Page 47 of Billionaire’s Ruin

My options were pathetic: keep fighting until my skin tore or wait for someone to walk through that door.

Someone would come.

I didn’t know how my mother had gotten out—or who had helped her—but one thing was painfully clear.

I’d underestimated her.

And if she was behind this… then maybe this wasn’t just revenge.

Maybe this was her way of proving she’d won.

What was her role in my kidnapping?

10

June

* * *

It was wrong.

Totally unacceptable.

I knew that, but I couldn’t help it.

My fingers fumbled through the bottomless pit of my Neverfull bag, frustration bubbling with every second. Why did I carry so much junk?

Receipts, pens that no longer worked, lip balms missing caps, a half-eaten granola bar—everything except what I needed at that moment.

Finally, after what felt like a thousand beats stretched thin with panic, I fished out the device. The screen lit up, a glow of both guilt and relief.

I’d made up a story for Linda and Steph earlier about pretending I’d left my phone at home. I hadn’t wanted to deal with either of them. With Linda, it was because I couldn’t be bothered to dig through my messy bag. With Steph… well, I didn’t really want to be in touch with her. She used to ditch me the moment she got lucky at whatever party she landed at.

As much as I’d wanted to be close to her, that annoying habit of hers stopped me from ever truly trusting her. We did have fun back in university, though.

Back then, I didn’t understand why it bothered me so much. But now, I do. It was an old, familiar ache of abandonment—something I hadn’t yet learned to outgrow.

Suddenly, a wave of panic hit me. Why did I say that? What was I trying to prove, that I didn’t need anyone? Because right now, I did. The guilt sat heavily in my chest, spreading like heat beneath my skin. I hated that I did this to myself—built tiny walls and then punished myself for being trapped inside them. This was the universe’s favorite game with me: lie, regret, suffer.

I exhaled sharply and grabbed my cell from my bag. I might as well call the hospital reception and ask for her direct line. I needed her support, whether I liked it or not.

Though I regretted being untruthful, I knew I might end up needing her help if I wanted to support Dannie. The universe always seemed to have a cruel sense of humor—it never failed to punish me whenever I lied.

A quick search brought up the hospital’s website. I tapped the first number listed. After a couple of rings, an automated voice gave me options—number two connects to either a doctor or a department. That must’ve been what Steph meant.

“Steph…” I said clearly, but her surname wouldn’t come to me. “OBGYN,” I added, hoping that was close enough. She could’ve been in the fertility clinic, for all I knew.

“Soon!” I suddenly yelled into the phone when her surname came rushing back to me. I waited, holding my breath for what felt like a full minute, only for the machine to reply with a flat monotone, “Contact not found.”

Of course. I had screwed that up.

“Stephanie OBGYN Soon.” I muttered the words under my breath. Even the smartest AI in the world wouldn’t have made sense of that jumble.

“What’s going on?”

I spun around. Dannie stood in the corridor outside the emergency room. I’d paced that hallway so many times by now, it felt like my own personal track.

He was pale but upright, pushing his IV pole with one hand. With the other, he reached out toward me. I hesitated only a second before taking it—his grip was firm, grounding… and heavier than I expected, as if the weight of everything that had just happened was pressing through his touch.