The Billionaire's Undoing

Chapter 1

June

In all my years growing up near the coast, I had never truly loved the sea—until now.

I closed my eyes and welcomed the breeze as it swept toward me, lifting my hair and cooling my skin. The air hung warm and salty, almost charged. Each breath restored something in me.

My phone buzzed—almost certainly my mother again. I made sure not to hurry to answer—or even look at it. Ever since she’d learned I’d resigned from the hospital, she hadn’t stopped insisting I’d made a terrible choice. The biggest mistake of my life.

She called every day until she realized I wasn’t going to pick up. Then the messages came—each one more furious than the last, accusing me of being irresponsible and ruining my life. She asked how I could live with myself, knowing I’d wasted their money and effort raising me to become a doctor.

I was a useless piece of shit if I wasn’t out there working as a doctor.

It hurt to know that this was how my mother measured my worth. Especially now, when it would’ve been nice to be appreciated for existing.

My mother wasn’t the only one searching for me.

Everyone had been searching, ever since I slipped out of Shanghai without a word.

When Dad saw my resignation email, he hesitated. He called it a sabbatical—long overdue, he said—and told me I could take it for as long as I needed.

I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to return. It felt amazing to finally step away from other people’s problems—no longer having to be responsible for someone’s joy in life—someone’s chance at having children.

I no longer had to worry about the number. The only thing most people seemed to care about when it came to me—the high IVF success rate that meant my patients bet their chances of a happily-ever-after on me. Like a racehorse with a great winning record.

Still, it was comforting knowing that if I ever chose to return, Dad would make it easy.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of rumors had spread about me at the hospital. What were the nurses saying? And how had my personal assistant, Siti, reacted?

Siti had been assigned to the new doctor—an ambitious, highly regarded specialist from Scotland, a Cambridge graduate who’d finished at the top of his class. Every now and then, she would send me emails summarizing everything that happened at the hospital.

I teared up when I saw a picture of the Andersons and their newborn.

The couple had undergone twelve rounds of IVF and were on the brink of giving up.

They were down to their last frozen egg when they found me.

Miraculously, the treatment had worked on the first try, and the mother carried the baby to full term without complications.

They finally became parents—in their mid-fifties.

For now, I was simply grateful to be left alone.

I made it a habit to send a picture of myself every day to my family’s private messaging group. It was the sensible thing to do—to reassure them I wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.

From time to time, I’d throw in a sarcastic comment about what Chloe had done. Disappearing on us, letting us believe she was dead for ten years. It was a relief to finally say how I really felt about her running away. Better late than never.

I turned my back to the sea, readying myself for my daily selfie. I was careful not to include the Penang Bridge—a landmark that could give away my location—in the shot before my camera timer counted down to zero.

There were only three small wooden boats today. Counting them had become my daily obsession. Though the weather this morning seemed perfect to me, I wondered if the storm last night had made the fishermen think twice about going out.

“Here’s your coffee.”

“Thank you.”

I smiled at the friendly Caucasian man who’d apparently taken charge of my orders since the first day I came to the café. Maybe it was because he realized I spoke nothing but English—or maybe he simply liked handling my order himself.

“Are you here on holiday?” he asked, his thick accent hinting he might be German.

“Kind of…” I started to explain. “Yes, I guess I am.” Then I realized—I didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“What about you?” I asked, lifting the cute gray-and-green cup and saucer. The local brew was served sweet by default, mellowed by condensed milk and a buttery roast that gave it that rich, unmistakable aroma.

As much as I loved it, I really should cut back.

Well… one more cup wouldn’t kill me.

“I live here now,” he paused, then added, “I met my wife while backpacking across Asia.” I couldn’t help but wonder if his wife was local. Maybe I’d save those questions for another day.

I buried my nose in my cup, and he retreated, sensing that the conversation was over.

I could never tire of watching the sea now.

Even though I’d been to the beach many times, it never lost its pull.

My big brother conveniently lived in a large house with its own private stretch of shoreline in Myrtle Beach, but it just didn’t feel quite the same.

But somehow, it felt better here.

Everything was slower, more relaxed, and I had never felt this at ease in my life.

Even though the heat would be unbearable in about an hour, I didn’t mind it at all.

I’d gotten used to the weather quickly—shorts, flip-flops, and freedom to do absolutely nothing.

Then it was time to move indoors.

Over the last month, I’d visited countless playful, novelty-style museums.

When I said fun, I really meant fun.

There was the Wonderfood Museum, the Ghost Museum, the Upside Down Museum, the 3D Trick Art Museum, and the Camera Museum.

There were also some of the more proper ones—museums dedicated to local history and culture, like the Pinang Peranakan Mansion, the Batik Painting Museum, and the Indian Heritage Museum.

And those were just the ones I managed to visit in my spare time, on the days when I wasn’t too lazy to wander around town in the sticky, unbearable weather.

Other times, I ducked into a cool, comfortable café and lost myself in a few pages of whatever book or magazine I could get my hands on.

Reading purely for pleasure felt like a luxury.

For years, I’d never had time to read anything other than medical journals, case studies, or patient files.

Whenever I found a good novel, that nagging feeling that there was always something more pressing would creep in—and I’d abandon the book before I could finish even a few pages.

It wasn’t that I had trouble getting into a story.

I just felt ashamed for actually enjoying myself.

I stared at the black-covered book on the table—Haunting Adeline.

A story so popular on TikTok, a book that had practically lived on my bedside table for at least a year—or God knows how long—and I’d finally managed to get past chapter two.

Guilt-free.

Honestly, I never expected to see the book sold here.

I’d assumed people here were more conservative—that even mentioning sex was considered taboo.

“Hey!”

A familiar voice cut through my thoughts, reminding me I wasn’t really alone in the busy café.

I knew he was arriving today, yet somehow, seeing him still caught me off guard. Especially since I was living in his house, using pretty much everything he owned.

“Dannie.”

He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

“Morning, I thought you weren’t getting here until the afternoon.”

“Yeah, I finished work earlier.”

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows; his top buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his broad chest.

I couldn’t help feeling a little warmer just looking at him.

“You didn’t have time to change first?”

He glanced down at his clothes—his shirt and suit trousers, obviously too formal for this laid-back town—and chuckled.

“I wanted to check on you first. But I’d forgotten how hot the weather is.”

Without another word, he sat across from me and waved to the elderly Chinese man taking orders at another table.

“One kopi peng,” he called out before the man reached us. Then they exchanged a few more words in a Chinese dialect I didn’t recognize.

“You look well rested.”

I nodded in agreement just as a strange awareness hit me.

My shoulders had dropped.

My posture relaxed.

My eyes were soft.

My breathing was slow.

I had nowhere to be, no responsibilities to bear.

So this was what it felt like—to actually unwind.

It was strange how I’d forgotten what that even meant.

The constant knot of anxiety that used to sit at the bottom of my belly was gone.

I made a mental note to check my blood pressure at some point—maybe at a walk-in clinic for a small fee.

Dannie slouched in the red plastic chair, his posture easy as he exhaled deeply.

“Isn’t this beautiful?” he said, shaking his head from side to side as if he couldn’t quite believe the view himself.

“Yes. There’s something magical about this place.”

The view wasn’t spectacular by any means.

The water was muddy, the color gray.

There were thousands of beaches that outshone this one easily—plenty of oceans back in the States.

The old man returned with an iced coffee in a bluish, opaque plastic cup, a small orange plate stacked with toasts, and a white ceramic bowl of half-boiled eggs.

He mumbled something under his breath, and Dannie handed him a red note—maybe two or three dollars’ worth.

The old man set down a few coins in change before shuffling away, leaving us alone.

“You can’t eat this,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

What Dannie ordered was a local dish. I’d noticed plenty of cafés, “kopitiams,” they called them, serving the same thing.

It was a well-loved breakfast here. The slices glistened with butter, or maybe margarine, sprinkled generously with castor sugar.

The eggs looked perfectly poached at first glance, but their whites still shimmered—barely set.

And the drink, of course, was syrupy and sweet, something I’d reluctantly grown addicted to.

“You can’t get this anywhere else,” he said. “Some restaurants tried to mimic it in Hong Kong, but it’s just never quite the same.”

He drew a circle of soy sauce over the eggs, then dusted them with white pepper before dipping the sweet toast into the bowl like a sauce.