Page 96 of Billionaire’s Ruin

Same rhythm.

Same routine.

Nurse Angela walked in—tight bun, tight smile, tighter conscience. Everything about her felt manufactured. She moved like she’d rehearsed this role a thousand times: the caring nurse, the gentle hands, the false sympathy.

She fussed over me like always, cleaning, checking, adjusting.

And like always, I wanted to fight her—break her wrists, spit in her face, kick her across the room. I wanted to rip these restraints off, and remind every person here that this padded cell didn’t define me.

But I couldn’t.

I had to let her.

Swallowing that humiliation burned hotter than any wound. Lying there helpless—soiled, sedated, wearing the damn adult diaper they forced on me—was its own brand of torture. A hell engineered specifically to break a man like me.

A vicious heat coiled tight in my gut, hot and simmering.

But I needed to stay clean.

I had to stay calm.

I had to survive.

So I kept my eyelids sealed shut, my breaths slow and steady, my face slack—as if her drugs still owned my body.

And while Nurse Angela wiped me down and changed me like I was nothing, like I wasn’t even human. I cursed her quietly in my head.

Her, her parents, her ancestors going back eighteen generations…

And every single descendant she might ever have.

I let fury flood the silence.

Because as long as the fury still burned—I wasn’t broken.

Not yet.

The entry slid open again—lighter footsteps this time, crisp and tentative. Her perfume hit first, that sharp floral scent she drowned herself in. Even now, even in this padded box, it felt suffocating, curling down my throat like poison. Then came a second set of footsteps, softer, hesitant, unmistakably hers—my fiancée.

Every instinct screamed at me to look. To sit up. To demand answers—to everything twisting through my mind like barbed wire. To scream at both of them for what they’d done, what they were planning to do.

But I didn’t move.

My gut screamed at me to stay still.

Not yet.

Not until I understood the full scope of this. Not until I knew who my enemy was… and who wasn’t.

If the evil bitch believed the drugs still had me under—still docile, her obedient little puppet—she’d let her guard down. She always did. She thrived on power and power made her arrogant. Careless.

And I needed that. I relied on her carelessness like oxygen.

If I could just get Lucy alone… I could pry the truth out of her. She knew more—truth, she wasn’t sharing. Something in her eyes had shifted these last few days, some quiet desperation she tried to hide from my mother.

She held the key to everything.

They whispered, carefully and softly, like two snakes curled together in a basket—afraid that one wrong breath might give me away.