Page 49 of Billionaire’s Ruin

I swallowed hard. My throat burned with all the things I wanted to say, but couldn’t. “I don’t know for sure. Not yet.” The words came out weak, trembling—like even my voice was scared of the truth I hadn’t quite named.

We re-entered the emergency room. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above us, flickering faintly, making everything feel colder. Dannie’s bed was still there, sheets slightly crumpled from where he’d been lying earlier. A wheelchair-accessible bathroom sat near the entrance, impossible to miss.

“There’s a toilet right by the door,” I gestured toward it. “In case you need it again.”

“I saw.” His tone was flat, matter-of-fact—but I caught the faint hint of amusement tugging at his lips.

“Next time, call for the nurse if I’m not here⁠—”

He interrupted, lowering himself carefully back onto the bed. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

I paused, studying him quietly. The way he said it—so simply, without needing to explain—sank deep.

I nodded slowly. “A lot has happened.”

“Do you agree?”

“Of course.”

There was no denying it. Our time together had been intense—chaotic, even. It hadn’t always been easy or comfortable, but he’d been there for me through one of the hardest chapters of my life. His loyalty, his presence… it meant more than I ever said out loud.

He reached out his palm—an unspoken invitation. Without thinking, I let my fingers slip into his. It felt natural, like an old rhythm my body remembered even when my mind told me to pull away. His palm was warm against mine, grounding, steady.

And then, without warning, Kai’s face flashed through my mind—that look he’d given Dannie, sharp and jealous, as if I were something that still belonged to him.

My stomach twisted.

I dismissed the image immediately, angry at myself for even thinking about him.

Not now.

Not when Dannie was lying there, pale and fragile, trusting me with that small bit of comfort.

But that’s the thing about memories—they never ask for permission.

And Kai—damn him—still had a way of showing up uninvited.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Right…” I met his gaze—warm, steady, yet unreadable. There was something about it, something that felt both mysterious and achingly familiar. The kind of gaze that could make you say things you weren’t ready to admit.

“To be honest,” I began slowly, the words dragging themselves out of my chest, “I don’t really trust the doctors here.”

He tilted his head slightly. “And the nurses?”

I hesitated, my lips parting—but then a nurse walked past, clipboard in hand. I waited until she disappeared down the hall before lowering my voice.

“Because…” I leaned in, almost whispering, “how could they say things look good, when things clearly don’t?”

His brows pulled together, shadowing his expression. “Are they not?”

“No.” I bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to sting. “They’re crap at their job.” The frustration in my voice startled even me. “You know what? That explains everything, doesn’t it? But then—why lie? Why tell patients what they want to hear? At the end of the day, we’re paying customers, right? Patients are important. These are human⁠—”

“Stop. Stop.”

He lifted his palm, shifting it from mine to gently press it against my lips. The touch silenced me instantly. It wasn’t harsh, just firm—enough to make me aware of how loud I’d gotten.

My pulse jumped under my skin.