Chapter Thirty-One: Misbehaving

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• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Wrong Skin

  The sheets were cold, and Ivy wasn’t in them.Victor sat on the edge of his bed, bare chest damp with sweat, the moon light bleeding through the windows. He hadn’t slept in two nights. Couldn’t. Not when the woman he wanted most was curled up in someone else’s thoughts, maybe even someone else’s arms right now if he did not have her under lock and keys. His brother’s.The thought sent a jagged burn through his veins.He stood, pacing to the minibar without flipping on a light. He knew this room like he knew his own skin, polished, expensive, hollow.One glass of scotch wouldn’t fix anything.But it would numb him enough to forget the ache between his legs, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He poured two fingers worth, drank it down in one swallow. It burned. Good.He didn’t just want sex. He wanted a war.And he couldn’t have it with Ivy. Not like this. Not when she looked at him with eyes full of guilt and lips full of silence. She was still sweet, still trying to

• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Devil’s Debt

  The rain hadn’t started yet, but I could feel it coming.It hung in the air like a held breath, dense, electric, almost oppressive. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, the skyline looked like it was holding a secret. The clouds above the city bruised darker by the minute, pregnant with a storm that had no intention of waiting long.I was nursing a glass of whiskey, pacing slowly through the dim light of my living room, thoughts spinning like a blade. Ezra had gone quiet. Again. He’d said he was working on it… “just a few more days”… but I knew better. Men like him didn’t go dark unless something bigger was at play.And right now, the silence felt like a warning.A knock cut through the quiet.I froze.Not the buzzer. Not the doorman. A knock. That meant someone had gotten past the front desk, past the private elevator, past the security I paid a small fortune for. Which meant whoever was on the other side of that door either had clearance……or didn’t give a damn about cl

• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixty-Six: The Fire

  I can’t sleep. Haven’t in days.I pace the length of my apartment, bare feet against cold concrete, the city lights bleeding in through floor-to-ceiling windows that offer everything except peace. But I like it here. Because I can think here. Plot here. Rage here.And lately, that’s all I do.They’re planning a wedding. Her wedding.To him.I dig my fingers into the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension coiled there. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.The idea of everything is starting to take shape, quiet, sharp, and angry. I can just sit around while I am losing ivy. I could buy my way out, run out of the end of the earth, buried my head and just live looking behinds my back but none of it matters if she stays trapped in that house.I press my palm against the window and stare down at the grid of traffic below. Ivy is still there. Inside the mansion. Inside his grip.I need to get her out . And now, I’m running out of time.***I’m not supposed to be digging.Robert made that cle

• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixty-Five: The Bruise Beneath

  The tape measure was cold against my skin.I stood still, arms stretched slightly out, as a stranger circled me with pins in her mouth and a tablet in her hands. Another woman crouched at my feet, murmuring something about the hem. A third pointed at fabrics I hadn’t chosen, describing a dress I’d never seen.None of them asked me what I wanted.“Silk organza,” one of them said. “Ivory, not white. Mr. Wolfe prefers ivory, it photographs better under chandelier lighting.”I blinked. “Who said I wanted ivory?”Silence.The woman smiled politely, too polished to flinch. “It’s standard for a Wolfe bride. Classic. Elegant.”I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I did neither.Instead, I stood there, barefoot and quiet in the middle of the grand guest salon, surrounded by sketches, fabric swatches, and a flurry of preparations I had no control over. I wasn’t a bride. I was a mannequin.The planner’s assistant adjusted the bustline on the mock bodice. “We’ll bring the final fittings in two w

• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixty-Four: The Golden Son

  The study smelled of aged leather, sandalwood, and something darker, an undercurrent of silence so sharp it felt like a blade.Robert Wolfe sat in his chair, the one behind the mahogany desk where generations of Wolfe men had sat before him. None with his precision. His fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression carved from stone.He had waited exactly fourteen minutes.Victor was late on purpose.That boy is growing wings.Robert didn’t move when the door opened, nor when his son strolled in, unbothered, unapologetic. Victor closed the door with quiet finality, then leaned against it, hands in the pockets of his ash gray slacks. His black shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Casual in the way only men born into untouchable power could afford to be.“Dad.” Smooth. Controlled. Almost bored.Robert’s gaze flicked up. “Sit.”Victor didn’t move. “Why? So you can shout like I’m ten again?”Robert’s jaw flexed. “If I wanted to shout, you’d already be bleeding. N

• His To Ruin   Chapter Sixy-Three: Red

  The file came just after three a.m.No message. No warning.Just a quiet buzz from my encrypted line, followed by a digital packet that unpacked itself in a slow, efficient bleed of data.I didn’t open it right away.Instead, I stood barefoot in the center of the room, nursing black coffee like it could delay what I already knew was coming. The night pressed against the floor to ceiling windows like a question I didn’t want to answer. I have been awake all night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of ivy had creep into me all day till midnight. There is something going on, I have seen it with my mother, but with ivy, it is different. She is strong, stubborn and difficult to break. It seems different seeing her being mould into something else by Robert and Victor. Eventually, I walked back to my desk and double tapped the screen.One file.One face.One mark.Red.My stomach clenched, of guilt, but not with fear, and with something heavier. Familiar. The way old grief wraps around your ri