Chapter 5. Ruin Me, I Dare You

Grace narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

William clenched his jaw, his gaze sharp. "Who told you to wear something that provocative?"

Provocative?

Grace immediately fired back. "William, can you just speak clearly?"

He looked down, eyes landing on her ridiculously short skirt. "Your thighs are almost completely out. You really want everyone to see that?"

She followed his gaze. 'Yeah, it is short,' she thought.

Clara had picked the skirt. Earlier, giggling, her best friend had said, "Grace, you keep hiding those legs, no one even knows how stunning your body really is. Tonight, let’s show San Francisco who’s got the best damn legs."

The memory almost made her smile. But now, she just raised one brow and gave him a tiny smirk, a challenge lingering behind her eyes. "So, William. You’ve been looking at my legs?"

He didn’t answer right away. He leaned back against the hallway wall, posture relaxed, but tension buzzed beneath his cool exterior.

Grace slowly lifted her right leg just a little, enough to show off the length of her toned leg. Then she lowered it again. Her skirt rode up for a second, flashing the edge of her thigh before the fabric fell back down.

No words needed. The message was clear.

William stared. "Wh-what are you doing, Grace?"

She gave him the smallest of smiles. "Just curious," she said softly. "Which do you like better—my legs or Camila’s?"

His eyes flicked to her face. Her hair fell around her in soft waves, like it belonged there, like every strand knew exactly how to highlight her beauty. Her features were smooth, but there was something in her expression now—sharper, colder. Something dangerous.

She was still a good girl. But good girls can learn how to play too.

Last night, William had caught a glimpse of the shy girl with glasses and a nervous smile. But tonight, the woman standing in front of him didn’t flinch. She didn’t hide. She owned the space between them.

A strange feeling twisted in his chest. Familiar. Uninvited. A déjà vu he didn’t ask for.

Grace’s voice cut in again, steady and sharp. "Come on. Just answer me. Did Camila ever wrap those pretty legs around your waist?"

Everyone in San Francisco knew about William and Camila. Their teenage love had been messy and reckless, all heat and no brakes.

So yeah. Of course those long legs had clung to him.

How else would he still be this stuck?

Camila was the lucky one. She got the guy everyone else wanted. And William—he never once raised his voice at her.

His breathing changed, grew slightly uneven. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he took two slow steps forward.

"Didn’t think you’d be this desperate," he said coldly. "So thirsty for a man’s touch you had to pay eight of them?"

That one hit. Not like a stab—more like a slow burn to the chest. But Grace held her ground.

"You’re right," she said flatly. "If you couldn’t satisfy me, then it makes sense I’d look elsewhere."

She started walking past him, voice calm. "We signed the divorce papers, didn’t we? Finally, I get to choose someone who’s not a boring disappointment like you."

There it was. The line she maybe shouldn’t have crossed.

Not a boring disappointment?

William snapped. He spun around, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her back.

In one swift motion, his hand gripped her chin. His thumb brushed her lips, pressing lightly. Testing. For softness? For anger? For something in between?

"You’re trying to provoke me, aren’t you?" he said, voice low, each word soaked in sarcasm, a threat dressed like a whisper.

Grace didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed locked on his, calm but charged.

He stepped in even closer. Their faces were barely an inch apart. His gaze drilled into hers, peeling back the calm she wore like armor.

"Keep dreaming. I’ll never touch you. The only woman I’ve ever loved is Camila."

The only one he ever loved... was Camila.

A dull pain spread in Grace’s chest. Not sharp. But deep, creeping, slow. Not a gaping wound—just quiet destruction. But she’d never let him see it. Especially not William.

So she smiled. Cold and controlled.

Right then, a soft voice called from somewhere behind them.

"William."

Grace turned instinctively. But Camila hadn’t stepped into view yet. Her voice alone was enough to pull attention like gravity.

Camila. San Francisco’s darling. Her sweet smile, those red lips, porcelain skin. Years of ballet gave her the body of a painting—graceful, untouchable.

William let go of Grace and moved toward Camila without hesitation. His eyes softened—gentler, warmer. A look Grace had never seen on him before.

"You came," he said softly.

Camila nodded, then glanced at Grace. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That woman. Is she... ?"

Camila didn’t recognize her.

But Grace? She never forgot Camila.

Everyone thought they were stepsisters. But there was no blood tying them together. Grace and Camila weren’t related—not through their fathers, not through their mothers. Patrick wasn’t Grace’s real dad. He just married her mom after her dad passed away. And after her mom died too, Patrick remarried. This time, to Camila’s mother.

Once upon a time, Grace had a real family. Her dad, Jonathan, and her mom, Vivian, loved her fiercely. Her dad used to lift her into the air, laughing, saying, "My little Grace, you’ll always be happy. I promise."

Until the day he died in a car crash. Everything changed after that.

Her mom married Patrick not long after. And within a year, she was gone too. Dead. Just like Jonathan.

Patrick didn’t stay single for long. He married Camila’s mom, and suddenly, Grace was the outsider in her own home.

From then on, her name slowly disappeared from the family’s mouth. The new parents were cold. Unfair.

If Camila got a 99 on her test and Grace got a perfect score, Melanie would smack her hand with a ruler and say, "Why do you always have to win? Let your sister have one. Just once."

When Camila’s autoimmune illness started, her hair began falling out. She cried, staring at the strands on her pillow.

Melanie stood in the doorway with wet eyes, then quietly called for Grace. Without saying much, she picked up the clippers.

"Now you’re both ugly," she whispered. "Camila won’t feel alone."

Every night, Melanie, Patrick, and Camila would laugh together in their shared bed.

Meanwhile, Grace sat outside the door, hugging her torn-up doll, whispering through tears, "Mama... I’m scared..."

And then came the day Camila made it clear: a mother can only have one daughter.

It rained hard that day.

Melanie took Grace for a drive, out past the city. And left her.

A small girl, soaked and shaking, Grace ran after the car, yelling through the downpour:

"Mom! Don’t leave me! I promise I’ll be nice to Camila! I’ll give her everything! I won’t complain again! Just hug me! I’m scared..."

She tripped into a muddy ditch. Her doll slipped from her hand.

Through the sheets of rain, she watched the car disappear down the road.

Grace never forgot. Especially not Camila’s words.

---

Riley suddenly stepped forward.

"Camila... that’s your sister. Grace."

Camila’s eyes went wide. Her face turned pale. "Grace...?"

Of course she never saw Grace as a sister. Grace was a shadow.

Back then, she was told to lose. As they got older, Camila shined—ruling San Francisco’s elite, snagging the most sought-after heir, William Donovan himself.

Worshipped. Protected. Loved.

Camila never needed to see Grace again.

William’s friends were all watching now. Riley muttered under his breath, "Damn... Grace really looks like that now?"

Camila stood still, eyes locked on her.

This wasn’t the girl she abandoned in the rain.

Camila stepped forward, arms crossed, looking her up and down. "So now you dress like me, huh?"

Grace chuckled, fearless. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. "If that makes you happy to believe, go ahead."

She smiled—cool, controlled. The light above caught her face just right.

Camila scoffed, then turned sweetly toward William. Like nothing had just happened.

"Heard you’re divorcing William. Guess you’re really that desperate for attention—clubbing like that? So sad. If I were you, I’d get a job."

Grace just smiled again. This time, it was pure mockery.

Then Camila looked at William, voice sugary and venom-laced. "Will, she took care of you for three years. Even maids get paid. Give her a job."

William didn’t respond. Still staring at Grace.

Riley raised an eyebrow, voice calm but laced with sarcasm.

"Camila, you kinda need a degree for pretty much everything these days."

Camila just gave a small smile, her tone soft as always.

"Oh... but Grace dropped out of high school."