Page 70 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

The corridor behind the shop was narrow, lined with cardboard boxes that pressed in from both sides, leaving barely enough room for two people to pass. The light from the shop barely reached us, and the farther we went, the tighter the space became. Hong Kong never wasted space, not even here.

June moved quickly ahead, weaving around the boxes as though she already knew where the passage led. I stayed close, close enough to catch her if she stumbled and see the tension still held in her shoulders. She was frightened. I could see it now—not because she was running, but because she was forcing herself not to show it. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled. She was scared and refusing to let it stop her.

I'd spent so much time thinking she was reckless, stubborn, impossible. Maybe she was all three. But she was also brave. Perhaps I'd been too busy trying to protect her to notice the difference.

“Keep moving,” Squirrel called softly from ahead.

June disappeared around the next stack of boxes, and I followed her into the darkness, leaving the noise of the shop behind us. For the first time since we'd arrived in Hong Kong, I had no idea what was waiting for us on the other side.

The back door opened, and the air changed instantly. Cooler. Sharper. Real. For a brief second, it felt as though we'd stepped out of one world and into another.

A car was already waiting, engine running, rear door open. Behind it, a dark SUV idled quietly, almost blending into the street—but not quite enough to escape my attention.

“It’s mine,” Squirrel said steadily. “Don’t worry.”

There was no time to ask what he meant. June slipped into the back seat, and I followed immediately.

“Squirrel—come with us.”

It wasn't a request.

His eyes flicked between our car and the SUV behind us. He hesitated for only a second before moving. I pulled the door shut as he reached the front passenger side, and he climbed inside.

“Take the one behind,” I called to Dave.

The car lurched forward before the door had even settled properly.

“Shit,” Squirrel muttered. “What the hell is he doing?”

I turned just in time to see Dave reach the SUV through the rear window. The driver barely reacted before Dave grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out, throwing him aside. It wasn't clean or fair, but it was necessary. Dave didn't trust anyone he hadn't cleared himself, and right now, neither did I. A second later, the SUV roared to life and fell in behind us, close—exactly where it needed to be.

Relief came quietly, and I hated that I felt it. At least Dave was safe. At least he was behind us.

“My guy…” Squirrel muttered, watching the SUV.

“I know,” I said more softly. “We had to be careful.”

The look he gave me told me it wasn't enough. The silence that followed wasn't calm. It was contained.

“Are we clear?” June asked. Her voice was steadier now, but the adrenaline still lingered beneath it.

“Yes,” Squirrel answered.

I leaned back and let out a slow breath. “You'd think by now they'd understand what an ambush means. Front and back exits.”

June turned toward me, sharp and unimpressed, then rolled her eyes. I almost smiled.

“They tried,” Squirrel explained. “Our people blocked them off.” He paused. “You wouldn't have made it out on your own.”

I glanced at him. “How long have you been watching us?”

The question was calm, but it mattered. People changed. Loyalty shifted. Someone you could trust yesterday might not be someone you could trust today. Squirrel didn't answer immediately.

Instead, I noticed the smear of yellow grease on June's white shirt from the egg tarts. The sight was almost absurd after everything that had just happened. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and held it toward her.

She pushed my hand away without looking at it. I let it fall back into my lap.

“The woman—the shop owner,” Squirrel said, glancing back at us. “She's my aunt. She texted me the moment you showed up.”