Page 20 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

“Don’t fall asleep,” I said sharply, shaking him as though sheer force of will could keep him alive.

Jenny turned to face me.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” she said, her voice hollow. “Years. I’ve spent years enduring his anger, his fists. Every time he hurt me, I told myself I could survive it. That it would get better. That if I was just patient enough, he would change. But he didn’t.”

Her hands trembled at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.

“He always promised he would stop, but the beatings got worse. The words got sharper. And I—” Her voice cracked. “I became someone I didn’t even recognize. Scared. Weak.”

She laughed bitterly, a sound too hollow to carry any warmth. “It had to end eventually. One way or another. Either I died, or he did, or maybe both of us. There was no other way out.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the rawness of her words. I had known Jenny for most of my life, but I had never seen her like this—so broken.

“No one ever really saw it,” she continued, “not my family, not my friends. I smiled for the world because that’s what a good wife does, right? You hide the bruises. You hide the fear. But behind closed doors… she made sure I never forgot who had the power. Every slap, every broken bone, every time he threatened to take my children away…”

Her body swayed, weak from blood loss and the weight of her confession.

“Tonight… tonight was the last time. He wasn’t going to stop. And if I hadn’t done it—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He would have killed me.”

“Jenny…” I reached for her, but she shook her head.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” she said softly, tears began to fall again, “you have to believe me. I just wanted him to stop. I wanted him to be afraid. To know that I have the power to stand up for myself.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Mario said, his voice cutting through the heaviness of Jenny’s words. “I talked to the staff. They know what to say.”

“We did nothing wrong,” I insisted, though the words tasted like a lie in my mouth.

“Doesn’t look like it,” his reply a little too quick before realizing he had spoken too soon.

5

June

Wendy and I stood in front of a four-foot-wide desk. It squeaked every time the slender woman behind it made even the tiniest movement. Its wonky legs protested under the workload they’d endured over the years. After a few long minutes, the bleached blonde finally looked up at me and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Sorry, can’t help you,” she said matter-of-factly.

This was the fourth place we’d been to—and the last one.

After all, getting a fake travel document for China wasn’t exactly a business you could find advertised on the internet. Lincoln’s guy couldn’t help us. And through Wendy’s seemingly suspicious yet surprisingly effective connections, we had managed to track down three more places that weren’t even on Lincoln’s radar.

“Do you know anywhere else I can go?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“Well, to be honest…” She paused as the banging from next door grew faster, accompanied by a melodic moan that could rival the best internet starlet.

“No one will help you,” she finished, only after the masseuse and her client had finally calmed down.

“Why?” Wendy tilted her head, folding her arms over her large chest. “We can pay you more. Just name your price.”

“It’s not about the money.” She took a slow drag from the cigarette in her hand and blew a cloud of smoke right in my face. “It’s her!”

I held my breath, trying to avoid inhaling the secondhand smoke. The room fell into an uneasy silence—well, as silent as it could be with the occasional moans still echoing down the hall. I didn’t need to look up to know that both Wendy and the fake blonde were staring at me, waiting for a confession I wasn’t about to give.

“Thank you for your help.” Politely, I placed some cash on the messy pile of Hong Kong identity cards.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said, pushing the cash away before taking another deep drag from her cigarette.

“You can keep it.”