Billionaire Pretends to Be Homeless, But the Poor Girl Knows His Biggest Secret
Chapter 2
Lily had always been good at recognizing lies.
She had learned the skill from her mother.
Margaret Carter had spent most of her life working with numbers.
She could look at a bank statement and know when something was wrong.
She could look at a person’s face and know when they were hiding something.
“People lie with their mouths,” Margaret used to say.
“But numbers lie differently.”
Lily had been sixteen when her mother died.
A car accident.
At least, that was the official story.
Since then, Lily had learned to survive alone.
She rented a tiny apartment above a laundromat.
She worked at the coffee shop during the day.
At night, she cleaned offices.
She had no savings.
No family.
No one to call when things went wrong.
Which was why she had learned to depend on herself.
Alexander appeared at the café every morning.
Always in the same worn jacket.
Always sitting in the same corner.
Always drinking plain coffee.
Lily pretended not to notice him.
But she did.
She noticed everything.
One morning, she dropped a coffee cup.
Alexander stood before she could bend down.
He picked up the broken pieces.
“You’ll cut yourself.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“You don’t have to keep helping me.”
“You gave me food.”
“That wasn’t a business transaction.”
“I know.”
His voice was softer than usual.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Lily noticed something inside his jacket.
A small gold edge.
A watch.
She recognized the brand.
Her mother had once shown her a magazine article about it.
“That’s expensive.”
Alexander looked down.
“What is?”
“The watch.”
He immediately covered it.
“This?”
“Yes.”
“It belonged to someone.”
“Your father?”
His face changed.
Lily knew she had touched something.
“Why did you ask that?”
“You look at it when you’re nervous.”
He slowly lowered his hand.
“You really notice everything.”
“I told you.”
She turned away.
But Alexander remained.
“What’s your biggest secret?”
Lily froze.
“That’s personal.”
“You asked about mine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You accused me.”
She smiled.
“Fair.”
Then a customer walked in.
Lily went back to work.
Alexander stayed for another hour.
That evening, Lily returned to her apartment and found her front door open.
She stopped.
Her heart began pounding.
She had locked it.
She knew she had.
Slowly, she pushed it open.
Drawers were open.
Clothes were scattered.
Her mother’s old boxes had been emptied onto the floor.
Nothing expensive was missing.
But one thing was gone.
An old photograph.
Lily’s mother standing beside a young man.
Lily couldn’t see the man’s face clearly because the photograph was damaged.
She had kept it for years.
Now it was gone.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“You should stop talking to the homeless man.”
Lily’s blood went cold.
“Who is this?”
“You know who.”
“Why?”
“He isn’t who you think he is.”
The call ended.
Lily looked toward the window.
Across the street, a black sedan was parked beneath a broken streetlight.
She had seen it before.
The same car.
The same dark windows.
She stepped closer.
The sedan drove away.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock on her door.
Lily froze.
Another knock.
Then Alexander’s voice.
“Lily?”
She opened the door.
He was standing there.
She stared.
“You followed me?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
“I saw the black car.”
His voice was different.
No longer gentle.
It was cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
Lily stepped aside.
He entered.
“What happened?”
She told him.
He listened without interruption.
Then she said,
“They told me to stay away from you.”
Alexander’s expression hardened.
“They’re afraid of what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Yes, you do.”
Lily looked at him.
“Then why don’t you tell me what I know?”
He remained silent.
Her eyes narrowed.
“You really are Alexander Reed, aren’t you?”
The room became completely still.
He looked at her.
“How did you know my name?”
Lily reached into a drawer.
She pulled out an old newspaper clipping.
A photograph of Alexander.
She placed it on the table.
“You have the same eyes.”
Alexander stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother kept it.”
He looked at the date.
Twenty years ago.
The article was about Richard Reed.
Alexander’s father.
And beside him was Margaret Carter.
Alexander’s breathing changed.
“Where is your mother?”
Lily swallowed.
“She died fifteen years ago.”
He looked at the photograph again.
Then back at her.
“What did she tell you about my family?”
Lily’s face became pale.
“She told me never to trust a Reed.”
Alexander went silent.
Because his mother had once told him exactly the same thing.
