Holy Ruin

I didn’t sleep.

Not because I was scared. But because too many things were moving in my head like an old machine that kept ticking long after the power was cut. The layout of this house, the number of steps from my room to the main staircase, the sound difference between leather shoes and rubber soles in the north corridor.

Even the timing between guard shifts.

All of it. Filed away. Neat.

And at three in the morning, when the entire villa felt like it was holding its breath, I started to move.

Bare feet. Quiet steps. My breathing steady in a slow rhythm. The thin linen dress I wore hung loose on my body, silent, unnoticeable.

Hallway after hallway, I passed.

This house was too bright in the daylight, but at night... the darkness felt like snake skin.

Cold. Smooth. Poisoned.

But I knew where I was going: the lower level, east wing. A room I’d seen guarded earlier that day. Large steel doors. A security system too sophisticated for a storage room. I didn’t know what was inside. But I knew it belonged to Zach. And a man like him never hides anything unimportant.

But it wasn’t locked. A mistake. A big one.

The door opened with a soft click, like the room had been waiting for me.

His office.

But it wasn’t just an office. It was more than that. It was the brain of the operation. Dark walls lined with old bookshelves, files stacked with too much precision for a man who didn’t care. At the center, a massive mahogany desk littered with shipping maps, weapons contracts, and... photographs.

Including me.

I stepped closer.

Photos of me taken from different angles. Some from family events. Some... even from the balcony of my apartment in Bogotá. Notes scribbled underneath in sharp, slanted handwriting.

‘Never caught off guard. But always watching everything.’

My throat dried up.

"I figured you'd end up here."

His voice dropped from the shadows. Deep. Flat. Too close.

I spun around fast, stumbling back with panic I couldn’t hide.

Zach stood in the doorway. Black t-shirt. Dark gray sleep pants. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d either just gotten out of bed or just finished doing something that made him sweat.

And his eyes...His blue eyes were as dark as the night outside.

"Securing your own house should be a higher priority," I said flatly.

He didn’t answer. Just stepped inside.

My hand snapped toward the desk and grabbed the nearest object. A metal pen. "Touch me and I’ll stab."

Zach stopped. Two steps from me. He looked at the pen in my hand like it was a plastic toy. "You really think you can get out of here, Mrs. Arriaga?"

"And you really think I’m going to sit still and let myself be used as bait?"

Our eyes locked. My breathing was uneven. My heart pounding against my ribs like it wanted to break free.

Then I ran.

My steps pounded out of the room. Breath fast. The cold wooden floor bit into my soles. I spotted the spiral staircase at the end of the corridor. Took two, three steps at a time. The hallways opened up like a maze. I hit a wall once, but I didn’t stop.

I found a door.

The night air slammed into my face. Damp. Salty. A garden stretched ahead. Dark. Too quiet. I kept running.

Until my foot slipped on wet gravel, and my body hit the ground. Right shoulder first. Then knee. Then face. The earth bit into my skin. Wet grass clung to my cheek.

Shit.

Heavy footsteps followed. Not fast. But steady. Like a predator that knew its prey wasn’t going anywhere.

I tried to get up. My knee screamed. My ankle throbbed.

Then strong arms lifted me. Effortlessly. Like I weighed nothing more than a sack of rice.

"I hate you," I hissed, my breath shaking.

"Good." His voice was low in my ear. "It keeps you alive."

I didn’t care anymore.

My fingers tangled in his hair. Hard. Yanking without guilt. I pulled his head back with fury cloaked in shame, frustration, and something deeper I didn’t want to name.

"Let me go, you bastard!"

He hissed through his teeth. But he didn’t retaliate. His jaw clenched, and his breath grew heavier.

"Try me and you’ll regret it."

I froze.

My hand didn’t release. My fingers stayed buried in his hair. And his eyes—God, his eyes—looked into mine from a distance that felt inhuman. Too close. Too honest.

Too raw.

He didn’t say a word. He only tightened his grip, like my arm was something he’d forged with his own hands. The muscles in his forearm flexed beneath the thin black fabric of his shirt.

I twisted, fought back, elbowed his shoulder, kicked at the air, trying to bruise his pride or at least throw off his balance. But he kept walking.

His steps didn’t falter. Steady. Cold. Like a bullet that already knows exactly where it’s going before it’s fired.

“Let me go right now, you sociopathic son of a—”

“Scream again,” his voice brushed my ear, low and flat, “and I’ll make sure no one hears a sound from you for a week.”

I clawed at his chest. Really clawed. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t snap.

He just... lifted an eyebrow. Slightly. As if pain was a gift and I’d just handed it to him with a bow.

The villa welcomed us again with its expensive silence. Cold air from inside licked against my skin like an invisible whip. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked his hair again, harder this time. Still, he walked.

My body hit the mattress in a soft thud as he threw me onto the bed.

I screamed. “Fucking psychopath—!”

And I slapped him.

My right hand cracked against his cheek with a clean, echoing smack. I felt it in my bones.

Zach didn’t move for a second.

Then he laughed. Short. Rough. Cruel.

And before I could crawl to the edge of the bed to run again, he was already above me. His weight pressed down on my hips. His hands planted on either side of my head. His breath brushed my lips...

Burning. And far too close.

I shoved at his chest. His muscles were tight. Cold steel under my palms.

“Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

Zach didn’t answer. His eyes dropped to my mouth. There was silence between us.

Then he leaned in and claimed it.

Not soft. Not slow. His mouth crashed into mine like fire and fury. Raw. Heated.

I froze.

Every part of me locked up. The fingers that had clutched his shirt just... stopped. The world didn’t crack because of fear or pain.

But because of shock. Because Zach kissed like someone who didn’t believe in love but was too fucking starved to resist closeness.

And when his lips traced down, sliding along my jaw, brushing the side of my neck with slow movements that felt like silk-wrapped threats, something detonated in my stomach.

A warning. A spark.

Something much, much more dangerous.

He came back to my mouth.

This time, he didn’t force it.

He teased it. Just a brush. A pause in breath. As if testing how long I’d hold out.

And I...

I kissed him back.

My lips pulled his in. My tongue met his for a fleeting second. My breath hit his chest.

And something inside me....something that should’ve died a long time ago..lit up.

The kiss turned deeper. Uncontrolled. My fingers found his neck, his hair, gripped it again with a tension that wasn’t resistance anymore. He pushed. I held.

He provoked. I answered.

The world shrank. Down to breath. Skin. Heat. And something between us too brutal to be called affection.

He pulled away first. Slowly. Not rushed. But his eyes still burned with all the fire he hadn’t let go of yet.

I stared at him. My chest rose and fell. 

“Why...?” My voice came out hoarse.

Zach looked at me. No smile. No joke. Just an expressionless face filled with too much. “It shut you up.”