Page 28 of Billionaire’s Ruin

About me.

Hot tears burned down my face before I could stop them. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care if he thought I was weak, emotional, broken—whatever word he’d use next to humiliate me.

“Son.”

That word again.

It hit like a slap.

He wasn’t my father. Not really.

I clenched my fists, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

“I’m not your son.”

His expression stiffened. Then, the sneer returned.

“You’re just like that mad woman,” he hissed. “I thought you were better than this, but you’re the same—unhinged, manipulative. You should’ve gone into acting. You’ve got the face for it. The body. The money. You could go far.”

He let out a brittle sound, sharp and cruel. Like every sound that came out of him was meant to cut.

“You don’t mean that!” I shrank back, trembling with anger. “Tell me you don’t mean that!”

He leaned closer, his cologne and whiskey breath mixing in the air between us.

“I want out. That’s what I mean. This—this right here—is exactly what I was talking about. Her. You.”

He twirled his finger in front of my face like a wand, circling me as if I were a problem he could just erase.

“No,” I shouted, the word trembling out of me. “You can’t walk out like we don’t exist. She’s the woman you married. You made vows. You signed papers—didn’t that mean anything to you?” My words were filled with disappointment. “And me… You can’t just walk out like I don’t exist.”

The car seemed to shake. Maybe it was my body trembling, or maybe it was the pressure building inside my lungs.

Then his finger jabbed at my chest—hard.

“You ungrateful piece of shit,” he scolded. “You should be thanking me for breathing. Everything you have—it’s because of me. Without me, you wouldn’t even exist.”

“Thanks,” I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. “But no thanks.”

He blinked, taken aback for half a second. That was all I needed.

“You could’ve chosen differently,” I reminded him.

“What?”

“You had a choice!” I roared. “You could’ve used a condom if you weren’t ready to be a parent!”

He froze.

“Did you ever ask if I wanted to be born?” I shouted. “Mom told me everything! You didn’t even want me, did you?”

His face paled. “You were… necessary.”

“Right.” My cry was bitter and empty. “An accident. A convenient little by-product of your ambition. Something to trap Mom into staying.”

A coldness settled in his eyes.

And then⁠—