Love Unexpected, The Billionaire's Disguise

A Cleaning Job

Long after Claire had left, Ryan reluctantly retrieved the card and went home. From that moment on, his thoughts revolved around a single problem: how to make her see the card, and, more importantly, take it.

Handing it to her directly was out of the question, because that meant explanations. Explanations meant more lies. And lies, spoken too closely, would unravel everything.

If he gave it to her directly, she’d ask questions. If she sensed even a crack in his story, the stranded man, the nowhere-to-go stranger would become exactly what he feared most in her eyes.

A creep, or a manipulator.

So he shook his head. “It’s better this way.” He said to no one in particular and turned to subtler methods.

First, he sent his assistant, Tyler Bricks.

Tyler approached Claire under the pretense of having found the card, insisting it must have fallen from her bag. Claire met his gaze head-on and dismantled the lie with unsettling calm.

“I don’t have a bank account,” she said flatly. “So how could I own a bank card? And not just any card...a gold one?”

Tyler was left speechless. When he tried to press the issue, she warned him she would call the police. He backed off immediately.

Two days later, Ryan tried again. This time, it was an unnamed, unmarked platinum card. Surely that would work, Ryan thought. He enlisted one of the apartment residents Claire worked for, Miss May, to help. May deliberately walked past Claire and “accidentally” dropped the card.

Instead of pocketing it, Claire called after her.

“Miss,” she said firmly, holding the card out. “You dropped this.”

When May claimed it wasn’t hers, Claire frowned. “I saw it fall from you,” she insisted, then paused, suspicion flashing in her eyes. “Unless the McAvoy family is trying to frame me again?”

Embarrassed and flustered, May denied it quickly. Claire handed the card back anyway and advised her to return it to the nearest bank if she truly wasn’t the owner.

Ryan clenched his jaw when he heard how it ended. A flicker of frustration sparked in his chest, quickly mutating into something far more dangerous, desperation. He hadn’t worked this hard at anything in years. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the card and turned into a challenge.

One he had to win. He ordered more people to keep trying.

A blue, nameless card appeared near the lockers.

A green card with gleaming edges was left beside the vending machine.

A black card lay along the narrow hallway she used during her breaks.

Each time, Claire walked straight past them. No hesitation, no second glance. It was almost as if she chose not to see them.

By the time night settled in on the fourth day, frustration gnawed relentlessly at Ryan. It was a foreign feeling, this tight, restless irritation that no amount of money, authority, or strategy could dissolve. He had orchestrated acquisitions worth billions with less effort than it had taken to place himself in her line of sight.

When Claire finally clocked out, late again, her exhaustion was unmistakable. Her steps dragged as she made her way towards the bus stop. He planned the last attempt, abandoning all pretenses. No intermediaries. No staged accidents. Just notice it, he thought desperately. Just once.

A silver bank card was placed on the pavement, right along Claire’s usual route home. She walked past it. Ryan watched at a careful distance, his heart pounding harder than it had during any negotiation, or any hostile takeover.

She walked right past it, Ryan’s jaw clenched...and then she stopped.

One step, two steps back, she bent down.

Time seemed to stall as she picked up the silver card, turning it over in her fingers. She studied it carefully, brows knitting together with hesitation, as if weighing the responsibility of finding something that didn’t belong to her.

She scanned the street, eyes sharp, as though expecting someone to step out from the shadows. After a long moment, she slipped it into her small bag and walked away.

Relief hit Ryan so sharply it left him dizzy. A slow breath escaped him, something close to a laugh tugging at his chest. It felt absurd that this small victory filled him with the same satisfaction as closing a billion-dollar deal.

Finally, he thought. It’s done.

She had taken it. He had helped her, without touching her world and without revealing himself.

He could return to his life now, without the gnawing sense that he owed her something he could never truly repay.

And yet, as he turned toward his car, one uncomfortable truth lingered, for the first time, walking away felt harder than staying.

He avoided that part of town afterward, avoided anything that might remind him of the rundown house. He told himself it was intentional and necessary.

He buried himself in work. Meetings stacked upon meetings, negotiations ran back-to-back, numbers rising and falling at his command. When a presentation failed to meet his standards, he ordered it redone, twice, sometimes three times, until entire departments learned to tread carefully around him.

Life slipped back into its familiar rhythm. Or at least, that was how it looked.

No matter how hard Ryan tried to convince himself that what had happened days ago was nothing more than a strange, fleeting episode, the lie refused to stick. The memory lingered, stubborn, vivid, surfacing at the most inconvenient moments. He grew distracted, irritable, restless. Emotions he’d long believed himself immune to.

The days dragged by like punishment. Sleep eluded him. Food lost its taste. No matter how deeply he drowned himself in work, his thoughts kept circling back, to a rundown apartment, to tired eyes that still held kindness, to the moment she had bent and picked up his card.

He knew the card hadn’t been used yet. The bank would have notified him. Still, there was an unsettling comfort in knowing she had it with her.

He forced himself not to go back.

This is done, he reminded himself. You helped. That’s enough.

A week later, his assistant announced a call from one of his banks. Ryan expected a routine update.

Instead, the banker informed him that a woman had come in earlier that day and returned a bank card.

His card.

For the first time in a long while, something cracked through Ryan’s carefully constructed calm.

Ryan’s fingers stilled against the table.

“Returned?” he echoed.

“Yes, sir. A woman turned it in this morning. She said she found it on her way home.”

The room seemed to tilt, just slightly.

“Did she leave a name?” Ryan asked, his voice neutral despite the tightening in his chest.

“No, sir. She declined. Only insisted that it be returned to it's rightful owner immediately.”

The call ended shortly after. Ryan sat there long after the line went dead, his surroundings fading into irrelevance. Around him, executives shifted uncomfortably, waiting for instructions that didn’t come.

She hadn’t used it, she just returned it just like that? what kind of human being is she then?

She’d walked all the way to the bank, his bank, and returned it without expecting anything in return.

Something in Ryan cracked. Slowly, deliberately, he stood.

“Meeting adjourned,” he said, voice low and final.

He went home after that, the decision felt reckless the moment it settled in his chest, but he followed through anyway. Inside the mansion, he bypassed the staff, ignored the questions in their eyes, and went straight to his room. The expensive suits remained untouched. Instead, he pulled out the same simple clothes Claire knew him in, the plain black shirt, worn jeans, the unremarkable shoes.

The costume of a man with nothing. Because that was who he had chosen to be to her.

He changed quickly, checked his reflection once, then left again, this time he asked his driver to drop him. The cheap car rolled out of the gates, carrying him back to the edge of the city, back to a place he had sworn he was done with. The bus stop was already busy when he arrived.

Ryan positioned himself where he wouldn’t look like he was waiting for anyone in particular, leaning against the metal pole, eyes occasionally flicking to the road, posture relaxed but alert. He told himself it was coincidence. That if she didn’t show up, he would leave.

He waited, minutes stretched, then a bus groaned to a stop. People poured out in tired clusters, faces worn down by the day. Ryan scanned them without meaning to and then he saw her.

Claire stepped down last, the same oversized clothes, the same weary posture, her bag hanging from one shoulder. She looked thinner than he remembered. Something in his chest tightened.

He straightened, schooling his expression just in time. She noticed him a second later and froze.

“Oh,” Claire said, blinking in surprise. “You?”

Ryan let out a soft, incredulous laugh, as if fate itself had caught him off guard.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “this is awkward.”

Her brows pulled together. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied lightly, then gestured around. “I guess I’m still… figuring things out.”

She studied him for a moment, searching his face as if trying to decide whether this was coincidence or something else. Whatever she found must have satisfied her, because her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“You found your friend?” she asked.

Ryan hesitated, only for a heartbeat, but it was there.

“No,” he admitted. “Turns out promises don’t mean much when you’re broke.” He let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been trying to sort things out on my own.”

Claire frowned, concern flickering across her face before she could hide it.

“And… are you okay?” she asked.

Ryan met her gaze and nodded. “I will be.” He didn’t add eventually.

Because standing there, under the flickering bus stop light, watching worry crease her tired face, he realized something unsettling, he didn’t just want control. He wanted her to believe him.

“You look like you haven’t eaten,” she said at last, her voice softer now, edged with concern she clearly hadn’t meant to reveal.

Ryan gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “That obvious?”

She didn’t answer. She just glanced toward the road, then back at him, as if weighing a decision she’d already made once before, and hadn’t regretted.

“I know a place,” she said finally. “It’s cheap. Not great, but it fills you up.”

Ryan’s first instinct was to refuse. Pride flared, sharp, automatic. But he swallowed it just as quickly. Refusing would raise questions. And worse… he didn’t actually want to say no.

“That’d be… nice,” he said, choosing the word carefully. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Claire scoffed softly. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t need help, you know that?”

Something warm, and dangerous, settled in his chest. If only she knew.

They started walking, falling into an easy, quiet pace. The streetlights flickered on above them, casting long shadows across the pavement. Claire talked as they walked about the buses always running late, about how prices had gone up again, about nothing and everything at once. Ryan listened, really listened, storing away the sound of her voice like it was something rare.

When they reached the small corner diner, she pushed the door open without ceremony.

“Two bowls of stew,” she told the man behind the counter. “And extra bread.”

Ryan watched her pull out a few crumpled bills, counted carefully. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

When the food arrived, she slid one bowl toward him.

“Eat,” she said simply.

He did.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, it tasted better than anything he’d had in years.

Across the table, Claire studied him thoughtfully.

“You really should stop wandering,” she said after a moment. “It’s dangerous out here.”

Ryan met her eyes, the truth pressing hard against his ribs.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But sometimes… you don’t find what you’re looking for unless you get lost first.”

She frowned, unconvinced, but she didn’t argue.

Ryan exhaled slowly, letting a hint of frustration creep into his voice. “I’ve been trying to find work,” he admitted. “Anywhere that would take me. I’ve gone from place to place, but once they hear I don’t have references or see where I live…” He trailed off with a small, bitter shrug. “No one wants the trouble.”

That much, at least, felt close enough to the truth to sting.

Claire stared at him with something close to pity. “What kind of job are you looking for?”

The question caught him off guard. Ryan opened his mouth and nothing came out.

He’d said he needed work so she would know he was serious, so she wouldn’t think he was drifting aimlessly by choice. But he hadn’t actually thought about what he was supposed to be looking for. In his world, jobs were created, not applied for.

“I...” he started, then paused, buying time. “Anything, really.”

She studied him for a second, then her eyes lit up as if she’d remembered something.

“Then maybe I can help,” she said. “It’s not glamorous, and it’s exhausting, but it pays.”

Ryan blinked. “Really, what kind?”

“A cleaning job,” she said matter-of-factly. “Same place I work. They’re always short on people, especially ones who’ll actually show up.”

A cleaning job. The words echoed in his head. He pictured himself holding a mop, scrubbing floors, taking orders and for the first time in years, panic stirred in his chest. He had negotiated billion-dollar contracts without blinking, crushed rivals with a single signature, yet the thought of admitting this truth to Claire, that he had never worked like this a day in his life, felt impossible.

Ryan felt a strange mix of disbelief but he kept his expression neutral, even grateful.

“That would be… a lifesaver,” he said carefully.

Claire nodded. “You’ll hate it,” she added, “But at least you won’t starve.”

After their meal, Ryan followed Claire out of the diner, heart thudding harder than it had in any boardroom.

He’d just agreed to scrub floors. And somehow, that felt far more terrifying than losing a billion-dollar deal.

Claire led the way without hesitation, turning down the familiar streets that marked the path back to her apartment. The sky had already begun to darken, the air heavy with the promise of another long night.

“You can come back with me,” she said over her shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the place early so you can talk to the supervisor.”

Ryan slowed for half a step, then caught up.

“You sure?” he asked, keeping his tone careful. “I don’t want to...”

“...be an inconvenience,” she finished for him, clearly unimpressed. “Yes, I’m sure. You don’t exactly have many options.”

That wasn't exactly true but she doesn't have to know that. By the time they reached her building, Ryan found himself strangely familiar with the cracked steps, the flickering hallway light, the door that always needed an extra push to open. When Claire unlocked it and stepped inside, he followed automatically.

Then he paused, glanced around the small, cramped room, and let out a quiet laugh.

“You know,” he said lightly, “for someone who doesn’t want strangers relying on her… I’m starting to feel like I live here.”

Claire shot him a look. “Don’t push your luck.”

But there was the faintest curve to her mouth as she set her bag down.

“Same rules as before,” she added. “Sofa’s yours. Don’t touch anything you didn’t bring in. And if you drip water on the floor again, you’re mopping it.”

Ryan raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he settled onto the sofa for the third time, it struck him how absurd it all was.

A billionaire sleeping on a worn couch, preparing to clean floors in the morning, joking his way into the life of a woman who had nothing, and yet gave everything she could.

And Ryan didn’t feel like he was pretending. He felt… strangely at home.