The Billionaire's Unclaimed Heir

Tricia’s POV “Tricia! Waky, waky! The world is turning without you, Sleeping Beauty…!” Tima sang loudly. Her voice cut through my dream… a dream of saltwater and a smell I couldn’t place, making me jerk up, my heart pounding like crazy. “Tima… what?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. The sunlight coming through the window was too bright, and too high in the sky. Tima stood at the end of my bed, leaning on the frame with a cheeky smile. She was already dressed in her uni clothes, swinging her bag. “Oh, you’re alive,” Tima said, pretending to check her wrist even though she wasn’t wearing a watch. “I was starting to think you were in a coma. Is this your new business plan? Just sleep all day and let everyone else take your job?” “Crazy girl…” I muttered and scrambled for my phone on the nightstand. My thumb swiped the screen, and my stomach dropped. 8:04 AM. “Eight?!” I shouted, pushing the duvet off as I jumped out of bed. “Tima! Why didn’t you wake me earlier? The interview is at nine! And it’s across the city!” "I tried!" Tima defended, though her giggling told a different story. “I poked you at seven. You mumbled something about ‘market analysis’ and pushed my hand away. Then Maxwell’s school bus came at seven-thirty. That kid has more discipline than you! He kissed your cheek, grabbed his lunchbox, and told me, ‘Don’t wake Mommy, she looks tired.’” I was already halfway to the bathroom, kicking off my pajamas. "He said that? My sweet boy. I’m a terrible mother. I’m a late, unemployed, terrible mother." “No! You’re… just a tired mother,” Tima said, following me to the door, her voice soft but full of teasing. “But if you don’t get moving, you’re going to be a jobless one. I put your suit in the steam bag. It’s hanging on the closet door.” "You're a lifesaver! I love you, I'll pay you back when I'm a Senior Executive!" I yelled over the splash of cold water against my face. I moved with the precision of a soldier. Five years of single motherhood had turned my morning routine into a high-speed drill. Scrub, rinse, dry. I didn't have time for a full face of makeup. Just a touch of concealer to hide the dark circles Maxwell’s late-night nightmares had gifted me, and a swipe of neutral lipstick. I reached for my contact lens case and carefully put the tinted lenses in. My usual hazel eyes became a plain, professional brown. Then I ran my hand through my hair. It was short now, cut into a neat bob that framed my face. I didn’t look anything like the girl with long, flowing curls five years ago. I stepped out of the bathroom, sliding into the beige corporate gown. It fit perfectly, hugging my waist and falling just to my knees. I slipped on my olive-green heels, the click-clack of my steps on the floor sounding like a countdown. “Mom?” I called, rushing into the small kitchen. It had always been her favorite spot. Ruby Green was sitting at the small table, staring blankly at a cup of tea. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped in that way they always were since Dad passed. "I'm heading out, Mom," I said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. I pulled a few bills from my purse and pressed them into her hand. "Here. For the groceries. Tima will help you with the stairs if you want to go to the park later, okay?" Ruby blinked, her eyes clearing for a second. "You look beautiful, Tricia. Just like your father." "Thanks, Mom. Wish me luck." "You don't need luck," Tima called from the door, tossing me my briefcase. "You're the smartest person in any room. Now run! The taxi is waiting downstairs! I called it while you were scrubbing your face!" "I love you!" I yelled, rushing down the stairs. I hurried into the taxi. New Yard’s traffic was stuck, and my heart was racing. I tried to read my notes, but the words blurred. Black Group. The huge company of glass and steel. The top of the city’s business world. If I got this, Maxwell would have the best school. My mother would have her medication without us skipping meals. Tima would finish her degree without debt, my mind raced through all the possibilities. "We're here, lady," the driver said. I looked up. The Black Group building towered over me, all black glass reaching toward the clouds. I paid the driver, stepped out, and looked at myself in the glass door. Calm. Ready. Smart. I walked into the lobby. My heels clicked on the shiny marble floor, the sound echoing around the big space. I didn’t look at the art or the fountain. I went straight to the security desk. “Tricia Green. I’m here for the Senior Business Executive interview, 52nd floor.” The guard checked his screen, handed me a visitor's pass, and pointed toward the express elevators. “You’re almost late, Ms. Green. Only ten minutes left.” "Thank you," I said, already moving. The elevator ride was fast and quiet. My ears popped as the floors went by. 10… 20… 40… 52. ‘DING’ The doors slid open to a world of luxury that felt suffocating. The air smelled of expensive leather and cold air conditioning. A secretary with hair slicked back into a tight bun looked up. "Ms. Green?” I nodded carefully. “Right this way. Mr. Black is waiting." My heart skipped a beat. Mr. Tyrone Black. The CEO. I had read about him in the papers… cold, ruthless, the man who had made the Black Empire a global powerhouse. The secretary opened a pair of heavy mahogany doors. "You may go in." I took a breath, adjusted the strap of my briefcase, and walked in. The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed all of New Yard, but the man behind the desk made the view seem small. He was bent over a file, pen in hand, his navy-blue three-piece suit stretched across broad shoulders. He didn't look up at first. "Sit down, Ms. Green," he said. His voice hit me like a blow. It was deep and strong, with a quiet power that made the hair on my arms stand up. Honestly, I had heard this voice before once, in the dark, whispering against my skin. I froze for a moment, gripping my bag tighter. No. Maybe it's just a coincidence. I forced my legs to move. I sat in the leather chair across from him, keeping my back straight, my gaze fixed on the surface of his desk. "Your resume is impressive," he continued, still not looking up. "Top of your class. High praise from your previous firm. But the Black Group doesn't just hire brains. We hire loyalty. We hire people who don't run when things get difficult." He finally put his pen down and leaned back, the leather chair making a soft noise as he shifted. “Tell me, Tricia Green… why should I…” He stopped. The silence that followed was heavy. I finally lifted my gaze, my heart pounding hard in my chest. I looked into his eyes… eyes as dark as a midnight sea, sharp and calculating. Tyrone Black stared at me. His brow barely moved, but his eyes stayed on my face, as if they were looking for something hidden beneath my short hair and brown lenses. In an instant, the polished office disappeared. My beige dress felt like the thin silk dress I wore five years ago. The smell of his expensive cologne brought back a memory so real I could almost feel the bass of the nightclub music under my feet. The jawline. The way his lips set in a firm, straight line. The strong, intense look of a man who always got what he wanted. It was him. The man from the club. The man who had held me like I was the only woman in the world. The man I had fled from before the sun rose. And most importantly, the man who had no idea that a four-year-old boy named Maxwell was currently sitting in a kindergarten classroom with his exact same eyes. Tyrone leaned forward, his hands locked on the desk. He didn’t recognize me… not yet, but I saw something dangerous flash in his eyes. A hint of recognition, like he was chasing a memory he couldn’t quite catch. "Have we met before, Ms. Green?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, suspicious hum. "You look... familiar." ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️