Mr Billionaire's Forgotten Heir

Leila's POV

The fluorescent light above me buzzed, flickering like it was struggling to survive. I felt its pain. My laptop screen stared back, as blank and accusing as my editor's last email.

"One more flop, Dawson, and you're out."

My stomach churned at the memory. I was a decent journalist once. No, scratch that-I was good. But the industry didn't care about how good you used to be. It cared about what you could deliver now.

I glanced at the pile of unopened bills sitting on my desk. A letter from Ollie's college was perched on top, as if mocking me. I didn't have to open it to know what it said. Tuition overdue. Pay now or your little brother's dreams go up in smoke.

I rubbed my temple and groaned. How did I end up here? Twenty-nine years old, broke, and raising my brother because life decided to chew me up and spit me out.

My phone buzzed, jolting me out of my pity party. I snatched it up like it was a lifeline.

"Hey, Mari," I answered.

"Wow, you sound like someone stole your last dollar," Marisol said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Funny you should say that," I muttered.

"Well, good thing I called. I might have just saved your sorry butt."

I sat up straighter, gripping the phone. "Please tell me it's a lead."

"Oh, it's a lead all right," she said, her tone smug. "You remember Theo Armitage?"

"Armitage?" I frowned. "The billionaire who disappeared after his company fell apart?"

"Bingo. Word is, he's hiding out in some tiny coastal town, living the quiet life."

I froze. Theo Armitage. The man who went from tech mogul to corporate pariah in the blink of an eye. The scandal had been huge-embezzlement, betrayal, whispers of sabotage. And then... nothing. He vanished like a ghost.

"You're sure it's him?" I asked.

"My source is solid," Marisol said. "But listen, people like him don't disappear without a reason. If you're going after him, be careful."

Careful? That wasn't in my vocabulary. I needed this story like I needed air.

"Do you have an address?" I asked, grabbing a pen.

"You're welcome," Marisol said with a laugh.

Theo's POV

The waves crashed against the cliffs, the sound soothing in its familiarity. I stood at the edge of the dock, watching the horizon. It was the only place I felt at peace these days.

"Morning, Theo," Abby called from her café window.

I nodded back but didn't stop to chat. I'd learned quickly that in small towns like this, being too friendly led to questions. And I didn't have answers.

The town had given me a second chance-a place to breathe after the world turned its back on me. But I wasn't naive enough to think it would last. Secrets didn't stay buried forever.

I adjusted the strap of my camera bag and started walking back toward my cottage.

"Good morning, Mr. Armitage."

I froze. The voice was sharp, confident, and entirely out of place in this sleepy town.

I turned slowly, and there she was. A woman with a sharp jawline, bright brown eyes, and an air of determination that screamed trouble.

"Wrong person," I said, already turning away.

"I don't think so," she said, stepping closer. "I'm Leila Dawson, a journalist. I'd like to talk to you."

Of course, a journalist. They always found me eventually.

"I don't do interviews," I said flatly.

"This isn't just an interview," she pressed. "It's a chance to tell your side of the story."

I laughed. Not the warm kind of laugh, but the kind that said, you've got to be kidding me.

"There's no story," I said. "Go home."

She didn't move. Her gaze followed me like a hawk, but I kept walking. I'd learned a long time ago how to walk away.

Leila's POV

I stood there, watching him disappear down the street.

Theo Armitage.

He was taller than I expected, broader too, with a sharpness to his features that no photo had ever captured. But the man wasn't just guarded-he was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

"You're wasting your time, you know."

I turned to see an older man leaning against a post outside the café. He wore a faded baseball cap and had a coffee cup in one hand.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Theo doesn't talk to strangers," he said. "Especially not reporters."

I crossed my arms. "Well, maybe I'm not like other reporters."

The man chuckled. "That's what they all say. But he's been here five years, and no one's cracked him yet."

I felt a flicker of annoyance. Did I have "give up easily" written on my forehead?

"Well," I said, giving him a tight smile, "there's a first time for everything."

Scene: The Twist

That night, I parked my car a few streets away from Theo's cottage and waited. I wasn't proud of it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Around midnight, I saw him. He stepped out onto his porch, a camera slung around his neck. He moved quietly, like someone who didn't want to be seen.

I grabbed my bag and followed him.

He walked to the cliffs, setting up his tripod as the waves crashed below. I crept closer, keeping my distance.

And then I heard it-a crack.

The ground beneath me shifted, and I barely had time to react before the edge of the cliff gave way.

"Shit!" I screamed, grabbing onto a root as my feet dangled over the edge.

Theo was there in an instant, his face twisted with a mix of anger and concern.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, grabbing my arm and pulling me up with surprising strength.

I collapsed onto solid ground, my heart pounding. "Research?"

He glared at me. "You're insane."

"Maybe," I said, breathless. "But you saved me, so I guess we're even."

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn't know how.

"Go home," he said again, but this time his voice was softer.

I watched him walk away, a spark of triumph in my chest. He might be the most guarded man on the planet, but he had a crack in his armor.

And I was going to find it.