Page 70 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

I’d had a lightbulb moment of my own.

It made sense now why she seemed so detached when they gathered for a family photo earlier. She didn’t feel like she belonged.

“Do you need a drink?” I asked, feeling the weight of my thoughts pressing heavier by the second. Soon, I would have to leave and face the music—leave June with Dannie while I handled the chaos brewing in Shanghai. I shook my head, but the image of Chen Gong, covered in blood, refused to fade. I needed something stronger to push it away.

“Not really. Are you going to eat that?” Laura nodded toward my untouched cake, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“No. Knock yourself out.”

I slipped away toward the bar, which was tucked inside a smaller room near the ballroom entrance. It was quieter here—a welcome contrast to the noise outside. There was only one bartender and a lone patron: a woman slumped over the counter, her face buried in the crook of her arms.

“Can I get a whiskey, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s free of charge. Drink as much as you like,” the woman sat up, giggled as she replied quickly, supporting her chin with her palm.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the glass of golden liquid. It burned in all the right places as I took a sip.

I turned to head back to the ballroom. As much as I welcomed the calm in here, a part of me felt the need to keep an eye on June while I still could. My rational brain told me she was safe—surrounded by people who adored her. But instinct told me otherwise.

A loud thud shattered the quiet.

I spun around to find the woman collapsed on the floor, limbs sprawled awkwardly.

The bartender and I rushed to her side. She wasn’t heavy, but with so much alcohol in her, she was nothing more than dead weight. We carried her to a small armchair against the wall. Once she was secure, the bartender returned to his station to fetch her a glass of water, leaving me alone with her.

“Leng chai…”

The words pierced through the haze of alcohol. It meant ‘handsome man’ in Cantonese. But in a different tone, it could also mean ‘child’. The voice was dense and low, damaged by years of smoking.

A voice I hadn’t heard in years.

My chest tightened.

“Auntie Five,” I whispered.

The woman who had been behind my kidnapping.

15

Kai

“Hey lady,” I shook the unconscious woman in front of me, but nothing happened. I tried again, more vigorously this time, shaking her with both hands. Apart from a lopsided twitch of her mouth, there was no other reaction.

“Do you know who she is?” I asked the skinny redheaded bartender hovering nearby.

“She’s a guest, of course. No one gets in unless they’re invited.” He set a glass of water on the coffee table beside the armchair.

She wasn’t going to drink that water—not if she remained unconscious, oblivious to the world around her. I briefly considered throwing it on her. Maybe that would wake her up faster.

Auntie Five. I hadn’t seen her for over twenty years, but despite the faint lines etched into her face, she hadn’t changed much. Her hair was as dark and glossy as I remembered, clearly dyed and maintained by a professional. Most women her age put on more weight than they’d like, but she hadn’t. Still, time hadn’t been kind to her. She had to be around my mother’s age, yet she looked ten—maybe fifteen—years older.

“Can you get me another whiskey?” I held out my hand to the redhead for a handshake. It was an odd gesture for an order, but he took it, surprise flickering across his face as he found the cash I had discreetly tucked into his palm.

“Anything else I can get for you, sir?” He grinned, eager now.