Page 27 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

“I think we’ve had enough talk for one day,” Dannie said. “Thank you for coming.”

Several of his men stood, forming a silent wall around the three elders and their followers. It was time for them to leave and they were escorted out.

But my mind was louder than the room. What exactly was Dannie planning?

“Dannie,” I said, leaning closer. “Please tell me what’s really going on. This isn’t you preparing for when you’re not… around, is it?”

“June…” he began.

Then the cough hit.

Violent. Deep.

He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. I rubbed his back, panic rising fast. Kai shoved a glass of water toward him, but Dannie didn’t take it.

His knees buckled.

He collapsed, dragging the tablecloth down with him. Plates, bowls, and glasses crashed to the floor in a burst of shattering noise.

The room exploded into movement. Chairs scraped. Voices overlapped. Men rushed in from every direction, closing around him in a tight, suffocating ring of bodies.

The air vanished.

I could barely see him.

“Move!” I pushed forward, dropping to my knees. My hands went to his neck, searching for his pulse, while my other hand hovered near his chest, watching for movement—but shoulders, arms, and black suits blocked my view. There were too many people and too much noise.

“Give him space!” I shouted. “Back away!”

No one listened. Orders flew from all sides. “Lift him!” “Get water!” “Give him some ointment.” “Don’t touch him!”

As if they knew better. As if I wasn’t a doctor.

I tried again, louder and sharper. “I said back away! He needs air.” But panic had taken over the room, and panic didn’t obey reason.

His eyes were half-open but unfocused, pupils dull. “Dannie? Can you hear me?”

No response.

I shook his shoulder. Nothing.

My fingers pressed to his neck again. A pulse. Faint. Uneven. His breathing was shallow and irregular. Too shallow.

He’d been pushing himself for days. The funeral. The tension. The stress.

“This is too much for him,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “He needs a hospital. Now.”

“No,” Squirrel said sharply. “We handle it here. You can do it.”

“Here?” I snapped. “He’s not responding!”

“We can’t call an ambulance,” he insisted. “This will bring too much attention.”

“Attention?” I stared at him. “He could die!”

“We have our own doctor,” someone shouted.

“Call an ambulance,” I said again.