Page 81 of Billionaire’s Cruelty

At one point, I swore she said my name.

I wished I knew what she was dreaming about—whether it was something good, whether it was me.

Part of me wanted to wake her, to pull her on top of me and lose myself in her all over again. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel that way again, if whatever had sparked this intensity between us would happen a second time.

Was it because I was leaving?

Was it the jealousy I had never felt before? The desperate, undeniable need to make her mine?

I didn’t have the answers.

But I did know one thing.

I had no idea what was waiting for me in Shanghai.

Would I be charged for what happened to Chen? It was possible. I had watched him bleed to death. I could have called an ambulance, could have saved his life. But I didn’t.

I sighed, glancing at the clock.

Time to move.

Time to man up.

Time to face my crime.

17

June

It was nice having Dannie wait for me at the building where the visa agency was located. Applying for a visa—or any official documents, for that matter—could be incredibly stressful. That had always been my experience. I would happily pay someone a small fee to handle the entire process on my behalf.

I hated the way the officers looked at people. Their judgmental eyes seemed to scan through your body, your brain, your bank account, your criminal record—leaving nothing hidden. I couldn’t help but feel completely exposed in places like that. Airports, embassies, banks—those were the worst.

By the time I woke up, Kai had already left. This time, he had left a note on the pillow beside me. In it, he said he would get in touch. It would have been nice to be woken up with a kiss—or something even more passionate. But perhaps he hadn’t wanted to disturb me. And truthfully, I could use the extra hour of sleep.

Dannie was dressed entirely in white today—smart white trousers, off-white leather trainers, and a relaxed-fit shirt with the top three buttons undone. The color suited him. Against the crisp, clean look of his outfit, his tan skin and tattoos stood out even more.

He didn’t say much apart from the usual polite greetings—asking how I was and whether I’d slept well. Though he wasn’t exactly grumpy, his energy wasn’t as lighthearted as usual. Something was on his mind, that much was clear. But I didn’t want to ask or get involved.

Mr. Huang, a friend of Dannie’s, met us in the lobby and scanned us through the security barrier into the elevator section. His assistant, Amanda, handed each of us a visitor’s card. I hung the blue lanyard around my neck.

Mr. Huang’s office was on the twelfth floor. Apparently, his visa agency specialized in handling difficult cases—politicians, bloggers, journalists who had been denied entry for various reasons. His agency found ways to get them into China, provided they agreed not to cause trouble during their visit.

The agency occupied two floors. The eleventh floor was where the applications were processed, while the twelfth was strictly for staff and housed Mr. Huang’s office.

After a quick tour, Mr. Huang excused himself, mentioning a meeting across town in Hong Kong. Normally, Amanda would accompany him, but today, she had been assigned to personally handle my case.

We thanked Mr. Huang, and Dannie mumbled something about treating him to a meal and gifting his wife an exclusive, limited-edition luxury item. Then, when we were alone with Amanda, Dannie turned on his charm, promising to send her to Big-Her and let her pick out anything she fancied—his guy would handle the bill.

Amanda’s demeanor shifted instantly. Gone was the polite, professional mask of someone merely doing her job. Suddenly, we were long-lost best friends. She led us to the cafe area, a space reserved for senior staff and government VIPs and served us drinks alongside an impressive selection of confections.

“Have you ever been to China before?” Amanda asked, clicking away on her laptop.

“No.”

“Only Hong Kong?”

“Yes.” I nodded.