His To Ruin

I couldn’t think.Not after that.Not after Killian Wolfe.I stood in front of the room mirror, makeup smudged, neck kissed raw, thighs aching with the memory of him, and my own shame. My dress was crumpled on the chair. My panties torn. And in my purse sat the engagement ring Victor had slipped onto my finger just days ago.I stared at it like it might vanish if I blinked.It didn’t.And I didn’t cry.I just breathed.In. Out.Ivy Lancaster. Fiancée to Victor Wolfe. Future wife to a man I barely liked, let alone loved.And I’d just let his older brother do unspeakable things to me against a leather couch in a room I shouldn’t have entered.What kind of woman does that?The kind who’s drowning.The kind who mistakes lust for escape.The kind who doesn’t realize the devil wears her fiancé’s last name.Killian was already gone. No words. He just left. Just a memory of heat and hunger that hadn’t faded from my skin. I should’ve been relieved. I should’ve taken the shame and shoved it dow

It was a deadly game we played, but I couldn’t stop. Every rational thought in my mind was drowned out by the pounding in my chest, the fire licking at my veins. Ivy was in my arms again, her body pressed against mine, and all I could think about was how badly I needed her, needed this.My hands were desperate, as though they didn’t belong to me, sliding beneath her dress, lifting it higher, feeling the heat of her skin as I drew her closer. She gasped against my mouth as I pulled her against me, and I swallowed the sound greedily. I couldn’t get enough of her, her scent, her touch, her warmth. Everything about her set my blood on fire.“You don’t have to say no, Ivy,” I murmured against her neck, my lips trailing down to her pulse. “Not now, not when it’s too late.”Her breath hitched as I pushed her gently against the stone wall, my hands exploring the curves of her body, feeling the tension in her muscles. She was trembling, but not from fear. No, this was different. This was desir

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the girl who looked back at me.My eyes were swollen, my hair tangled from his hands, and my skin still burned from where he had touched me.I could still taste him.Still feel the imprint of his body against mine.The scent of him clung to my skin, no matter how many times I tried to scrub it away.Killian.I whispered his name like a sin on my tongue, shame tightening my chest.Twice, I had given myself to him.Twice, I had crossed a line I could never uncross.And now, I was drowning in it.A shudder tore through me as I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the guilt, the shame… and the aching need that hadn’t faded.I should hate him.I should hate myself more.But when I closed my eyes, all I could feel was him, the way his hands gripped my hips, the way his mouth devoured mine like I was the only thing keeping him alive.I pressed my forehead against the cool mirror, breathing heavily.Soon, Victor would com

I couldn’t sleep.I lay awake in my room, eyes fixed on the ceiling, Andrew’s words spinning in my head like a sick melody on repeat.Strippers. Scandals. Wicked bachelor.I wasn’t naïve. The way Killian Wolfe made my body vibrate, twice, in less than twenty-four hours, told me everything I needed to know about the kind of man he was. Even the way he kissed had warned me. He’d touched women before. Many, probably.But hearing it out loud, from someone else’s mouth, stripped the fantasy clean. It left me raw with the truth.And still,I craved him.God, I was such a fool.I slipped out of bed, pulling on a sweater over my camisole. My feet moved on instinct, guiding me down the quiet hallway. I eased the door open to the one place in this house where I was allowed to be myself: the art room.It wasn’t the chaotic, lived-in space I’d had in university, where spilled turpentine mingled with cold coffee, canvases leaned against the walls like forgotten dreams, and freedom dripped from every

She laughed at something I didn’t hear. Or maybe I just didn’t care enough to register it.Her fingers trailed along the inside of my arm as we stepped into the elevator, her perfume thick, too sweet. A contrast to Ivy’s scent, which still clung to the edges of my memory like smoke I couldn’t clear.“Your place or mine?” she asked playfully, lips brushing my neck.I hit the top floor button. “Mine.”She giggled. High, breathy. A sound that used to make me feel something.Now it just grated.I didn’t remember her name. I hadn’t cared to ask. She was a model or an influencer, someone used to being wanted. She clung to my arm like I was a trophy, not a man breaking at the seams.The second the Hotel door clicked shut behind us, her mouth was on mine. Hands everywhere. Desperate. Maybe she thought I wanted it that way. Maybe I did.I pushed her against the wall. She gasped, moaned into my mouth. Her fingers yanked at my shirt like she couldn’t get it off fast enough.But my head wasn’t her