Page 52 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

Inside the store, cold air hit my face. I grabbed a basket and forced myself to focus. Food. Just grab food. That was what normal people did. I walked past the shelves, throwing things into the basket without really looking: energy bars, instant noodles, packaged sandwiches, things I probably wouldn’t even eat.

I used to tell my patients to take care of themselves. Eat properly. Sleep properly. Exercise. I had said those things so many times that they had become automatic, as if life were actually that simple. As if everything didn’t change the second a baby showed up.

I almost laughed.

Maru cried all night. Every night. Nothing worked—milk, toys, rocking, singing. Sometimes I just stared at her, wondering what she wanted from me. I wished babies came with subtitles. An AI translator for crying that could tell me what I was doing wrong.

The thought made me freeze.

I loved her. I did. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t be exhausted or scared that you had ruined your life.

Dannie was sick. Everything around me was falling apart. And somehow, I was supposed to be strong enough to hold it all together.

My grip tightened around the basket as I kept walking. It suddenly felt heavier than it should have. When I looked down, it was full, though I couldn’t remember putting half of it inside.

This wasn’t supposed to feel heavy. But my body felt weak. Too weak.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath me, and I grabbed the shelf before I lost my balance. For a second, I couldn’t tell whether the world had moved or I had.

I forced myself toward the till. Only three people were ahead of me, but the queue felt endless. While I waited, I kept reaching for things from the nearby shelves.

Chocolate bars. Caramel wafers. Peanut butter cups. Butter cookies. Instant milk tea. Gummy candy. Sweetened coffee. Two bags of chips I didn’t even like.

Unnecessary. Unhealthy.

Comfort food.

I wasn’t even sure I would eat any of it, but I needed them anyway. Right now, I needed something—anything—that made me feel like I still had some control over what happened next.

Then I noticed them.

Two men were wearing sunglasses indoors. One had a baseball cap pulled low, the brim shadowing half his face, while the other stood near the drinks fridge, pretending to browse. They were positioned almost opposite each other. Not together, exactly, but not separate either.

Something about them felt wrong. Too still. Too aware.

Every few seconds, their eyes flicked toward me.

One of them slowly moved down the aisle, pretending to check the shelves while keeping me in sight. My fingers tightened around the basket, and then someone tapped my shoulder, making me jump.

“It’s your turn,” the cashier said.

I forced myself forward. For a second, I considered abandoning the basket and walking out, but the snacks suddenly felt too important. Ridiculous, but the need for them was real. I set the basket down and tried to focus on the cashier. Then she spoke to me in Cantonese.

“Sorry… I don’t speak Cantonese.”

She pointed toward the fabric recycling bags beside the register.

I nodded. “Yes. That’s fine.”

I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted her to hurry.

She scanned the items one by one, each beep sounding too loud and too slow. I glanced over my shoulder.

Both men were gone. That somehow made everything worse.

I tapped my phone against the payment machine. Approved. Done.

Then someone touched my back, and I jumped so hard my heart slammed into my throat.