LOGIN
The Softest Kind of Ruin
Last Updated : 2025-06-08
16
Share:
Report
Nicole Evans never asked to be followed. She never asked for eyes in the dark, for a man like Vane to orbit her life with silence and devotion sharp enough to wound. But obsession doesn’t ask permission. It waits. It watches. It becomes inevitable. What began with missing men and shadows on rooftops soon unraveled into something far more intimate—an assassin who couldn’t let go, and a woman who, piece by piece, stopped trying to make him. As friends vanished and her world narrowed, Nicole found herself drawn toward the very thing she feared most—not out of love, but recognition. In his violence, there was something terrifyingly tender. In his silence, something that listened more closely than anyone else ever had. Theirs is not a love story in any ordinary sense. It’s a descent—a long, slow collapse into dependency, into surrender. A story told in bruises and shared tea, in blood and in stillness. A quiet unraveling that doesn’t end in escape, but in a house by the sea, where memory lingers and echoes never fade. Some stories don’t ask to be understood. Only remembered.
View MoreChapter 1
The Arrangement
Nicole's fingers danced across the spines of the books, gently adjusting their positions. She wanted to create an alluring display, one that would capture the attention of passersby. The vibrant covers were like a painter’s palette, and Nicole was the artist, carefully crafting her masterpiece.
She stepped back, eyes narrowing as she scrutinized her handiwork. A slight tilt here, a nudge there—she was determined to find the perfect arrangement.
The bookstore was her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in worlds spun by strangers. But today, she wanted the store itself to feel like one of those worlds: warm, magnetic, impossible to walk past without stepping inside. With a final satisfied nod, she admired the colorful display.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes watched from across the room—silent, curious, calculating.
She had worked at this little independent bookstore for just over a year, ever since graduating university. It wasn’t the career she had envisioned, but it offered a comforting simplicity. The scent of paper, the rustle of turning pages, the quiet shuffle of feet on worn wooden floors—these were the constants that anchored her. They made her feel like she belonged in a way she hadn’t since crossing the stage in cap and gown.
Nestled between a café and an art gallery on a narrow street, the bookstore had earned a loyal following. Regulars came like clockwork for their Saturday morning browse, their familiar faces a soothing presence. Most days, Nicole faded into the background, rearranging books, dusting shelves, or chatting with the occasional customer who loved stories as much as she did.
But today, something felt off. A subtle restlessness hung in the air—nothing overt, just a quiet hum beneath the usual stillness. She found herself more aware of the people around her. A couple near the back caught her attention, speaking in hushed tones.
Nicole wasn’t one for gossip, and she wasn’t in the habit of eavesdropping. But some conversations slipped through the cracks, carried on low voices with sharp edges.
"Did you watch the news last night? They found the body of a bank manager in the alley on Colonel Street. They think it might be Vane—the assassin. Same wounds as the other cases," one customer whispered, voice barely audible.
Nicole froze behind the shelf, her hand lingering on a book’s spine. Vane. Assassin. The words hit like cold water.
"What? You really think it’s him? The media loves a good story. Probably just a serial killer," the other replied, skeptical but intrigued.
She pretended to straighten the decorations nearby, though her mind raced. The name Vane wasn’t new—she’d heard whispers. An assassin who moved like a ghost, killing with precision, leaving behind only fear. A myth to some, a nightmare to others.
“Isn’t Colonel Street close by?” one of them asked, their voice edged with unease. The conversation faded, the tension lingering like fog. Nobody wanted to talk about it anymore, but the silence said more than words could.
Nicole returned to the shelves, trying to shake the unease. It was probably nothing. Just rumors. Urban legends. Still, her hands moved slower than before. She was brought back to the present by the sound of approaching footsteps. She glanced up as the customer who had been whispering came to the counter. He offered her a sheepish smile, perhaps embarrassed for speaking so freely. Nicole responded with a polite, professional nod.
She turned back to her task—then froze. A prickling crawled up the back of her neck. She looked up slowly, and her eyes met his.
A stranger stood across the store, lingering near the romance section. She hadn’t seen him come in. His gaze was fixed on her. Unblinking. Cold. Sharp.
Everything around her seemed to blur, the store’s gentle hum drowned by the thudding of her own heartbeat. The man’s stare felt invasive, like he saw something no one else did.
She quickly looked away, her pulse quickening. There was something in that stare—something that sent a chill crawling down her spine. Focus, she told herself. Just a weird customer. It happens.
But the name Vane echoed again in her mind.
The bell above the door jingled. The stranger was gone.
Relief came in a wave, but it didn’t last. Even with him gone, she felt as though his presence still lingered. Watching. Waiting.
She took a deep breath and reached for another book, her hands trembling slightly.
Then she saw it.
Tucked into the pages of a book on the bottom shelf was a folded piece of paper. Her breath caught. She knelt slowly, pulling it free. The paper was creased, hurriedly folded.
She unfolded it.
A single line, scrawled in jagged handwriting:
Vane’s closer than you think. Don’t trust anyone who talks about him. The hunt is just beginning.
Latest chapter
The Softest Kind of Ruin Where the Fog Gathers
The house was small.Just three rooms and a crooked porch that moaned with every passing breeze. It sat on the edge of a coastal town where the fog rolled in like memory—soft and heavy, blurring the edges of everything.Nicole stood barefoot on the porch, a chipped mug warming her hands. The tea had long gone cold. She wasn’t waiting for anything. But she watched, always. The ocean stretched out before her like a wound stitched in salt and silence. Behind her, the house creaked—settling, shifting. Breathing.Or maybe it was him.She didn’t flinch when the patio door opened. Keiran moved behind her, quiet as always. But she knew his presence now the way one knows the weight of their own shadow. He didn’t speak. He never did in the mornings. Instead, he stood close. Let their silence touch. Let the wind carry whatever hadn’t been said.They had been there three months. Maybe four. No phones. No internet. No names. At the edge of town, the locals called them the quiet couple. She someti
Last Updated : 2025-06-08The Softest Kind of Ruin The Kettle Whistled Softly
The kettle whistled softly.Nicole stood at the stove, one hand curled around the handle of a chipped mug, the other resting absently against her stomach. Steam curled up and fogged the small kitchen window, turning the city outside into a smear of grey. The air smelled like jasmine—and something sharper. Metallic.Behind her, Keiran moved without sound. He always did. But she felt him there. The way the temperature shifted when he entered the room. The quiet tightening in her spine when his gaze lingered too long.She poured the tea. Two cups. She didn’t ask if he wanted one anymore. He always drank it, even if it sat cooling in his hands for hours.There was a rhythm now. A routine stitched together from silence and strange comfort. He slept on the edge of her bed. Sometimes on the floor. Always close. She never asked where he went when he left the apartment. She didn’t ask about the blood she occasionally smelled on his coat, or why the knives in the drawer were always rearranged.
Last Updated : 2025-06-08The Softest Kind of Ruin Where The Door Stayed Open
She let him in.And after that, she never truly closed the door.He remembered the first night—how her fingers trembled when they brushed against his coat. How her eyes lingered, searching for something she couldn’t admit wanting. Not yet. But she would. She always did.Every time he left, he told himself not to return. That space would be mercy. That maybe—just maybe—she would forget him, and he could go back to being nothing. But forgetting wasn’t in her nature. And letting go wasn’t in his.He watched her from the shadows. Always had. He stood across the street from the clinic where she met with the psychologist, noting how she hesitated at the door. Sometimes she didn’t go in at all. She was trying.Her shoulders were straighter now. Chin higher. Like she believed she still had control over her own story. But she didn’t. Not really.Kieran had already threaded himself too deeply into her life. Her rituals. Her silence. Her fear. He saw himself in the bruises she no longer covered.
Last Updated : 2025-06-08The Softest Kind of Ruin A Quiet Descent
She didn’t remember the collapse—only the cold tile beneath her knees, the smell of blood that wasn’t hers, and William, gasping beneath her hands—pressure applied too hard, too late, like trying to stop time with fingers and breath.Then… silence.The doctors called it shock. Dehydration. Acute stress response. Words that circled the truth without touching it. Words that didn’t come close to what it felt like to break.Yvette found her. Three days later. Curled on the bathroom floor. Her body hollowed out, her voice gone. William had already been rushed into surgery. The apartment reeked of old copper and something worse—something missing.There were bandages on her hands—scrapes from broken glass, maybe. A bruise darkened her ribs. A stitched cut on her shoulder she didn’t remember getting.She never asked how Yvette found her. Never asked who called the ambulance. There were bigger things to understand.She spent two nights in the hospital. The walls didn’t feel sterile. They felt
Last Updated : 2025-05-10The Softest Kind of Ruin Still Yours
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Blood glinted under the streetlight, painting the sidewalk in blurred halos. William’s jacket was soaked, clutched to his side, his breath a ragged whisper. Still alive. Barely.The world tunneled around her. Someone was screaming.It took a moment to realize it was her.It had been weeks since she last saw Vane.After that night in the city—his voice, his eyes, the terrible clarity—he vanished. No texts. No sightings. Not even that hum she’d grown used to, the sense of being watched.And that was the most terrifying part. Because she missed it.The silence.The weight of being known.It had wrapped itself around her like a second skin.Then came the message. No envelope. No note. Just a photograph slipped into her coat pocket, though she had no idea when or how.Vane—bloody, unconscious, barely alive. A sterile hospital floor. A shallow pool of blood. A single caption scribbled on the back in blocky, decisive handwriting: "Still yours."He had
Last Updated : 2025-04-26The Softest Kind of Ruin The Lullaby
“I always knew it would end like this.”She hadn’t meant to stay late. But lately, time didn’t behave like it used to. It slipped sideways—soft, ungraspable—folding her days into fog. Hours bled into each other like spilled water, and she drifted through them with the quiet precision of someone performing a life they no longer owned. Smiling. Nodding. Pretending.Everyone thought she was healing. She let them. Wore normalcy like a coat two sizes too big—awkward, heavy, impossible to shrug off.The city tonight felt suspended. The kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe—it warns. Silver light pooled beneath flickering streetlamps. Leaves skated down gutters. Somewhere, music spilled faintly from an open window, but even that felt far away. Disconnected. Like the world was holding its breath.She walked.Not hurried. Not slow. Just enough to feel in control. Her fingers curled around her keys, the jagged metal biting into her palm—a small pain, a sharp reminder: You’re awake. You’re here. The
Last Updated : 2025-04-25
You may also like
Even After Death
Lilting Champ6.6M viewsOur Billion-Worth Twins
Velvet Antler592.0K viewsThe CEO's Ten Million Dollar Wife
R.C.BRIE15664.3K viewsOne night with Ex-Husband
Anjaani526.2K viewsThe President's Accidental Wife
Blue Fruity1.0M viewsTwins in Her Womb: Sir President, Please be Gentle
Heap Heap1.8M views
To Readers
Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.
Comments