Page 74 of Billionaire’s Ruin

I didn’t believe in fate before—not until I met June.

There were no tickets left for the flight to Shanghai.

Not according to the internet.

A frantic search in the back of a speeding taxi had turned up nothing—scrambled through every travel app I could think of, testing different airlines, different times, different layovers. Direct flights, multi-stop flights, flights that would take me the long way around the globe if it meant arriving at the same destination.

Every single search came back with the same answer:

FULLY BOOKED.

The last flight today had zero available seats.

But I headed for the airport anyway.

Because being at the airport felt closer to him.

Lincoln.

Not Kai.

I reminded myself.

The terminal was smaller than I remembered. Some of the old ticketing counters still stood near the check-in area, though the shutters were down. Their signs faded. They looked like artifacts from another decade, abandoned while the world moved fully online.

The final direct flight to Shanghai departed in under two hours. The fastest way to get there. The only way tonight. If I could get a ticket.

Bypassing the kiosks, I went straight to a staffed check-in counter. The line moved painfully slow. My anxiety grew with every person ahead of me who dared to exist and breathe and take up time.

By the time it was my turn, something inside me snapped.

The tears arrived before I could stop them. Not gentle tears—no, no. Big, choking, ugly tears. Begging the staff for any seat I could get. Any. Even a seat inside the airplane toilet. I told them I would pay First Class prices for that toilet seat. I even offered to clean the toilet afterward.

The staff blinked twice and said, “No.”

No.

To a once-in-a-lifetime offer like that.

Unbelievable.

“All ticket purchases must be completed online,” she recited, in that dead-eyed polite tone people used right before fantasizing about strangling you.

A strained smile clung to my face even as the tears worsened—blubbering, bargaining, suggesting absurd scenarios, trying to convince her with logic that made zero sense. It wasn’t my finest moment. I was very aware I was making a fool of myself.

People stared.

A few recorded.

But embarrassment didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered except getting on that damn flight.

Eventually, the staff’s patience cracked. She subtly pointed toward two security officers lingering nearby, the universal sign for ma’am, you are five seconds away from being escorted out.

Airport security.

Oh God.