Page 9 of Billionaire’s Ruin

The voice froze me mid-step.

My so-called father stood by the elevator, one hand in his pocket, the other straightening his unnaturally dark hair, slicked back with gel.

Behind him, his other son trailed in like a shadow—silent, wide-eyed, uncomfortable.

“What are you doing here?” I asked flatly.

“Is that how you greet your daddy?” His voice dropped, reprimanding. That old practiced sternness, the kind that made him sound like he still believed he had authority.

Forcing a thin smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “You picked the wrong house for that lecture.”

My gaze shifted to the younger man behind him. “And what’s he doing here?”

I jabbed a finger in my half-brother’s direction. “Last I checked, Mother banned your other family from setting foot in this place.”

The old man’s jaw tightened. “Manners, Kai. Have I not taught you⁠—”

“No, Dad,” I cut him off, the word Dad dripping with irony. “You didn’t teach me much of anything. You were absent for most of it, remember?”

I took a step closer, my voice calm but edged with steel. “How about his manners? Shouldn’t he be greeting his big brother? Or am I just as much a stranger to him as you’ve always been to me?”

“Shut up!” His voice cracked through the air, hand rising in a reflex he probably didn’t even realize he still had.

I almost smiled.

Got you.

My words had done exactly what I intended—dragged the mask right off his face.

That man had never been known for his temper. Not with the woman he chose to marry.

Which meant if he’d finally snapped… something had changed.

And I wasn’t sure yet if that was good—or dangerous.

“You can’t hit me.” My voice was low but steady, threaded with the kind of calm that made men like him uneasy. I shook my head slightly, curling the corner of my lip into something between a smirk and a warning. “I’m much stronger than you.”

Then I turned—slowly, deliberately—to the teenage boy standing behind him. “And him.”

I hadn’t practiced martial arts lately—hadn’t needed to—but every muscle in my body remembered. The drills, the bruises, the lessons he’d paid for but never cared to watch. It was all still there, waiting beneath the surface.

“I need to talk to my wife.”

Dad’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding, but it didn’t move me.

He closed the distance, ignoring me entirely, but I stayed rooted. I held my ground, unblinking, the way he’d once taught me to when facing an opponent stronger than myself.

Only now, the lesson was his to learn.

He stopped inches from me. I could see the fine lines around his eyes, the scent of his aftershave clashing with the stale smell of his cigarette breath.

“Move,” he said.

Turning slightly, I avoided his breath but not his gaze. My chest lifted higher. My feet anchored to the marble floor.

If I moved, I’d lose.

And surrender wasn’t in my blood.