Page 98 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

Maybe not.

“I’m not taking your money,” I said, dabbing disinfectant along the scratch, using my phone’s selfie camera as a mirror.

“You all say that,” Mrs. Li scoffed. “But nobody says no to money.”

Kai’s jaw clenched.

“Who exactly have you paid off, Mother?” His voice was low, controlled—but the red creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“You don’t need to know.”

“Tell me,” he demanded, slamming his palm onto the dark marble countertop. “Or after today, you won’t have a son anymore.”

Mrs. Li barely flinched.

“I don’t have the full list memorized,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “Most of your little college girlfriends. The whores from your filthy hobby.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Honestly, son, you never know what kind of diseases those women carried.”

Kai stiffened. “You knew?”

It could only mean one thing—his secret obsession with the darker world of sex.

“I know everything,” she said smoothly. “Like father, like son. If I had agreed to⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up, Mama.” Kai’s hands flew up in front of her mouth as if he could physically stop the words from spilling out.

She smirked, unfazed. “Come on. You know I did this for your own good.”

That line.

The one parents always used to guilt trip their children into submission. A mind game played so often it worked like magic—until the magic wore off.

“No,” Kai said, his voice razor-sharp. “You did this for you.”

I set the disinfectant aside, deciding to leave the wound uncovered. It wasn’t deep enough to need a dressing. Still, as I listened to their exchange, I silently calculated the best moment to slip out of the room.

“People like us don’t marry for love. You know that.”

“We marry for power, right? Or is it for more money? Money we couldn’t possibly spend in a lifetime—hell, not even if our future generations lived like undead vampires? Look at you and Dad. Do you honestly want me to end up like you?”

I brushed my fingers lightly over Wendy’s hand, catching her attention with a subtle tilt of my head toward the door. She dropped her chin in understanding.

Moving as if I were stepping on rice paper—something I’d picked up from my brief, and frankly unimpressive, Aikido training—I crept toward the exit. This wasn’t about a sneak attack. I just needed to get out of there unnoticed.

Kai was too busy ripping apart his mother’s ideology, pointing out the disaster that was her marriage, how his father had walked away and found real love. Proof, according to him, that everyone needed love.

I almost made it.

Smack.

A sharp sting radiated from my fresh wound. But this time, her hand wasn’t on me.

It was on Kai.

“I’ll marry June,” he declared, his palm pressing against his reddened cheek.

It wasn’t a proposal. It was a statement. A challenge.