Page 97 of Billionaire’s Ruin

But I heard every single word.

“You don’t need to come every time,” she murmured. The edge of annoyance was unmistakable, even wrapped in her fake sweetness.

“He… he needs the next dose,” Lucy said, her voice thin as rice paper. Then, in the tone she saved for the matriarch of this hellhole—light, agreeable, submissive—she added, “And I know you hated needles.”

My fists tightened beneath the sheets.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet.” Her voice dripped sugar and venom at the same time. “The fat nurse can handle the needle for me. You’ve done enough. I’ll handle the rest.”

Fat nurse.

Enough.

Handle the rest.

Each phrase scraped across my nerves.

The silence that followed felt suffocating. I could almost picture the young, insecure woman by the doorway, twisting her fingers together the way she used to when she was anxious. Trying to summon a courage she didn’t have. Trying not to look at me. Or maybe too afraid to look at me.

“I just thought⁠—”

“What you think doesn’t matter.” She snapped, every syllable sharpened to cut. “You’re lucky I kept my promise.”

Lucky.

Promise.

Each word settled in my chest like stones.

Lucy’s voice cracked when she finally spoke again. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

The evil woman laughed then—a low, throaty sound I’d grown up fearing. The sound of a woman who found amusement in pain. “Hurt him? My dear, he’s already done that to himself. With that whore of his. I’m just cleaning up his mess.”

My pulse hammered so violently I thought the bed would shake with it.

She didn’t just call June a whore.

Lucy didn’t defend me. She didn’t defend June either. She didn’t even breathe.

Her silence sliced deeper than the needle ever had.

Then came the familiar rhythm—heels tapping across the tiles, a soft sigh, the rustle of expensive fabric.

“Come. We’re done here,” she announced, her tone fading as she moved toward the exit.

I opened my eyes just a sliver, blinking hard as my vision swam. The drug she’d administered—fake or real, I couldn’t tell anymore—was spreading through my bloodstream like thick cement. My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts slower, stickier.

I needed her. Lucy’s kindness was my only chance. If she stopped coming—if the old woman took full control—I’d be finished. There’d be nothing left to fight with.

Nothing left of me at all.

Then it started.

A metallic impact echoed from outside—violent, metallic. Like a steel pole slamming into a solid barrier.

Then another crash.

A series of clangs, sharp and jarring, echoing down the hallway.