Page 87 of Billionaire’s Ruin

But instead, I was trapped here, in this room that smelled like stale air and someone else’s aftershave. A room that pressed too close and too quiet, pushing me into pacing like a trapped animal while the people downstairs whispered plans I wasn’t allowed to be part of.

I sat on the edge of the bed and dug my palms into my knees until they tingled.

Forcing air into my lungs.

Forcing thoughts to line up instead of spinning.

Grow up, Lincoln said.

Right.

Maybe growing up meant learning how to sit in the dark with nothing but your fear for warmth while the people you love fought your war without you.

Maybe maturity was just the ability to sit still while your heart broke in slow motion.

I wasn’t convinced. Not even close.

A soft knock.

Barely a tap.

Then the hinges groaned open.

“Kai?”

His name slipped out of me.

And then he stepped inside.

Alive.

Whole.

Beautiful in that devastating way only he could be.

For a second, as if time froze, the air suspended in anticipation, like the world held its position until he stepped through.

I didn’t even have time to stand before he was already in motion—crossing the room in long, urgent strides, like he’d been running just to get to me. He dragged me into his hold.

Not gentle.

Not cautious.

Hungry.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and desperate, and I melted into him without thinking. My hands clutched his shirt, my forehead resting against the warm curve of his neck. The familiar mix of faint soap, smoke, and raw warmth engulfed me.

I drew him in like I’d been starved of oxygen, like I’d been suffocating without realizing it.

I didn’t want to release even a single breath.

Afraid that if I let go, if I even blinked, he’d slip through my fingers like a hallucination.

But something was wrong.

His skin carried a coldness that didn’t belong here.

His breaths came rough and uneven.