Page 1 of Billionaire’s Ruin

1

June

In all my years growing up near the coast, I had never truly loved the sea—until now.

I closed my eyes and welcomed the breeze as it swept toward me, lifting my hair and cooling my skin. The air hung warm and salty, almost charged. Each breath restored something in me.

My phone buzzed—almost certainly my mother again. I made sure not to hurry to answer—or even look at it. Ever since she’d learned I’d resigned from the hospital, she hadn’t stopped insisting I’d made a terrible choice. The biggest mistake of my life.

She called every day until she realized I wasn’t going to pick up. Then the messages came—each one more furious than the last, accusing me of being irresponsible and ruining my life. She asked how I could live with myself, knowing I’d wasted their money and effort raising me to become a doctor.

I was a useless piece of shit if I wasn’t out there working as a doctor.

It hurt to know that this was how my mother measured my worth. Especially now, when it would’ve been nice to be appreciated for existing.

My mother wasn’t the only one searching for me.

Everyone had been searching, ever since I slipped out of Shanghai without a word.

When Dad saw my resignation email, he hesitated. He called it a sabbatical—long overdue, he said—and told me I could take it for as long as I needed.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to return. It felt amazing to finally step away from other people’s problems—no longer having to be responsible for someone’s joy in life—someone’s chance at having children.

I no longer had to worry about the number. The only thing most people seemed to care about when it came to me—the high IVF success rate that meant my patients bet their chances of a happily-ever-after on me. Like a racehorse with a great winning record.

Still, it was comforting knowing that if I ever chose to return, Dad would make it easy.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of rumors had spread about me at the hospital. What were the nurses saying? And how had my personal assistant, Siti, reacted?

Siti had been assigned to the new doctor—an ambitious, highly regarded specialist from Scotland, a Cambridge graduate who’d finished at the top of his class. Every now and then, she would send me emails summarizing everything that happened at the hospital.

I teared up when I saw a picture of the Andersons and their newborn. The couple had undergone twelve rounds of IVF and were on the brink of giving up. They were down to their last frozen egg when they found me. Miraculously, the treatment had worked on the first try, and the mother carried the baby to full term without complications. They finally became parents—in their mid-fifties.

For now, I was simply grateful to be left alone.

I made it a habit to send a picture of myself every day to my family’s private messaging group. It was the sensible thing to do—to reassure them I wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.

From time to time, I’d throw in a sarcastic comment about what Chloe had done. Disappearing on us, letting us believe she was dead for ten years. It was a relief to finally say how I really felt about her running away. Better late than never.

I turned my back to the sea, readying myself for my daily selfie. I was careful not to include the Penang Bridge—a landmark that could give away my location—in the shot before my camera timer counted down to zero.

There were only three small wooden boats today. Counting them had become my daily obsession. Though the weather this morning seemed perfect to me, I wondered if the storm last night had made the fishermen think twice about going out.

“Here’s your coffee.”

“Thank you.”

I smiled at the friendly Caucasian man who’d apparently taken charge of my orders since the first day I came to the café. Maybe it was because he realized I spoke nothing but English—or maybe he simply liked handling my order himself.

“Are you here on holiday?” he asked, his thick accent hinting he might be German.

“Kind of…” I started to explain. “Yes, I guess I am.” Then I realized—I didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“What about you?” I asked, lifting the cute gray-and-green cup and saucer. The local brew was served sweet by default, mellowed by condensed milk and a buttery roast that gave it that rich, unmistakable aroma.

As much as I loved it, I really should cut back.

Well… one more cup wouldn’t kill me.