Page 66 of Billionaire’s Ruin

“Then just tell me your plan.”

A strange brightness flickered across her expression. I could see the madness simmering just beneath her calm expression. Whatever she was planning, it wasn’t mercy. It was control. It always was.

She wanted power.

Pride.

To win.

And deep down, I knew it was about Dad.

He’d betrayed her too many times. She could never let that go.

“Dad came to see you the other day,” I said, watching her reaction. “The day of my crash.”

Her smile faltered. “Did he?”

“Yes, he did.” I leaned forward slightly. “No one told you that?”

Her brows drew together, suspicion clouding her features. “No…” Her voice softened, then sharpened again, the way it always did when she was trying to mask curiosity with control. She tilted her head, studying me with narrowed eyes. “What did he want?”

I could almost see the gears turning in her mind—her fingers fidgeting against the side of her dress, her throat bobbing with a shallow swallow. She wanted to sound indifferent, but the sudden gleam in her eyes gave her away.

“He wanted a divorce.” My voice turned sharp. “I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Oh, son…” She said the word as though it still meant something tender.

“Yes,” I said bitterly. “So he can marry that woman. Then he can give her and her son what’s ours.”

Her face changed instantly—rage rising like a storm breaking the surface.

“How dare he!” she hissed. “Never! He can’t do that.”

“Exactly what I thought,” I said carefully, each word deliberate. “So I tried to strangle him in the car.”

Her gaze jerked upward. “You did?”

“Yes,” I said, matching her gaze. “But I didn’t expect to end up here—chained to a bed—after everything I’ve done for you.”

For a moment, silence. Then she burst into laughter. Loud, wild, unhinged laughter that filled every inch of the sterile room.

“Nice try, son,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But you’re not getting out. Not today. Not after I kill him.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke.

“You what?” My pulse spiked. I yanked against the straps again, the leather cutting into my skin.

She turned toward the door, voice smooth again. “Lucy dear, I think it’s time for your fiancé to go to sleep now.”

“Mother—wait⁠—”

She didn’t. She walked out briskly, her heels clicking down the hallway until they faded entirely.

“Lucy!” I called out, my voice cracking. “Lucy, please—don’t⁠—”

She stood frozen beside the bed, trembling as she opened her purse. Her fingers shook as she pulled out a small syringe and removed the cap.

“Help me,” I begged. My voice broke into a whisper. “Please. You’re the only one who can.”