Page 77 of Billionaire’s Ruin

Two uniformed officers stood ahead, checking the passports of a couple traveling with far too many shopping bags. My stomach tightened. What if they looked at my face, then the ticket, then did the math? What if my whole plan collapsed right here?

“What if they stop me at the boarding gate?” The question slipped out in a whisper, my throat suddenly dry.

“Pay me when you get to Shanghai,” she said breezily, then corrected herself with a grimace, “but preferably earlier. Maybe once you get on the plane. I really don’t want to sleep on the airport floor tonight.”

Before turning the corner into the security lane, I shoved every bill I had into the girl’s hand. I hadn’t counted it—maybe RM200? RM300? Enough for a decent room with clean sheets and a warm shower.

“I’ll transfer you the rest!” I shouted over my shoulder as security waved me through. The reply barely registered—my pulse drowned out everything.

Immigration felt like a slow-motion death march. But eventually, the officer stamped my passport, uninterested in my questionable life choices.

Outside the crowded gate, I sank onto the floor, back against a pillar, legs folded awkwardly as I pulled up my PayPal account. The payment details went in quickly, my thumbs shaking.

Could this be a scam? Sure. Anything was possible.

But what kind of British scammer hung around a small Malaysian airport fishing for merely $375? Who would build such an elaborate backstory for so little money?

If it was a scam, honestly… props to her. This was some Derren Brown-level psychological manipulation.

No idea how much Derren Brown charged for a show—but I typed in $1000 and hit “send”.

Guilt ate at me for most of the flight.

Guilt for leaving Dannie.

Guilt for dumping the responsibility on Nurse Anu.

I’d promised her I would make it up to her when I took over the hospital—I had no idea how, but I would figure something out. A bonus? A promotion? A vacation? She deserved all three.

And Liam… God.

If he hadn’t gone silent, if he had just told me, I wouldn’t be spiraling at thirty thousand feet, racing toward a disaster I couldn’t name.

Either way… Shanghai would have pulled me in regardless.

Ding.

A text from my namesake.

One word.

Fate.

15

June

Nothing.

And everything.

I hated it when my mind buzzed like this—when every thought was a loose wire sparking against the next, a storm with nowhere to land. I’d been here before, in moments of crisis, when the world demanded action and all I could give it was noise.

“Where to?” the driver pressed, voice sharper this time.

My mouth opened but no sound followed. I sat there like an idiot, staring out the window at the glittering Shanghai skyline while my brain spiraled into useless places. Instead of calling Lincoln like a sane person, I’d wasted precious minutes doom-scrolling in my own head, asking AI the stupidest questions, trying to look for logic where there was none.

Was it all a misunderstanding?