Page 6 of Billionaire’s Ruin

Apparently, she was “relaxed” and “having a good time by the sea.”

Somewhere she didn’t want me to find her.

There were moments I suspected my best friend was hiding something. That maybe he was helping June avoid me—tucking her away in his beach house, spinning this story about her being “by the sea.”

But Lincoln wouldn’t do that. It was too cruel, especially for someone who’d lived through that kind of loss.

He knew what it felt like—losing someone you loved. His wife, Chloe, had once vanished for a decade before he found her again. He understood what that kind of absence did to a man—how it hollowed a man from the inside until nothing but guilt and longing were left to rattle around your chest.

It had taken a week for Lincoln to speak to me again. He’d heard how violently my mom had attacked his baby sister—and how I’d failed to protect her.

He had every right to hate me.

Part of me agreed with him.

For years, he’d understood how badly I wanted to break free of that woman’s control. Boarding school. University in the States. Building my business outside China. All of it had been my rebellion, my way of clawing distance from her grip.

But when it truly mattered—when June needed me to stand up to her—I failed.

Choosing my parent over June was the lowest point of my life.

The mad woman’s tantrums were nothing new. If she wasn’t raging at me, she turned her venom on her husband, his mistress, or their son. Eventually, she’d calm down, regret it, and pretend nothing had happened.

I told myself it was duty that made me stay.

Pity.

Fear.

Take your pick.

But deep down, I knew—someone like her would never find happiness. And I’d inherited her weakness: the need to please the person who hurt me most.

That was how she’d gotten me to date the women she handpicked.

How she made me say yes to marrying Lucy.

The sigh that escaped me was long, hollow. Defeated.

I sat there, staring at the polished black marble floor. Soft gold and gray veins glimmered under the warm backlight from the shelving behind me. I twirled my chair slowly, watching the reflection shift, letting the patterns morph into unfamiliar shapes—like clouds I used to chase as a boy.

“Li Zhong.”

Her soft voice startled me, even though I’d been expecting her at this exact hour.

“Good morning, Angela.”

The older woman stepped into the room, her tan skin warm under the morning light. She wore a loose cotton blouse and beige slacks, her silver-streaked hair pulled neatly into a bun. I had specifically asked her to dress casually—no scrubs, no nurse’s uniform that might alert the old woman to Angela’s real purpose in this house.

Her eyes were sharp and observant, the kind that saw far more than one ever admitted. That was precisely why I hired her.

“Mrs. Li appears to be in good spirits today,” she reported, her tone professional, even soothing. “However, she’s asked to see you again—the fourth time this week.”

I shook my head without hesitation. “No.”

The answer came quickly, before my conscience could soften. She deserved no rewards, no affection. Not after what she did.

Still, a flicker of guilt twisted inside me. The woman hadn’t set foot outside in weeks.