Page 62 of Billionaire’s Ruin

My stomach turned.

This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up in this place.

There had been others—moments lost between sedation and consciousness.

Each time, too brief to remember properly.

I’d been drugged. That much was clear.

There were no monitors, no IV lines, no beeping. Machines to suggest I was injured or critically ill.

Which meant this wasn’t treatment.

This was containment.

What happened after it went dark?

Did the car crash?

If it did, who brought me here?

Was this her doing—or my father’s?

Even though Dad and I were barely on speaking terms, my money was on my mother.

The air-conditioning hummed softly, steady and mechanical.

No footsteps outside, no voices.

The evil woman wouldn’t leave me unsupervised. Not a chance.

I swallowed hard. A lump of guilt—or disgust—lodged in my throat.

There was no one left I could trust.

No one.

A face flickered in my mind, uninvited but familiar.

June.

Her name alone softened something sharp inside me.

The only woman I’d ever trusted.

The only person who made me feel safe—like I could stop fighting the world for five damn minutes.

With her, even silence felt like peace.

Just breathing the same air as her was enough.

But I’d chosen my mother.

Again.

I’d spent my whole life believing her, obeying her, convincing myself that her manipulations were “for my own good.”

And now…