Page 46 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

The driver, a man in his late forties, turned around and handed Dannie a bouquet before he drove on. Without even glancing at it, Dannie passed it to me. It was a bundle of sunflowers, skillfully wrapped in a mix of white stiff paper and transparent plastic, finished with a yellow ribbon that read ‘Happy Day’.

“They’re Grandma’s favorite,” he said.

“Sunflowers? I thought she liked yellow roses?” That was what my memory told me. I didn’t recall much from those days, but somehow, that detail stuck with me.

“New favorite,” he corrected himself. “She still loves roses—buys them herself sometimes—but she says it’s weird receiving yellow roses from anyone other than Grandad.”

“That’s kind of romantic.”

“Yeah. Grandad used to bring her yellow roses every Friday.”

“Friday? Why Friday?”

“I never asked.”

We pulled up to an upscale grocery store nestled at the base of the mountain where Dannie’s grandma lived. As I stepped out of the van, I noticed two black cars trailing behind us. When they stopped, two men emerged—one from each vehicle. Both wore black short-sleeve T-shirts and bore matching eagle tattoos on their right arm. Not quite the same eagle as Dannie’s, but close enough to be part of the same world.

Dannie guided Wendy and me inside the store.

“Tell me you saw them,” Wendy whispered as we walked side by side, scanning the aisles for something appropriate—a gift fit for a respected ex-triad lady boss.

I hooked my arm around hers and murmured, “Yeah, I saw them.”

Dannie wasn’t shopping. Instead, he shadowed us, lingering near the ends of the aisles, his presence steady but distant. The two men? Nowhere to be seen—but I knew they were close.

The store wasn’t particularly busy. Besides the usual crowd, there was an unusual number of white people mingling among the shelves—an odd ratio for a place like this. I wondered if there was some kind of expat community nearby, but there was no way to know without striking up a conversation.

We considered buying fruit, but it felt too impersonal. Wendy suggested a box of fancy chocolates, but I vetoed the idea. My medical background had taught me that people over seventy often struggled with diabetes, and I didn’t want to risk it. After a brief debate, we settled on a bottle of collectible aged Sake. It felt like the perfect choice—something she could drink, keep as family heirloom, or pass along as a thoughtful gift.

We headed to the checkout like any regular customers after deciding to make a purchase. However, Dannie waved at us, signaling for us to leave the store without paying. I couldn’t do that. I had never stolen anything in my life, and I wasn’t about to start.

I marched straight up to the cashier, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes flicked from me to Dannie, then back again. Was he too afraid to take my money? I slammed down more than enough cash on the counter and turned on my heel, leaving without another word.

The rest of the journey passed in tense, uncomfortable silence. I hated how much power Dannie seemed to have over people. Even the cashier had been too scared to accept my money. Why did he have to be like this? Did he extort protection money from that store too? I thought his influence only extended to small, old shops like the tart shop Wendy and I had visited earlier.

If Dannie had been at the tart shop, would the sweet couple have refused to take our money too?

Was leaving cash at the cashier the right thing to do? Would the cashier dare to touch it with Dannie looming over him like a shadow? Especially with two scary thugs outside, their tattooed arms crossed menacingly over their chests as they watched us with cold, unyielding eyes.

I glanced down at the bottle of Sake I had taken from the store. Wondering how much trouble I had brought him.

Suddenly, a wave of unease swept over me as I felt the full weight of Dannie’s presence. He was intimidating, there was no denying it. But before I could process my emotions, the van rolled to a stop, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

A woman with vibrant purple hair stood waiting, her eyes sharp as they swept over us. Behind her, two lines of people stood opposite each other, side by side, forming a human corridor. Dannie stepped out first, his movements calm and controlled. Without a word, he held his hand out to help me out. I ignored the gesture and motioned for Wendy to go ahead, still mad about what happened at the shop.

Wendy was immediately intercepted by two females who began frisking her with cold efficiency. They patted her, top to bottom, removing her phone from her bag without a hint of apology. When I braced myself for my turn, Dannie waved them off with a dismissive gesture.

“It’s just standard procedure,” he said to Wendy, his tone unapologetic.

I folded my arms across my chest.

“What about me? Aren’t you afraid I might attack you?” I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dannie met my glare for a quick second before looking away. His usual cocky arrogance was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something harder to define.

His grandmother’s estate was perched high on Victoria Peak, a sprawling property with enough land to make any real estate mogul envious. In Hong Kong, land was the ultimate luxury—a status symbol reserved for the unimaginably wealthy. Families who owned such estates rarely let them go, passing them down through generations like prized heirlooms.

Dannie’s family, however, hadn’t always been rich. But once he took control of the triad, his knack for manipulation and power plays had propelled them to unimaginable wealth. Within a few years, he had outshone his father and secured this mansion, ensuring his family’s legacy in one of the most prestigious locations in the city.