Page 11 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“But…” he stammered, his voice breaking. “Daddy⁠—”

Between the acne and the wobbling voice, it was hard to take him seriously.

The window rolled down. Half of his face appeared, his expression softening. “It’s okay, son. Go with Uncle Rong. I’ll see you at home.”

The warmth in his voice—gentle, patient, almost loving. Emotions I didn’t want to name stirred.

My little jerk nodded obediently, and something twisted in my chest.

Jealousy. Perhaps.

Or something uglier.

I couldn’t recall a single moment he’d spoken to me with that kind of softness.

Perhaps he had, once—but I couldn’t remember.

3

June

Though I was practically the guest—the lodger—in Dannie’s home, he acted like it was the other way around.

He handled everything as if the walls belonged to me, not him. Whether it was okay to use the remote, to turn on the light, or even to close a door.

“You know I don’t own this place, right?” I chuckled, watching him hesitate by the window, one hand clutching the curtain.

“I know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I just wanted to make sure you’re…”

He paused, pulled a face, and searched for the right word. “Settled.”

Was “comfortable” really the word he meant? He had asked me how I was earlier, and I’d given him the polite, automatic answer: I’m fine, thanks. Which, in truth, meant: Please don’t ask me more.

He tiptoed around like someone afraid to disturb the air. Moving from room to room like a restless shadow—bedroom, kitchen, living area—opening and closing cupboards as if he were rediscovering a space that no longer belonged to him.

I lay sprawled on the recliner in front of the TV, a paperback open but forgotten on my lap.

It was supposed to be one of those “dark and twisty” romance novels everyone raved about online, but my focus was shot.

He was more entertaining than anything on TV.

It was easier to track his movements than follow the words on the page.

“What are you looking for?” I asked finally, curiosity breaking through my quiet. “Whatever it is, there’s a chance I might know where it is.”

“Some batteries,” he muttered, rifling through a drawer. “I thought I had some spare somewhere.”

“Oh—yeah.” I bit my lip, guilty. “I stole them from your AC remote.”

He froze, then started grinning. His face flushed red as he fanned himself with one hand. “I knew I wasn’t going crazy.”

“You weren’t,” I teased. “I meant to replace them, but it… slipped my mind.”

“It was you, huh?” He winked, still grinning as he fanned his overheated face. “Aren’t you boiling in here? Why don’t you have the AC on?”

“I’m used to it, actually.” I started to rise, shoving my book aside. “Do you want it on?”

I stood too quickly, and a sharp groan escaped before I could stop it.