Page 38 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“Wait, I think I remember that.”

The automatic door hissed open with a mechanical whoosh. The sound sliced through the air, startling me slightly. A dark-skinned man in his fifties strode past without so much as a glance in our direction. His shoulders were square, his steps brisk—like someone too important to acknowledge the world around him. Outside, a blue BYD blinked in response to the keys in his hand. The car’s lights flashed twice, and seconds later, bass-heavy music thundered from within as he drove off, disappearing around the bend.

Our conversation froze in mid-air, suspended between us like something fragile and forbidden. It felt almost… secret. Like we were discussing something that no one else was supposed to overhear.

“How did you find that out?” I studied her face, narrowing my eyes as if the truth were hidden somewhere behind her tired but mischievous smile. “I don’t think I told anyone about that.”

“Oh, you did.” She gave me a knowing tsk, the kind that instantly transported me back to our dorm room days. Then, without warning, she reached into the pocket of her white coat and pulled out a small plastic wrapper.

I knew it immediately—a cereal bar. The same cheap, sugary brand we lived on in medical school whenever deadlines came crashing in.

“No, I didn’t.” The words came out firm, and before any second thoughts could interfere, I snatched the bar from her hand like it was a piece of evidence I needed to destroy.

“Yes, you did,” she replied, lips curling. “But I have a feeling you wouldn’t remember.”

“Why not?” I tore open the wrapper, the plastic crackling in my hand. The bar was exactly the way I remembered—compact, overly shiny, with bits of oat pressed into a perfect rectangular brick. Seeing it alone stirred something almost nostalgic.

“Because you were wasted, June.”

“What?” I froze, mid-bite. “When?”

Sure, I drank sometimes in college—cheap beer, even cheaper wine. It wasn’t like I liked alcohol; I just liked the illusion it gave me, that temporary, fuzzy freedom from pressure, from grades, from trying to be perfect all the time.

Stephanie rolled her eyes so hard the whites nearly took over. “Honestly, I don’t even remember which night. You went to some frat party—one of the big ones, I think. Ring a bell?”

Only someone deranged would remember all their college parties in detail. Even geniuses couldn’t pull that off with enough liquor in their system.

“Never mind.” A faint dismissive sigh escaped her. “It doesn’t matter.”

I hesitated, chewing slowly. Then curiosity got the better of me. “What did you hear about this guy? What did I say?”

She tapped her chin dramatically, pretending to search her memory. “Hmm… you were slurring like crazy. Half of what came out of your mouth made zero sense. But I think—” she snapped her fingers, “you said you were sorry for leaving him.”

“I said that?” My pulse stuttered.

I hated alcohol. I hated how it loosened people’s tongues and made them vulnerable. I hated how it blurred lines and stripped away control. I hated that it had ever affected me.

After everything I’d done for others—for patients, for my family, for strangers—I couldn’t even get a free pass from the universe to enjoy one harmless night out? Was that too much to ask?

“This friend of yours…” she continued, choosing her words with almost surgical care, “good luck with him.”

I met her gaze, unsure how to respond.

“He’ll be fine,” I replied, a strained smile tugging at my mouth. “It’s just… the reading is a little high. Nothing else. Right?”

“I bet.” She raised a playful brow. “Anyway, I need to head back. But if you need help getting him out of here—call me. They can be… persuasive, always pushing patients to stay another night, rack up those premium charges.”

“How do I find you?”

“Here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“Sorry,” my hand rubbed the back of my neck. “I left mine at home.”

“In that case,” she sighed, “just call the reception. Ask for Dr. Stephanie Soon’s clinic. They’ll patch you through.”

“Thanks,” I said, meaning it.

She lifted a hand in farewell and waddled off toward the doors, her lab coat fluttering behind her like a small cape.