Page 124 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“I don’t know about famous,” Dannie replied, tone calm, maybe even amused. “And it’s Dannie, not Daniel. People keep mixing us up.”

“Whoever the fuck that was,” Lincoln muttered under his breath.

Of course.

Lincoln never cared about names. Or faces.

Especially not Asian ones—he never kept track. I doubted he could name a single actor if someone held a gun to his head.

“Link,” June hissed, sharp enough to slice the air.

Lincoln blinked, actually startled.

She never used that tone with him—at least, not before today.

Then, just as quickly, she softened again. “Close your eyes and rest, Dannie,” she murmured, voice gentle, steady, warm enough to melt steel.

Before Lincoln could deliver another blow, verbal or otherwise, she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragging him off like he was an unruly teenager.

“A word,” she said over her shoulder.

My stomach twisted—pathetic reaction, but real. Just because she spoke—and not to me. Even one syllable pulled at something inside me like a hook.

The moment the door shut behind us, Lincoln rounded on me.

“Someone needs to explain what the hell is going on.” he demanded, voice booming off the walls. “How did you end up here?”

“Dannie saved me. I already said that,” I snapped back.

More irritation in my voice than I intended.

He wasn’t listening—not really.

He wasn’t asking about the events.

He wanted something deeper, something I didn’t even know how to give him.

“I heard,” my best friend said, sharp, clipped. “But I want the truth, Kai. Tell me what really happened.”

Behind him, June stayed quiet.

Her fingers brushed her lips—nervous tic—her eyes locked on mine like she was waiting.

Waiting for me to come clean.

But the truth was… there wasn’t a secret to confess.

“Dannie and I—we were best friends when we were kids.”

June frowned. “That’s not possible. You didn’t even recognize him in Hong Kong.”

“No, that was true. I…”

The heels of my hands dug into my temples.

The memories came in jagged shards—the filthy hut, the ropes cutting into my wrists, the sour smell of damp wood and fear, my own voice cracking until it wasn’t a voice anymore.

“I forgot,” I whispered.