Page 129 of Billionaire’s Ruin

Our destination wasn’t anything fancy—a preserved old water town tucked along the river. The kind of place people took engagement photos or visited during festivals. But on weekdays, it was almost empty. Quiet. Slow. A pocket of Shanghai where time forgot to keep up.

No flashing lights.

No cameras.

No one watching us.

A small slice of ordinary.

Only us.

“Where’s Dave?” she asked, glancing out the windows as we crossed a narrow bridge. “And the rest of them…”

“I gave them the day off,” I said, keeping my focus on the road.

The truth was, I hadn’t felt the need for security detail since finding out the truth—that for years, I was never really in danger at all.

Every panic button, every guard, every reinforced door… was simply another form of control.

Another leash.

Another lie from my mother.

She didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to. The quiet between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt fragile, hopeful, like a new beginning neither of us knew how to handle yet.

But at least we were finally walking toward it instead of running away.

Still, I couldn’t fire them all. Too many of them depended on this job, and Dave—he was more than just the man who stood between me and danger.

He’d practically raised me.

Taught me how to fight.

How to listen.

How to survive.

He deserved more than a severance check and a pat on the back.

He deserved loyalty.

“It’s weird,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping the street as if she expected a shadow to peel off the wall. “Are you sure they’re not hiding somewhere? Watching us? Following us?”

I let out a soft, small laugh. “You think I’d bring them on our date?”

Her lips curved, a playful tug at the corner, but her gaze kept flicking to every reflective surface we passed—car windows, shop glass, the slow ripple of the river.

“Honestly? With you… I couldn’t put it past you.”

“Fair,” I admitted. “But it’s only us this time. No one else. No backup. No eyes. I promise.”

Her exhale came slow, like she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she finally let it go.

The sound pulled something tight inside me—not painfully, but with a kind of quiet awe.

It was trust.

Fragile. New.