Page 30 of Billionaire’s Ruin

Cold.

Wet.

Disgusting.

It rolled down my cheek, mixing with the heat of my skin.

It felt like being doused in ice water in the middle of a storm.

There’s nothing more insulting than spit from your own father.

Something inside me snapped.

“Don’t you dare—” I lunged before he could finish.

The seatbelt locked. The impact jerked me forward, then back, but I didn’t stop. My hand found his throat. I didn’t even remember unbuckling. Maybe I hadn’t. Maybe I’d just broken free.

He made a strangled sound—half cough, half plea.

And I kept pressing.

His stare grew in disbelief, red threading through the whites. I could see the reflection of my own face in them—wild, unrecognizable.

He didn’t fight back. Just made these weak, helpless wheezing sounds—maybe a cough, maybe words that didn’t make sense anymore.

And God help me, it felt good.

Empowering.

But also terrifying. Because for the first time, I realized how easy it was to cross the line. How easy it was to lose myself.

His pulse thudded against my palms, and for a split second, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever let go.

“You want out?” I asked, my voice shaking, my hands tightening. “Fine. I’ll give you an out.”

He tried to say something—maybe my name—but it came out as a gasp.

Then came the screech.

Tires burned against asphalt. Metal screamed.

My world tilted.

A flash of light. A crushing sound.

Something slammed against my body.

And then⁠—

Blackness.

7

June

* * *

There was something almost luxurious about getting up without an alarm. The early sunlight slipping through the curtains, the lazy warmth still clinging to my skin—it felt foreign, indulgent.