Page 117 of Billionaire’s Ruin

My brother in everything but blood.

He moved to my side quickly, gripping my arm when my knees threatened to give out. Only then did I realize how weak I still was. How much of me was still recovering.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered—not because I’d done anything wrong, but because I knew the storm coming.

“Not now,” Lincoln said flatly.

That always meant he was furious.

I tried to smile, because underneath the anger, I recognised something else—hurt.

Worry.

Fear.

He wouldn’t say it. He never did. But I knew.

“What the hell happened here?” he demanded.

God, I’d missed that tone. The way he took charge. The way he filled the room with that older-brother energy I never got growing up. Maybe that’s why I’d always gravitated toward him—he made me feel anchored.

“Can you lower your voice?” I muttered. Each sharp syllable he threw sent a pulse of pain down the back of my skull. My head felt like it was cracking open.

Lincoln ignored me.

His gaze snapped to Dannie like a loaded gun.

“Who the fuck are you?”

I almost laughed, even through the pain.

He already knew exactly who Dannie was—Lincoln never walked into a room blind. If he asked, it was because he wanted confirmation straight from the source.

“What did you do to him?” Lincoln thundered, stepping closer. His voice hit the walls like impact.

Dannie opened his mouth to answer, but Lincoln didn’t let him.

“Did you even take a good look at him?” he snapped. “He looks like he’s been starved for weeks.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Lincoln’s fury sharpened.

“Why isn’t he in the hospital? What the hell do you want from him?”

His questions came as rapid and relentless as bullets, each one hitting harder than the last.

Not questions, really. Accusations. Demands. A verbal beating disguised as concern.

Dannie didn’t budge.

Didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t even blink.

He just stood there, watching me with that unnervingly calm expression—guarded, controlled—as if he’d expected this eruption, like he’d walked into the fire willingly.

I wanted to speak up, to tell Lincoln to stop, to at least slow down, but my tongue felt heavy as stone. Even breathing took effort. The world tilted just enough to remind me how freshly I’d crawled out of sedation.