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Chapter Nine: Dangerous games
Huling Na-update:
2025-05-13 00:33:12The knock came again. Sharper this time.
I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the woman I’d drawn, the one whose face I’d left in shadows, as if I could climb into her skin and disappear.
The door creaked open slowly. Same maid. But this time, her face was tense, pale, eyes flickering down the hallway behind her before meeting mine.
“Miss Lancaster,” she said quietly, “your father asked me to remind you that you’re expected tonight.”
You’re expected. A phrase that could mean a hundred things. All of them dangerous.
The words were careful. Polished. But her tone wasn’t. There was a warning in it. A quiet echo of power I’d learned to fear in childhood, like the sound of glass cracking under pressure.
I swallowed hard. “He sent you?”
She nodded once. “He said… it would be unfortunate if you embarrassed the family.”
There it was.
I stood, numb, brushing my hands on the side of my pants. Charcoal smeared across my fingers like guilt.
“Tell him I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
The maid dipped her head and closed the door. The click was soft, final. I sat in silence for a beat longer, staring at the mirror.
***I dressed in silence. Not because I had nothing to say, but because the words would’ve turned to screams if I let them out.
The black gown I pulled over my head fit too perfectly. Tailored to impress. Chosen not by me, but by Victor’s assistant weeks ago. The slit ran up my leg like an invitation I never sent.
I stared into the mirror, trying to find the woman who could belong to Victor Wolfe.
She didn’t look back.
***
The car was waiting out front, a sleek black thing that gleamed under the estate lights. By the time we arrived, the city was a smear of lights outside the tinted window. The estate’s private driver didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence was louder than any lecture my father could give.
When I stepped out of the car, flashbulbs greeted me.
Of course they did.
Everything smelled like old money and real power.
Victor stood near the entrance, surrounded by people laughing too loudly at whatever charming story he was telling. He looked effortlessly perfect in a midnight suit,tailored sharp, tie loose like a movie star who’d just wandered off set.
And then he saw me. His smile lit up the entire room.
I scanned the crowd for him, pretending I wasn’t hoping for someone else.
“There she is,” Victor said warmly, breaking away from his group. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send in a rescue team.”
I smiled. Barely. “I’m here now.”
He stepped forward and kissed my cheek, hand gently resting on my waist. “You look beautiful. Like, breathtaking.”
His eyes searched my face, like he really meant it. And that was the worst part. Victor Wolfe didn’t feel like a monster. Not tonight.
He felt like every girl’s dream.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“I had a headache.”
“You look like you still do,” he said, reaching for my waist. His lips brushed my cheek. “Smile, darling. The cameras are watching.”
I smiled. Barely.
Victor studied me for a moment. Noticed the stiffness, the hollowness in my eyes, maybe. “You’ve been distant lately,” he murmured under his breath, guiding me inside. “You know that’s not like you.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
He tilted his head, a hint of concern creasing his brow. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“I said I’m fine, Victor.”
He didn’t push. Just gave a small nod and offered his arm. “Come on, then. Let’s give them something to stare at.”
***
The walls were white. Too white. Like a stage dressed up as purity, hiding all the blood underneath.
Art hung like confessionals, silent screams locked in frames. Champagne. Whispered gossip. Diamonds catching the light like stars.
I stayed close to Victor, letting him guide me like a polished accessory. He knew all the right people, all the right words. He introduced me with pride, never once letting his hand stray inappropriately, never once talking over me.
To everyone here, Victor Wolfe was the perfect fiancé. And maybe he really was.
Maybe I was the broken one.
But nothing screamed louder than the scent that hit me next.
Faint, but unmistakable.
Masculine. Expensive. Darker than sin.
I hadn’t smelled it since the garden. Since him.
My body reacted before my mind did. My breath caught. My stomach dipped. My heart stuttered.
Killian.
I didn’t have to see him to know.
That scent had been on my skin. On my pillow. Inside my mouth.
I turned, breath caught in my throat.
And then I saw him.
He looked like sin in a tux. Dark hair swept back, that unreadable gaze cutting through the crowd like a blade.
But he wasn’t alone.
She clung to his arm like she was born there. Long legs. Flawless skin. A dress that looked like it had been poured onto her. She didn’t just wear beauty, she weaponized it.
Killian leaned in, said something low near her ear, and she beamed up at him, eyes glittering. His hand rested at the small of her back, just enough to say She’s mine.
I froze.
Victor noticed. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything. Victor followed my gaze. And when he saw them, his smile didn’t falter, it widened.
“Well, well,” he said lightly. “My big brother finally decided to show up. And with a plus-one, no less. Wonder where Killian finds these beautiful women.”
My stomach twisted.
Then Killian looked up. Straight at me.
Our eyes locked across the room.
I forgot how to breathe.
For a second, the crowd disappeared. The lights. The noise. Even the woman beside him.
All I saw was him.
And he saw me.
A flicker of recognition passed through his expression. But that was all. No reaction. No surprise. Just cold calculation, like he was measuring the damage. But there was just the faintest flicker of something behind his gaze.
Recognition.
Memory.
Regret?
No.
Not regret.
Possession.
And something in me… answered.
Victor noticed the shift in my body. He was watching me now. Carefully. Kindly.
“Ivy,” he said, his voice soft again, “you sure you’re okay?”
I forced a nod. I turned back to Victor.
“Good,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because tonight’s about us. Not anyone else.”
He didn’t say anything else. Just handed me a glass of champagne and kissed the side of my head like he was marking territory.
I took a long sip.
Killian’s scent still lingered in my nose like a secret I couldn’t forget.
And behind my back, I felt his gaze burning through me like fire.
Jhumie_writesThe game ivy and killian are playing is dangerous. A game that can destroy too much and too many. But that desire… that forbidden desire… the stake are too high frequency.
Pinakabagong kabanata
His To Ruin Chapter Ninety-Two: In the Quiet, Only Her
I drove home with the windows down, letting the night air cut through the stench of gunpowder and the faint copper of blood that still clung to me. My knuckles ached from the fight. My jaw was tight, teeth grinding with every mile. Silas’s voice still echoed in my head, the way he’d said Robert’s name, the way he’d talked about my father like he was nothing but dirt in the ground.I wanted to punch the steering wheel. I wanted to turn the car around and make him die all over again.By the time I reached my building, the world felt quieter. Not calm, never calm, but muted, like everything was underwater. I parked, took the service elevator straight up, and keyed in the security codes without thinking.Inside, I stripped down before the door had even shut behind me. My clothes went into a black trash bag. Not the laundry. Not ever again.The shower was hot enough to scald, but I needed it. Steam swallowed the bathroom, and I stood there with my head bowed, water pounding down over my s
His To Ruin Chapter Ninety-One: Erase
His body was still warm when I stood over it.Silas Hayes lay sprawled on the floor, the pistol I’d ripped from him just minutes ago lying a few feet away. My own breathing was sharp and uneven, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder. My hands weren’t trembling, not exactly, they just hadn’t decided whether to stay clenched or open.I’d killed him.And now I had a problem.The clock had started the moment his eyes rolled back. Every second I stayed here, the odds got worse. But walking out now, leaving things as they were, would be suicide. I’d as good as written my name on the walls in my own blood.I forced my lungs to slow down. Focus.First rule: don’t think about the body. Not yet. Think about the room. Think about what they’ll see when they get here.I pulled a pair of thin leather gloves from my pocket, ones I’d kept in case the night turned dirty, and slipped them on. I crouched beside Silas. The smell of him was different now, sweat, gunpowder, that copper tang of blood
His To Ruin Chapter Ninety: Brewing the Fire
The neighborhood was quiet, the sun dipping low behind cracked rooftops and faded fences. The kind of place where hope came to die a slow, gray death. I parked the car a few blocks away and crept forward, eyes sharp, heart steady but burning with cold rage.Silas Hayes’ house sat at the end of a narrow street, a ramshackle relic squeezed between newer, better kept homes. The windows were dust covered and cracked. The paint peeled like dead skin. A rusted gate hung from one hinge. No flowers. No laughter. Just shadows.I studied it from the street. This was the kind of place where promises went to rot. Where secrets got buried under layers of neglect.I stepped closer, boots crunching on broken glass and dry leaves. The door was cracked, just a sliver open, like a wound waiting for me to enter.Inside, the air was thick with dust and stale smoke. The faintest scent of decay clung to the walls. I moved carefully, stepping over torn newspapers, broken chairs, and empty bottles. The silen
His To Ruin Chapter Eighty-Nine: Quiet Shadows
The car’s engine was a low hum beneath the quiet of the street, the soft dusk settling like a shroud over the neat houses lined with trimmed lawns and flowering shrubs. I sat behind the wheel, the leather cool under my fingers, eyes fixed on the modest house across the street, white picket fence, flower boxes under the windows, a small porch swing where a child’s jacket hung limp.Marisol Vega’s home.I had read everything I could find about her. The old files painted a stark, ruthless picture, a woman who once moved in the shadows of Robert’s empire, involved in whispers I couldn’t yet confirm, someone who might have played a part in the erasure of my father’s name. But here, under this softening light, the woman I saw was different.Through the large living room window, I watched her move with easy grace, carrying a toddler in one arm, laughing as she handed a plate of food to another child at the table. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, the wrinkles near her eyes softened b
His To Ruin Chapter Eighty-Eight: Cold Rooms and Quiet Calls
The ride from the station to the safehouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your eardrums until it feels like a weight. I didn’t bother turning on the radio. The city outside the tinted glass was all smudged lights and thin, restless fog. It didn’t matter. My mind wasn’t here.The moment the car stopped, I stepped out, my boots crunching against the gravel drive. The safehouse looked exactly as I’d left it, plain, shadowed, forgettable. The kind of building no one would remember passing. That was the point. I had bought this building in a different name. I punched in the code, pushed the heavy door open, and was met with stale air. The place always smelled like paper and metal, old documents, gun oil, cold steel.Inside, I didn’t take off my coat. I went straight to the desk. The only light came from the desk lamp, a harsh yellow pool that barely reached the corners of the room. My laptop sat there, waiting.I switched it on, the familiar hum filling the air. While i
His To Ruin Chapter Eighty-Seven: Petals With Thorn
The morning came too early.I lay there, eyes still closed, not wanting to leave the one small pocket of safety I’d found, the space between sleep and waking, where the walls around me didn’t exist yet.But the knock shattered it.It wasn’t Victor’s knock. No… he never knock,just walked in always. This knock was softer, hesitant, followed by the rustle of fabric and the creak of the door opening just far enough for someone to slip inside.I pushed myself up, the blanket falling to my lap.A young servant, a girl I’d seen before but never heard speak, came in carrying something that seemed out of place here. A tall, glass vase overflowing with blooms.White roses. Deep crimson peonies. Sprigs of eucalyptus.They looked like they belonged on a wedding table. Or in a lover’s arms.She crossed the room quickly, set the vase on my desk, and without meeting my eyes, left. No explanation. No note. Just the scent, already unfurling into the air, filling every corner of my room.I sat there f
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