Page 40 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

“Who is disgusting? Me?” He raised a brow, his tone mockingly innocent.

Tears blurred my vision and spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. I didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that he had spied on me, or that he owned a copy of what I had done. Maybe they were the same thing.

I did like him. And judging by the ache in my chest, I still did—at least, part of me. But it burned knowing that he had witnessed the wildest, rawest side of me. I wasn’t the perfect, innocent girl he had once dated.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He closed the space between us. Before I could react, I was wrapped in his arms again. “You want a cookie? They’re really nice.”

“They do smell lovely.”

Just like that, I was no longer in his arms. Instead, I found myself sitting at his sleek new marble table, a plate of cookies placed in front of me as if nothing had happened. Classic Dannie—disarming me with a small gestures while keeping his true intentions hidden.

“Listen, June, I didn’t mean to do all that to you.”

“Oh yeah?” Without hesitation, I grabbed a cookie and took a big bite. For all I knew, they could be poisoned—but that didn’t seem like his style.

No, Dannie liked to be up close. He preferred to feel the life drain from his enemies, to watch them struggle for air and choke on their own saliva. The memory of him explaining why it was more “honorable” than poison sent a shiver down my spine.

“Lavender?” I asked, trying to identify the delicate floral note lingering on my tongue.

“Yes,” he confirmed, leaning back casually. “What else can you taste?”

I chewed slowly, trying to place the underlying sweetness. “Hmm… dates?”

The flavor was rich and complex, nothing like the artificial sugar rush of store-bought cookies. “Did you use some kind of sweetener?”

“No sugar. Just monk fruit.”

“Right.” I nodded, more to myself. “I’ve heard of monk fruit sweetener before, but I didn’t know you could bake with it.”

And just like that, we fell into an easy rhythm—chit-chatting as if the last ten seconds of anger, of accusations, had never happened. That was the thing about Dannie. He always knew how to smooth over the rough edges, how to make me forget my troubles—even when he was one of them.

“When you left…” he slid his hand over mine, warm and steady. With his other hand, he offered me another cookie. “I was worried. Then I was angry. Not at you—at myself. I kept wondering what I did wrong.”

“You weren’t mad at me?” I asked, my words softer than I intended.

“Not at first.” His lips curled into a crooked smile—the kind that always made me weak in the knees.

“It was understandable if you were angry. I was angry at myself for a long time.” For getting into a marriage that became more real than I ever intended. For leaving him behind without a word.

And suddenly, I understood—when Kai left me, it wasn’t just him I was mad at. I was angry at myself. Karma really did come full circle.

“Everywhere I went, people kept asking where my wife was,” he said. “At first, I made up lies. Then I just… stopped talking about you altogether.”

“And you never saw anyone after that?” I asked, trying to sound casual, though my pulse quickened.

“I did. I had to.”

“You had to?” I raised a brow. “Someone holding a gun to your head?”

He smirked but didn’t laugh.

“One—to stop people from asking about my wife, thanks to you. Two—to shut down the rumors that I was gay. And,” his voice dipped lower, rougher, “I have needs.”

I cleared my throat, willing my expression to stay neutral. “At least you’re honest.”

He leaned back against the chair, studying me like he was trying to figure out how much of this I could take. “What kind of lies did you tell people about me?”

He shook his head. “Nothing bad.”