Page 48 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice thinner than I’d meant it to be.

“Why are you stressed?” His brows furrowed, that faint frown cutting across his pale, tired face. The sight of it made my stomach twist painfully.

“I…” My throat felt dry. I didn’t even know where to start. My mind was scattered—a hundred thoughts, all colliding at once. He was clearly not well, and as his friend and as a doctor, I had no authority, no control. I was useless—and I hated that feeling more than anything.

“Well,” he said softly, “I needed to use the bathroom.”

I nodded quickly, latching onto the simplicity of that. “Come on—I’ll take you there.”

We didn’t have to walk far—the corridor was narrow and cold, lined with pale-blue tiles that smelled faintly of disinfectant and metal. We stopped outside the restroom, and I offered to help him, reaching for his arm, but he waved me off with quiet stubbornness.

“I can manage,” he said, trying to sound firm but looking anything but steady.

It wouldn’t have been the first time I helped a patient to the bathroom. But I knew better than to argue—Dannie’s pride was fragile right now, hanging by a thread, and I wasn’t about to snap it.

As soon as he disappeared behind the door, I exhaled and pulled out my mobile again. My thumb moved automatically, searching for a solution I already knew didn’t exist.

How to become a doctor at a private hospital on short notice.

The AI assistant loaded the answers too fast—too cold, too practical. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. No, I wanted a miracle, something that told me I could help him, that I wasn’t just a bystander while he suffered.

Stephanie.

Maybe she could pull a few strings. Maybe she could get the hospital to take me on—temporarily, unofficially. Anything. Just enough for me to look after him properly.

“June?”

I jumped at the sound of his voice. My head snapped up, and there he was—pale but walking, breathing, alive. Relief poured through me so suddenly my knees almost buckled.

“You scared me,” I muttered, reaching for his free hand instinctively. The last thing I wanted was for him to lose his balance. His skin was cool, his grip unsteady but warm.

“I noticed,” he murmured, one brow lifting slightly. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m freaking you out?” I tsked, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. “Who’s the one passing out on the floor?”

“Me.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” I said, trying to sound light, but my voice cracked halfway.

His gaze lingered on me for a long moment, something soft flickering beneath his lashes. “Are you worried about me?”

“How could I not?” I said, almost stomping my foot, frustration and fear bubbling under the surface.

“It’s nice though,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, crooked smile. “You… worrying about me.”

“But—” I sighed, the word slipping out like air from a punctured tire. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.

“There’s something else bothering you.”

His tone wasn’t accusing—it was calm, steady—but still cut through me. I dropped my gaze, suddenly fascinated by the sterile white floor beneath my shoes. My steps slowed, the rhythm of my heartbeat loud in my ears.

My chin dipped lower as I focused on the rhythm of my steps, one foot in front of the other. Anything to avoid meeting his gaze.

“Hey.” His words sharpened, not loud but commanding. “Look at me.”

I stopped. His voice—firm, final—left me no room to pretend I hadn’t heard. I raised my head reluctantly, meeting his tired but unwavering stare.

“Tell me,” he urged gently, “what’s going on. Now.”