Page 29 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

“I’m not walking out there.” Wendy’s words were firm, but I could hear the tremor hiding beneath them.

“I don’t know what do to.” The confession slipped out before I could stop it. My vision blurred, the weight of everything pressing down all at once.

Without a word, Wendy wrapped her arms around me. I collapsed into her shoulder—warm, steady and comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

A few moments passed with nothing but the faint hum of the elevator filling the silence between us.

“Are you sure your ex still lives here?” she whispered, her breath warm against my hair.

And there it was—the question I had been too scared to ask myself. What if Dannie didn’t live here anymore? What if he had moved on? There were other ways to find them. Hell, we could’ve asked the old couple at the tart shop. They would know someone who knew someone. Maybe they even knew him personally.

But no. I thought I could just waltz in here like the old days. Like nothing had changed. Like he’d still be waiting.

Stupid.

I exhaled shakily, forcing myself to meet Wendy’s gaze. “I guess we either leave… or find out for ourselves.”

Her brown eyes searched my face, softening as she took a shaky breath.

“What do you want to do?” She whispered. “I’m okay with whatever you decide… but, just so you know, I’m not going down any dark corridors.”

A shaky laugh escaped me despite everything. “Fair enough.”

I reached for the ‘open’ button and pressed it with more force than necessary. “Hold the door for me, then.”

Wendy’s fingers slipped over mine, taking over.

With the torchlight from my phone cutting through the dimness, I wandered down the long corridor. Most of the doors lining the walls were shut tight, though a few stood slightly ajar, their dark gaps hinting at a world I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.

With every step, I braced myself for the worst—the creak of a door opening, a figure lunging out to grab me. A small, irrational part of me worried that something far worse—something not human—might slip through the cracks. If a ghost decided to chase me, Wendy would probably save herself and leave me behind. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame her.

I shook off the thought and pressed forward, the sound of my footsteps muffled by years of dust and neglect. The air was thick and stale, carrying a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of my throat. At the end of the hallway, just as I was about to turn back, something unexpected cut through the silence.

Music.

I froze. My heart thudding hard against my ribs.

“Can you hear that?” I shouted over my shoulder.

Wendy shouted something back, but her words were distorted. I strained my ears, focusing on the faint melody drifting through the corridor—unmistakably familiar.

Beyond.

It was one of Dannie’s favorite bands. I could still remember teasing him about their name sounding like Beyonce. He didn’t find it funny. Instead, he’d launched into a passionate explanation about the band’s legacy—the tragic death of their lead singer and how the group fell apart afterward. That sadness, he said, made their music unforgettable.

My pulse quickened. He was here. He had to be.

I turned and hurried back toward Wendy. My footsteps echoing through the corridor as fragments of memories tangled with the music in my head.

“He’s here,” I announced, stepping back into the lift.

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“I can hear his music,” I pointed toward the darkness, my finger trembling slightly. “But he’s obviously changed the password.”

Wendy’s expression shifted—half curiosity, half exasperation. She tilted her head, one brow arching in that familiar, playful way.

“I always wanted to say this…” She let the words hang for dramatic effect, her smile quirking at the edges.