Delancey wants rare flowers from a shop that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Of course she does,” Evelyn said, stepping closer. “You always seem busiest when the sun goes down.”

Kairo offered a tight smile. “I guess fate likes it that way.”

Evelyn leaned back to observe him. “Funnily enough, you don't look like someone who has something to hide.”

He swallowed hard. If she only knew.

“Oh, that?” he scoffed in a low voice, “I'm only a houseboy struggling to survive..”

And with that, he slipped past her, every step echoing louder than the last. He could feel Evelyn’s gaze burning into his back; curious, admirable stares.

Evelyn's articles were getting closer to the truth about the DeLancey empire, and every time Kairo saw her name in the paper or heard her voice over the radio, a quiet knot of discomfort twisted in his gut.

She was digging, uncovering the buried secrets of his enemies. And he couldn’t have that.

But what scared him more than her persistence was the fact that Evelyn had started paying attention to him in a way no one else did.

She was pulled to the air of quietness around the houseboy, and Kairo could feel the closeness between them.

Whenever she stared, there was a spark in her gaze that was different, something which made him wonder if she could see through the person he truly was.

A man determined to reclaim what had been stolen from him? Or would she be another casualty of the game he was playing?

He couldn’t afford to let her get too close.

She had once told him, albeit romantically, that it was the way he made her feel, and something about him which didn’t sit right and his strange behaviour which intrigued her always to feel that Kairo was more than just a houseboy.

Still, the thought of her lingered longer than it should have. Even as Mrs. DeLancey screamed at him from upstairs.

“kairo! The champagne! It’s not cold enough!”