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My Ruin, His Supper (21+)
Last Updated:
2025-07-23 17:09:10
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TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN You Hold Me, He Haunts Me
We lay on the bed with the lights off, the only glow coming from the balcony, slipping across the pale linen sheets.Matteo pressed in behind me, one arm locked around my waist. No space. His breath landed steady on my neck, but his grip never fully eased. There was always a hint of pressure, like if he let go, I’d disappear again.I didn’t protest. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t shift. I was just too drained to push anyone out of my bed tonight, and Matteo… he is my husband, even if the word felt more like a business contract than a sacred vow. At least he is familiar. Safe, in the loosest sense of the word.We didn’t talk. No questions from him about what I’d done, where I’d been, or what happened while I was in Zach Romano’s hands. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer anything.Because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid my voice would betray what was happening in my head.The way Zach’s stare could stop me faster than a weapon. The way my body reacted before my brain could say no. The w
TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN Scarred by His Shadow
Dinner at the Serrano house never stayed quiet. Unless you were dead or had just shot someone. I hadn’t done either today, so the clatter of silverware mixed with laughter, muttering, and dramatic stories like always.I scooped arroz con pollo onto my plate for the third time. There were empanadas, arepas, pastelitos, even papaya that Mama swore was good for “spiritual purification.” Me? I’m just hungry. The after-being-kidnapped kind of hungry.“My sweet sister,” Bretta watched me from the far end of the table, her face dipped in telenovela-level concern. “You’re sure you don’t want beet juice? It helps with post-war trauma.”“I prefer post-chili trauma. Thanks.”Mama shot me a look, then piled more empanadas onto my plate like they could rinse my sins away. “If you can still be snarky, you’re not eating enough,” she said. “And you need cleansing. I already called Pastor Rodrigo. He’s coming in the morning.”“Pastor?” I muttered, chewing. “I thought all we needed was a hitman and a t
TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN A Staircase Worth Running For
A few hours after that conversation, I woke again as the plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud. Through the window, Medellín greeted me with a pale pre-dawn sky and the silhouette of mountains framing the city like an old painting.Jevan didn’t say a word as we disembarked. He simply steered me toward the black car already waiting, and before I could ask where we were going, the door shut, the engine roared, and we were gliding out of the airport.The drive to the Serrano mansion always made me feel like a character in a high-end mafia film. A private road cutting through the hillside, lush trees blocking out the rest of the world, and mountain air carrying the scent of wet earth.Once we passed the massive iron gates with the family crest welded into the center, I could see the house from a distance: sprawling, layered with stone balconies, and lined with tall windows catching the first gold of morning light.And in front of it… a crowd.Not strangers. Family. All of th
TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN No More Stone Walls
The helicopter touched down in a town that felt like it belonged in a fairytale, faded old buildings, cobblestone streets, and salty air laced with the scent of toasted bread from cafés that either opened too early or stayed open too late.But that wasn’t what made the place different.What made it special was the fact that no one outside my family dared set foot here without permission.This was Serrano territory. And in Serrano territory, the word “no” was only ever spoken by people who wanted to disappear.The rotor blades slowed, then stopped. Jevan stepped out first and offered his hand. I took it too tightly, but he didn’t let go.My steps felt heavy, but I didn’t say a word. Somehow, any sentence would’ve sounded stupid next to the pounding in my ears.We walked down a narrow path lit by dim yellow streetlights, flanked by two armed men whose faces I vaguely remembered from family meetings years ago. They didn’t look at us, but I knew they were scanning every shadow.Jevan stay
TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN Smoke, Salt, and Serranos
I stepped out of the phone booth, hoping my stride looked purposeful rather than desperate.This old city had layers. Its cobblestone streets twisted and narrowed, crowded with tourists snapping photos of pale-painted walls. Salt-laced sea air drifted through narrow alleys, mixing with the scent of grilled fish and fresh bread.Thirty minutes.Javi said thirty minutes.I grabbed a hoodie from the car seat and pulled it over my head, covering part of my face. I slipped my car key into my pocket, just in case I needed to vanish again. I refused to be caught empty-handed.My pace was fast, but I made sure not to rush. Papa always said, “If you run, everyone runs. But if you walk like you’ve got somewhere to be, only the smartest people realize you’re running away.”I passed a fruit stall. The vendor shouted offers of big oranges. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Momentum mattered.Behind me, the sound of boots clicked on stone. Not tourist boots. Too heavy. Too deliberate.I didn’t turn. I vee
TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN Heartbeat Exit
I waited. Sitting at the edge of the bed like a nun fresh from confession, except my sins weren’t meant to be forgiven.It was 1:00 p.m. when I heard the first sound. A spoon dropped.Then laughter.Then… silence.I stood slowly, cracking the bedroom door open half an inch. The hallway looked normal. No polished shoes clicking on the floor. No whispers over walkie-talkies. Just silence.Too much of it.My first step felt like the first step of a prisoner who didn’t know if they were walking into heaven… or a bullet.I took the west wing. The part of the house that’s usually the most guarded, it’s connected to the service area and the underground garage. Normally, there’d be two armed men stationed at the end of the corridor.Today? One was slumped in a wicker chair, head tilted back, mouth open like a baby after warm milk. The other was passed out sideways on a small couch, one hand still clutching the TV remote.Ah.The sweetness of a small victory tasted better than revenge.I walke
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