Page 25 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

I hated her for wasting my time. Fantasies flickered through my mind—sprinting down the back alley, flagging down a random taxi, even stealing a motorcycle from a stranger. Any escape would do. But instead, I stayed rooted to the spot, waiting as Wendy strolled toward the boba shop with an inflatable snowman bobbing beside the entrance.

When she came back, her face was lit up with a big self-satisfied grin. She dug into her latest conquest—a brown sugar sundae—spooning white, velvety ice cream dotted with black tapioca pearls into her mouth.

“This has to be my new favorite sundae.”

“I thought you wanted a drink.”

She pointed with her spoon toward the sealed plastic cup tucked securely in the cup holder hanging off the side of her bag.

“Got one. Multitasking, babe.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back the urge to snap. Time was slipping away, and she was acting like we were on a carefree vacation.

“I used to think you were boring.”

Her words caught me off guard. My head snapped towards her. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you know,” she said casually, scooping up another bite. “You grew up in that perfect little family. Your doctor family… all prestigious and proper. If you were a real white bitch, I would’ve totally ignored you.”

“You can’t say that—it’s racist.”

“Oh, come on. We’re not in America. People with money have it easy, and bonus points if you’re white. But I know you’re mixed or something, and you lived in New York, so I guess that evens things out.”

I scoffed under my breath. She had no idea how many patients had walked out on me the moment they realized my face didn’t match my surname.

“Your point being?”

I glanced down, brushing my sleeve over my wrist in a subtle, impatient gesture—only to realize I wasn’t even wearing a watch. Perfect.

“Well, when I heard about your dirty little secret at the dirty little tart shop,” Wendy said, shoveling another heaping spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, “ohh la la, turns out you’re a naughty girl. That’s when I decided this trip might actually be worth my while.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, you’re here for what? Gossip?”

“No. Maybe a little.” She grinned, unbothered by my irritation. “But all that drama makes you interesting. And that means I actually like you now.”

“Perfect, why don’t I feel like that’s a compliment?”

“It doesn’t?” She blinked innocently.

“No.”

“Well, it should.” With a flourish, she tossed the empty plastic cup into the trash outside the shop, as if she had just solved all our problems.

“Can we get on with our day?” My tone came out sharper than I intended—impatient, clipped. A tone I knew all too well, no doubt inherited from my own mother.

Wendy, of course, wasn’t fazed. “Well, if you’d just open your little black book, maybe you’d already have that travel document by now.”

She shrugged, her voice light and teasing but with an edge of seriousness. “But if you don’t want to, maybe we should focus on finding a hotel first. Get some rest, clear our heads a little⁠—”

Her voice faded into a rambling monologue, a stream of words I barely registered.

One thing, however, stood out. We had landed and rushed straight out of the airport without giving a single thought to accommodations. In my mind, getting a fake ID was supposed to be quick—like one of those one-hour photo places back home. I hadn’t planned on staying here longer than half a day.

But we couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

Without hesitation, I stepped to the curb and waved down a red cab flashing a vacant sign.

“Where are we going?” Wendy asked, sliding into the cab.