TAKE ME, RUIN ME CHAPTER 4

TAKE ME, RUIN ME CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4: GHOSTS OF THE PAST

My brain is buzzing like a hive of disturbed bees. I sit there, frozen in front of his massive desk, gazing at him with a sudden rush of blood to my skull that makes me feel lightheaded and dizzy. I reach out a hand to steady myself against the leather back of the guest chair, my mind racing through every face I’ve ever known.

"I am sorry, sir. I don't understand," I manage to whisper. "What do you mean? Have we met before?"

He lets out a dry scoff and shakes his head, a slight, cynical chuckle escaping his lips. He looks away for a moment, as if the irony of the situation is almost too much for him to handle. "Of course," he says, his voice dripping with a bitter kind of amusement. "How are you supposed to remember me? You wouldn't. You definitely wouldn't."

He turns his gaze back to me, and for a second, I see a flash of old pain behind that icy blue stare. "Because you were all too perfect in those days, Aria. And I? I was your footstool. So, it’s believable that a lot has obviously changed since then."

I find myself frowning deeply, my eyebrows knitting together in total confusion. What the hell is he blabbering on about? I’ve never seen this man in my life—at least, not a version of him that looks like this. He seems to notice the genuine bewilderment on my face, and instead of getting annoyed, it actually seems to amuse him.

He chuckles and pushes himself up from his seat. He begins to walk around the heavy mahogany table, moving slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand up immediately also and remain pinned to the spot, completely entranced by his captivating gaze. He continues to walk over until he is only a few feet away from me. He is so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his large frame. He is impossibly tall—gigantic, really. I have to lift my head up and up just to keep looking into his eyes.

He looks down at me, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as I tilt my head back. "Well, this is a disappointment," he says. "I was hoping you would recognize me immediately. It would have saved me the trouble of introducing myself all over again. I always love the shock factor these days, but you’re still puzzled as fuck."

I stay silent, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"It's me, Aria," he says, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. "Adrian. From high school. The fat, simpy kid who had a massive crush on you. The one you rejected because you felt he was not your type and way below your league."

I blink, my mouth falling open slightly. No way. There is absolutely no way the man standing in front of me is Adrian. The image of the old Adrian plays in my head like a grainy film strip from a decade ago. Back in high school, he was soft, round, and quiet. He wore oversized clothes to hide a body he was ashamed of. Looking at the man in front of me now—with his razor-sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and a chest that looks like it was carved out of granite—it feels impossible. It would take a lifetime of brutal workouts to get this fit. Did he do some kind of full-body surgery?

I can barely organize my senses. I stare at him with pure disbelief, my eyes roaming over the transformation. He is smiling now, a wide, triumphant grin. I can see he is absolutely enjoying my reaction. He’s feeding on my shock.

I quickly look away, feeling a flush of heat creep up my neck. He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. "You must be surprised, right?" he asks.

I grit my teeth, feeling a sudden surge of defensiveness.

"I bet you never expected things would turn out like this," he continues, circling me like a shark. "That I would become your boss. That I would finally be the one above you. Fit, powerful, and no longer the fat kid you laughed at."

I swallow hard, the weight of the situation crashing down on me. If this is the same Adrian I remember, I am truly doomed. I remember how the popular crowd treated him, and while I wasn't the leader of the pack, I certainly didn't stop them.

"I bet you didn't see that coming, right?" he whispers, stepping even closer. "All those years you tortured me emotionally. You made me feel so bad about myself. You downgraded me every chance you got..."

"Okay, I am sorry, okay?" I say immediately, my voice cracking. I can't handle the guilt and the fear mixing together in my chest.

He chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. "Sorry? 'Sorry' can't rewrite the past, Aria. What you need to know is that you, and your crew, and that entire school damaged me so badly I had to visit therapy for years."

He steps closer until I feel the solid, unyielding heat of his chest against my shoulder. He isn't giving me any breathing space. I try to put my hands up to push him away, to create some distance between us, but he doesn't budge. He’s like a brick wall.

"No, baby girl," he murmurs, his eyes darkening. "We are going to talk about this whether you like it or not."

Fuck, I curse internally. I exhale a shaky breath, feeling the walls of the office closing in. Life is such a terrible, twisted thing. I spent my night being tormented by a husband who hates me, only to come to work and find a ghost from my past who wants revenge.

"You should know that now is my moment of payback," he says.

I swallow and look down at the ground, unable to meet those piercing blue eyes. He moves even closer, leaning his head down until I can feel his warm breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of my neck.

Oh God. Why can't I suddenly breathe? He smells incredible—like expensive sandalwood and something dangerous. No. No. Steel yourself, Aria, I scream at myself. You are a married woman. You have a husband.

He suddenly grabs my waist and pins me back against his desk. I let out a sharp gasp as he forces me to turn around and look at him. He presses his body up against mine, trapping me between his heavy frame and the hard edge of the table. For some strange reason—maybe it's the shock, or maybe it's the sheer power he radiates—I find that I can't push him away. My muscles feel weak.

His face is only a few inches apart from mine. I gulp, my eyes darting between his. He is so close. So fucking close that if I move even an inch, our lips are going to touch. A crazy, reckless part of my brain starts wondering what those lips would taste like.

Fuck, Aria. Shut up. Focus!

He smiles at me, clearly noticing the effect he is having on me. He can see my pulse jumping in my neck. He can feel my shallow breathing. Nope. I am not going to give him that satisfaction. I am not going to let him see how much he’s rattling me.

I turn my head to look away, but he reaches up, grabbing my chin with a firm hand and forcing me to look back at him. Crap.

He smiles, his gaze flickering down to my mouth. "Now, answer me this question, oh beautiful Aria. Am I your type now?"

His gaze lingers on my lips, forcing me to bite down hard on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I see his pupils dilate, his breathing becoming as heavy as mine.

"Fuck, you have grown even hotter than you were," he mutters. He suddenly pulls me into a tight hug, crushing me against him. I gulp, my heart stopping.

"No, wait. Don't—" I start to protest.

He chuckles and only holds me tighter. He begins to trace his hands up and down my spine, his touch firm and possessive. I feel a wave of intense shivers travel through me, and a small gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it. He chuckles again, leaning his ear toward me.

"If you don't want to cause a ruckus, baby girl, I would advise that you cooperate," he whispers. I feel his hand travel down lower, sliding behind me until it rests heavily on the swell of my ass.

God, he is a pervert. On a normal day, I would have slapped him across the face and walked out. But I can't. I'm paralyzed. And more than that, the sensation is overwhelming. I can't remember the last time I have been touched like this—like I actually belonged to someone, like I was wanted. Daniel barely gives me the time of day. I haven't even had sex or an orgasm in about a year. My body is betraying me, responding to a man I should be running from.

Fuck, I am screwed.

I shiver involuntarily against him, and he chuckles again near my ear. "Nice. I like that reaction. Wanna know what it means?"

I can't reply. I am having a total internal war. My mind is screaming danger, but my body is humming with a life I thought was dead. He chuckles one last time, his grip tightening around my hips my core throbs.

"It means you belong to me."

Oh, fuck.

I keep my eyes locked on his, but my brain is a frantic mess of static. He leans closer, effectively seizing all my chances of escaping. He presses his rigid, strong frame against me, his hands firm and heavy against my hips, grounding me to the edge of the desk. I watch, mesmerized and terrified, as his lips move closer to mine. His breath hitches, a jagged sound that vibrates in the small space between us.

Fuck, don't give in, Aria.

I scream the words at myself internally, but my body isn't listening. Something deep inside me wants this. It wants to be noticed, to be touched, to be desired by someone—even if that someone is a ghost seeking revenge. What is he doing to me?

Fuck.

The moment he is only a breath away from pressing those delicious-looking lips against mine, the reality of my life crashes down on me like a tidal wave. I can't keep it together anymore. The image of my mother, of the mansion, and of the ring on my finger flashes before my eyes.

"Wait! Stop! I am married!"

The words burst out of me, loud and desperate. Time seems to freeze. He stops instantly, his lips a mere inch away from mine. He stays there for a heartbeat, his eyes searching mine, before he slowly pulls away. He looks at me with a mix of shock and confusion, as if I had suddenly grown two extra heads right in front of him.

I am panting now, my chest heaving as I scramble to pull away from him. This time, he doesn't hold me back. He lets his hands drop from my hips, stepping back to give me the space I so desperately needed just seconds ago.

"What did you say?" he asks, his voice low and strained.

I let out a long, ragged sigh, trying to find my voice. "I said I am married. So... what you are doing is wrong. We can't do this."

He stands there, staring at me for a few long minutes. I swear his eyes glisten for a second, looking glassy and pained, as if he is actually about to cry. The sight of it tugs at something in my chest, but I don't move.

"Fuck!" he curses suddenly.

He spins away from the table, pacing back and forth across the expensive rug like a caged animal. He runs a hand through his hair, his composure completely shattered.

"Get out," he requests, his voice harsh. The sudden dismissal takes me completely off guard.

Crap. Did I do something wrong? Did I just turn a weird moment of tension into a total disaster?

"What?" I ask, my voice small.

"I said get out!" he snaps, pointing toward the door without looking at me.

I gulp, my throat feeling tight. I quickly gather my things, my hands shaking so hard I almost drop my phone. I turn and head for the door, my mind spinning with a thousand questions.

Now the real question is: does that "get out" mean I am fired and should never come back, or does it just mean I should return to my desk and wait for the next storm to hit? Either way, I know one thing for sure—my life just got a whole lot more complicated.