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Chapter One Hundred and Eleven: whispers
Последнее обновление:
2025-08-02 20:02:31
Jhumie_writesSometimes the worst betrayals aren’t shouted or confirmed, they’re whispered behind walls.
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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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