Page 30 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

I sighed, already regretting asking for her help.

“You better have a good idea,” I warned, pausing long enough to let my voice drop into a low, serious tone. “A fucking great one.”

“Try your birthday.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t work.”

“What wouldn’t work?”

“My birthday—September fifth.” I punched 9, then 5 on the panel.

“Wait, try it the other way around.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t they ruled by the British or Australia? Just try it the other way!”

I let out a sigh and started over, pressing the number 5, followed by 9. “And 1993, you need three number combinations to⁠—”

The elevator lurched upward, cutting me off

Wendy smirked, her earlier nerves now replaced by a playful confidence. “You were saying?”

She winked at me, as if she’d just cracked the greatest mystery on Earth.

Two seconds later, the doors slid open, revealing a striking contrast to the eerie corridor below. Gone were the dark and grimy corridors. In there place stood a sleek, modern apartment that radiated warmth and elegance.

The ambient lighting, cleverly placed along the ceiling and walls, cast a soft golden hue, making the room feel cozy—homely even. It still amazed me how much thought had gone into the design. Every detail screamed understated luxury. I’d always admired what Dannie’s interior designer had done with the place, blending contemporary minimalism with just the right touch of comfort.

Dannie, however, was nowhere to be seen.

We stepped cautiously out of the elevator and into the medium-sized living room. The music—loud and unmistakably Beyond—pulsed through the space, pouring out of the sleek, transparent speaker next to the entertainment unit. The surround sound system I remembered from years ago still lined the room, though he wasn’t using it. This felt… casual. As if he hadn’t expected company.

I called out three tentative “hellos,” each one louder than the last, but only the music answered back.

“Stay here,” I instructed Wendy, pointed to the brown leather three-seater sofa facing the entertainment system. The last thing I needed was for her to go snooping around and stumble into something she shouldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just anyone’s apartment. This was Dannie Wu’s apartment.

And he wasn’t just anyone.

He was the head of the most successful triad in Hong Kong.

The living room was deliberately separated from the rest of the apartment—a design choice that wasn’t about aesthetics. It was practical. This was where Dannie held meetings, and only his most trusted members were ever invited past this point. No one else got a glimpse of what lay beyond the heavy wooden door that divided the space.

I knocked softly on the door, hesitating for a moment before a faint, muffled “Come in” drifted through from the other side.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

Dannie stood at the kitchen counter, his large hands working a mound of dough. The sight was oddly domestic.

“Hey, you. Long time no see,” he said, his voice loud—but the music was louder.

His brow furrowed ever so slightly in irritation before he turned toward the smart speaker. One sharp command later, the blaring sound of Beyond softened to a gentle hum, giving my ears a much-needed break.

The frown on his face faded, and a grin stretched across his lips. It was the same smile I remembered—charming, disarming—but now there were faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Have a seat,” he said, his tone casual. “I’m almost done.”