Page 45 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“Yes,” I admitted, “unless you plan to wear it with the bow tie.”

He laughed. “Blame Auntie Five. She picked the stupid outfit.”

Before I could answer, the vehicle jerked forward violently—brakes screeching, tires biting into the asphalt. My whole body lunged ahead, seatbelt locking against my chest. Xiao Wu slammed into the back of the front seat with a grunt.

The driver started muttering under his breath, words tumbling out too fast to understand—half in Mandarin, half in prayer. “Oh no, no, no, this cannot be happening… please, don’t let this be real…”

We were stopped behind another car—two, maybe three—boxed in by black sedans that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Then they appeared.

Two men in dark suits, sunglasses glinting even though the sky had turned gray. They walked fast, too fast, their faces blank, movements precise.

They yanked at the car handles, one on each side.

“Hoi mun! Hoi mun!” One shouted in Cantonese.

“Kai men!” the other echoed—open the door.

My pulse pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.

“Don’t you dare,” Xiao Wu growled, his voice dropping into something deep, strange—nothing like his usual joking tone. “I’ll f—” his curse cut off as the man nearest the window raised something metallic.

A gun.

“Wo jiao ni…” the man started in Mandarin, then switched back to Cantonese, voice cold, emotionless. “Hoi mun.” Open the door.

Click.

The sound of the car lock releasing was louder than thunder.

The right-side door flew open first, then mine. A gust of city air rushed in, thick with exhaust and something acrid, like burning rubber.

A hand grabbed my arm—rough, unyielding. I didn’t even have time to scream before I was yanked out of the door.

My legs wouldn’t move. My mind couldn’t process what was happening. Everything felt far away—the sound of Xiao Wu shouting, the driver pleading, the men barking orders.

They dragged me toward a black van parked just behind. The sliding door opened with a hollow clang, and before I could think, I was shoved inside—landing hard on my side next to Xiao Wu.

He was swearing, switching languages so fast it made my head spin—English, Cantonese, Mandarin, over and over, a tangled blur of fury and fear.

Then a hand—large and fast—came straight for me. A flash of skin, a sharp pain. And then, nothing.

“FUCK!” The word tore out of me, rough and raw. My throat burned as if something had dragged sandpaper down it. Agony ripped through my skull, a blinding throb that pulsed behind my eyes.

“God—” I forced my lids open, but light stabbed through them, punishing me for even trying. Another wave of pain slammed through my temples.

“Damn it!”

My voice echoed back at me, flat and muffled. That was the first thing I noticed—it wasn’t the back of the van anymore. The air was still, sterile. Too clean. Then came the faint hum of an air-conditioning unit above, blowing cold air across my damp skin, sending a shiver snaking down my spine.

Where was Xiao Wu?

The thought snapped me upright—well, I tried to. My body protested, every muscle stiff as I’d been frozen in place for hours. The van, the screams, the struggle—they all rushed back in flashes. But no…

It wasn’t a dream.

It was a memory.