Price: His To Ruin

The moonlight glazed the Richardson estate in silver, shadows licking the edges of the poolside like silent secrets.

Luciano sat at the edge, long legs sprawled, a glass of whiskey burning in his hand.

The ice clinked softly, the only sound daring to disturb the suffocating silence that clung to him like smoke.

His presence was a warning. Every inch of him screamed danger.

Eyes half-lidded, hair tousled, the silk of his midnight robe shifting with the wind. He looked carved from a darker myth. The quiet wasn’t peace. It was danger, which was leashed tight beneath the surface of his stillness.

He heard the footsteps before he saw her. Light. Arrogant. Predictable.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t turn.

Didn’t even blink.

To him, her presence didn’t even qualify as a nuisance…just a mosquito buzzing close to the flame.

“Oh my,” came the saccharine voice, sliding beside him like oil. “It’s Mr. Luciano himself.”

Luciano’s jaw ticked. Still, his gaze stayed fixed ahead, on the moon’s reflection rippling in the dark water.

Cindy crouched beside him, her perfume wafting through the air like poison wrapped in roses. Her hand ghosted toward his arm.

“Careful,” Luciano said coldly, not looking at her. “Touch what’s mine, and I’ll rip the skin off your fingers.”

Cindy froze mid-motion.

“My prey,” he added, his voice now low, razor-sharp. “Is mine to torment. Mine to ruin. Mine to destroy.”

He turned to her slowly, finally, and the intensity of his stare knocked the smirk off her face.

“This is the last time I’ll use words.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was suffocating.

Cindy’s lips curled again, but her eyes flickered with unease.

“You talk about her like she’s filth… like she’s beneath you,” she said, voice laced with mockery. “But you hate her with such passion. Are you sure it’s her existence you loathe, Mr. Luciano? Or could it be…”

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against his cheek.

“…something else? Something deeper. Something that tasted sweet once, and rotted into hate?”

Luciano didn’t move. But his fingers tightened around the glass with a crack.

His silence said more than any threat could.

Cindy chuckled, satisfied that her words landed somewhere dark. She turned on her heels and walked back toward the house, hips swaying like bait.

As soon as she was gone, Luciano downed the rest of the whiskey in one swallow. It scorched his throat, but didn’t even come close to the inferno under his skin.

The wind picked up, pulling open his robe.

The cool night kissed his bare chest that was still marred with faint marks.

Red.

Raw.

Left by her.

Luciano stared into the water, his reflection splintered by ripples.

A man haunted.

Possessed.

And now marked by the prey he had marked!

……

The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the hospital room like a ghost.

Noora blinked groggily against the morning light bleeding through the curtains, her limbs heavy, throat dry. Pain throbbed in her temples and body, but not enough to numb the weight sitting on her chest.

The sharp beep of the monitor beside her reminded her…she was still alive.

Alive… after everything.

Her mother sat at her bedside, eyes puffy and distant, wringing her hands in silence. The woman didn’t speak for a long time, and when she finally did, her voice barely carried.

“I’m… sorry,” she whispered. “For letting things get this far.”

“I failed you as a mother, didn’t I?” Her smile was sad… too sad that it knocked the wind out of Noora’s lungs, drowning it with tears she never shed in front of her mother.

It was never her fault. Noora tried to respond, tried to muster words to soothe her mother’s guilt but her lips froze, parted mid-breath, when the door creaked open.

‘HE’ walked in like a storm that didn't knock.

Luciano.

Tall. Icy. Unapologetically entitled.

He didn’t even glance at Noora’s mother. “Please leave,” he said, cold as glass, neither respectful nor acknowledging.

The older woman didn’t flinch at his tone but obeyed, glancing once more at her daughter before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind her.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Noora’s chest rose and fell faster. Her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket. She hated him—every inch of her soul wanted to scream it. But beneath the hatred burned a humiliating truth:

He’d saved her.

And she didn’t know why.

“Why?” she rasped, her voice hoarse. “Why did you save me yesterday?”

Luciano leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes found hers, cold and venomous.

“You really thought you could publicly disgrace the Richardson name and walk away with pity?” he spat. “You’ve always been desperate—sniffing around for attention like a starving stray. If you weren’t so pathetically hungry for validation, none of this would’ve happened.”

His words sliced deeper than the shame already bruising her soul.

Her throat bobbed. “But watching me fall… wasn’t that what you wanted, Luciano?” she asked bitterly. “You could’ve stayed back and enjoyed the show.”

Luciano’s expression darkened. In a blink, he was across the room.

He gripped her chin hard, forcing her to look up at him.

“I’d have loved to watch you unravel for a man who’d pick a thousand other women over you,” he growled. “But don’t mistake my disgust for mercy. I didn’t save you, Noora Veneitte. I saved the reputation of this family. You may not carry the blood, but your existence splashes mud on all of us.”

Each word felt like a nail hammered into her ribs.

Noora tried to look away, but he held her fast.

“And don’t assume I did it out of kindness,” he added, voice lowering, dangerous. “Everything comes with a price… sweetheart.”

Her eyes stung. The sting wasn't from his grip but from the part of her that once cared.

Once hoped. Hoped that after all, he still might have some humanity left.

She couldn’t believe she'd ever looked at him with anything but hate.

“What’s the price?” she snapped, her voice rough but defiant.

Luciano’s lips twisted into something cruel and amused. “Do you think you can afford it?”

Her nostrils flared. “Just say it.”

He finally let go of her chin. The sudden release sent her back onto the pillow, heart pounding in rage.

“You’ll work for me,” he said. “At Richardson Corp. Three months.”

Her breath caught. No.

This wasn’t just a demand.

This was punishment.

Her blood drained from her face. She knew what this meant—control, humiliation, being dragged into his world only to be trampled under his shoes.

Luciano leaned closer again, watching her unravel. “What now? Scared?”

His hand returned to her chin, harder this time, pinching. Her eyes watered, not from pain, but fury.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she gritted. “No matter how close you drag me… you won’t destroy me, Luciano. I’ll repay every debt, with interest.”

That fire. That defiance. He should’ve walked away after last night… but this girl didn’t just bruise, she burned. And the very fire sparked an inferno in him.

His smirk turned dark, dangerous. “Glad to hear it. Because that’s not all you’ll be paying back.”

Her pulse jumped. “What… do you mean?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stared.

And then—slowly—he reached for the top button of his shirt.

Noora’s breath hitched.

Her lips parted as her eyes widened in panic. “Don’t—”

Luciano’s fingers paused at the second button, his eyes locked on hers, daring her to look away.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” he said coolly. “I thought you weren’t afraid to face your actions and the consequences.”