Page 112 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“You can go up,” the guard stated. “Not the rest.”

Behind me, Lincoln exploded. “The hell she’s going alone⁠—”

But I wasn’t listening to him.

I was staring at the man’s face.

The recognition.

The familiarity.

He worked for Dannie.

A sick drop twisted through my gut.

“That’s my brother,” I bit out, jerking my chin toward Lincoln. “My brother goes wherever I go.”

For one long second, I thought the guard might argue—and some part of me desperately wanted Lincoln behind me. Another part of me dreaded it. If he saw me crumble, choose wrong, cross a line… there’d be no hiding from it.

“Fine,” he gave a clipped nod.

Lincoln muttered a curse but moved closer, shoulder brushing mine. They frisked him quickly and professionally, then motioned us toward the elevator. Another man joined us—a silent guide, walking with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew this building, every room, every secret.

With every floor the elevator passed, my lungs tightened.

This was happening.

There was no going back now.

The elevator doors parted onto a long corridor.

Our escort led the way, stopping in front of an apartment entrance before knocking once.

The door yawned open.

And there he was. Dannie.

A familiar silhouette filled the doorway like he’d been waiting for me—pale, worn, dark circles under his eyes, but somehow still managing that crooked, disarming curve to his lips. The one that could take down a room. The one that made me feel safe.

He opened his arms, slow and welcoming.

And before my mind even caught up, my body moved—straight into him.

Warmth.

Relief.

Guilt.

All crashing at once, violent and overwhelming, like a wave knocking me under.

“I was worried sick about you,” I exhaled shakily, the words muffled against his chest. My voice sounded foreign—thin, wobbly, too full of something I didn’t want to name.

“I’m fine.” His voice dipped low.

“You’re burning up—don’t lie.”

I drew back, frowning at his pale face, reaching up to press my palm against his forehead. Muscle memory. Instinct. The doctor in me acting before the woman could think.