Page 13 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“The attack.”

He touched one of the marks on my stomach, and instinctively, I flinched.

“You’re not in pain, are you?”

“No.” I shook my head gently.

“It’s just your body,” he said, voice low, almost clinical now. “It remembers. Flinching, jumping—it’s doing what it needs to do. It’s trying to protect you, even when there’s nothing left to fight.”

I breathed out a long, shaky sigh. “I knew this. I learned about this in med school.”

But I never expected it to happen like this—stabbed by a middle-aged woman, the mother of my crush.

The object she’d jabbed into me again and again, pressing against my neck, wasn’t even sharp. A nail file, maybe?

God, was my brain trying to erase that part of my past too? Maybe it was protecting me. Maybe I just hadn’t given myself time to process any of it. I hadn’t allowed myself to.

“And now you get to experience it firsthand,” Dannie murmured, his voice rough but soft around the edges. He managed a weak smile—and a sigh that felt just as heavy as mine.

Then it happened—the floodgates opened.

Heat streaked down my cheeks, blurring the world around me. I had nowhere to hide my ugly, blotchy crying face, so I buried it against his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline.

Why was he always the one who saw me fall apart? Why did the universe keep playing this cruel joke—making me break down only in front of Dannie?

More wetness slipped down my face, sharp and stinging. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about anymore. Maybe because it wasn’t fair. Maybe because I was tired of pretending it was.

I had no right to feel sorry for myself. I’d been born into a comfortable middle-class family in America. I’d never gone hungry, never been truly unsafe.

And yet—here I was, crying like a spoiled brat over pain that wasn’t supposed to belong to me.

“God,” I whispered into his skin, voice raw. “I sound so pathetic.”

Dannie didn’t answer. He just kept his hand at the back of my head, holding me close—steady, wordless, unshakable.

Dannie remained frozen—literally dead still.

That was when I realized the odd tackiness where my wet cheeks met his sweaty neck.

“Oh my God, gross!” I yelped, jerking back.

“Well, you knew I was hot,” he said, shrugging one damp shoulder.

Just like that, I broke into unexpected giggles—wild, unexpected, uncontrollable. I let out a shaky laugh until my stomach hurt. I must’ve looked like a total maniac, flipping between hysteria and heartbreak.

If I weren’t overseas, I would’ve so prescribed myself Prozac.

“Thank you,” I murmured as I wiped my face with the tissue he handed me. He’d found it in a decorative wooden box on the coffee table—something I’d never even noticed before. I didn’t take Dannie for the type who’d care about small things like that. Maybe I was wrong.

“Are you hungry?” he asked after a beat.

Dannie stood and offered me his hand. His presence steadied me.

“We have some food in the refrigerator,” I said as he pulled me up. “What do you⁠—”

“Don’t cook.”

“Hey!” My eyes widened as I planted my hands on my hips. “I make a mean salad, with cured meats and everything.”