Page 102 of Billionaire’s Ruin

And then⁠—

“Told you I’d come back for you.”

The words hit me like a punch straight to the chest.

I blinked hard, water dripping from my chin, and the blurry outline sharpened into a solid figure. Broad shoulders. Eyes warmed with recognition. Familiar posture. Familiar confidence.

Dannie.

I opened my mouth, waiting for the thousands of questions that should’ve come spilling out. They crowded behind my teeth, tangled and urgent, each one clawing for release.

But nothing came.

Just the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears.

“Xiao Wu,” I finally managed.

His smile curved slowly—familiar, hauntingly familiar—but I couldn’t tell whether it carried comfort… or something sharper underneath.

“You remember me now?” he asked quietly.

I nodded, though the motion tugged at something raw inside my skull.

“Did you save me?”

The question slipped out on instinct, small, weak, humiliatingly unsure. A part of me braced for the worst—because maybe I hadn’t been rescued at all. Maybe I’d just been transferred from one prison to another.

Still… at least this one had a toilet.

“Yes. I owe you that,” he said, his tone light but frayed at the edges. Then a sharp, painful breath tore out of him.

It hit me then—he was in rough shape.

Not as pale as me, but damn close.

Dark circles smudged under his eyes, his lips cracked, his posture slumped as if someone had siphoned the last bit of his energy.

He didn’t just find me.

He fought his way here.

A tangled knot of anger and gratitude twisted beneath my ribs.

“So…” I hesitated, bracing myself. “You didn’t break me out just to keep me captive again?”

The words were pathetic. Small. The kind of thing a broken man would say. I hated myself for it.

But the man didn’t mock me.

He didn’t flinch.

“No, brother.” His smile softened. This time, it actually reached his eyes, warming something inside me I didn’t realize had gone numb. “Not this time.”

He exhaled, long and weary, like he’d been carrying his words for years.

“For so long, I carried the guilt of leaving you in that hut,” he said, voice just above a whisper. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve protected you. I swore I’d come back but… I was young. Weak. Powerless.”

His fingers curled loosely in his lap. “And the people I thought were my family—” he paused, jaw twitching, “—they turned their backs on me. Betrayed me and my family.”