Page 12 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

Nothing had changed. Same layout. Same furniture. Only the scattered luggage and personal items marked the difference.

“Sorry, I know it’s late.” Dannie brushed a soft kiss over my forehead. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit?”

We sat on the couch in the center of the living room.

The same couch.

I swallowed. “It’s been a long day,” I murmured, the excuse thin even to my own ears. It had been longer for him, and he hadn’t complained once. I just didn’t want to be here.

Kai took the armchair opposite us, the space between the three of us thick with things unsaid.

“Do you want me to order something? Room service?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“No,” Dannie answered at once.

I shook my head, mirroring him. “Where are Lucy and Huan Huan?” I managed, my voice thinner than I intended.

“Asleep in the bedroom,” Kai said, gesturing toward the closed door—the same bedroom we had once shared. “So⁠—”

“So—” Dannie echoed, the word hanging heavily in the air. “You read the letter?”

The envelope. I’d almost forgotten about it. My mind raced with possibilities—documents, photos, proof of secrets buried for decades. It seemed that powerful men had a shared pastime: collecting information on everyone else.

“Yes. But I don’t understand…” Kai frowned, his gaze fixed on Dannie as if answers might be written across his face. “When did you get this?”

“Last night,” Dannie answered. “Grandma’s personal assistant gave it to me.”

“What do you think it means?”

Dannie let out a quiet breath. “Isn’t it obvious? My father had an affair with your mother. There’s a chance we’re related.”

“I got that part—” Kai began.

“What?” The word tore out of me before I could stop it. My hand flew to my mouth as the room seemed to tilt, like a wave crashing over me and dragging me under.

“How is that even possible?” Kai cut in.

“Why not?” Dannie said, his tone calm but firm. “Your parents knew my aunt, remember? It’s not that strange that my father knew your mother too.”

My thoughts tangled, sharp and frantic. “What exactly did the letter say?” I asked, unable to keep the urgency from my voice. Curiosity twisted inside me, hungry and afraid all at once.

I placed my hand on Dannie’s thigh, grounding myself—and reminding both of us where I stood, who he was to me.

“My dad left me a letter before he died,” Dannie said quietly. “In case something happened to him.” He paused, eyes searching mine. “And it seems Grandma kept it from me all these years.”

“Do you want to read it?” Kai offered, clearly unconcerned whether Dannie would approve.

I opened my mouth to say no. The word formed, but my voice refused to obey.

“Here.” Kai leaned forward and held out the folded paper as if the weight of it didn’t threaten to change everything between them—or all of us.

My son,

If you are reading this, it means I no longer have the chance to say these words to you myself. That is my first failure.

Men like us believe we control everything—money, territory, loyalty, fear. But life does not bow to power. It moves in silence, in shadows, in moments of carelessness we convince ourselves do not matter.

I have carried this truth alone for most of my life. Your grandmother believed it was safer buried. I told myself I was protecting you. Only now do I understand that silence can be its own kind of cowardice.