All Chapters of His To Ruin: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The Wolfe estate no longer resembled a mansion. By the time the sun climbed above the horizon, it had been transformed into a fortress.Iron gates clanged shut, chains locking into place like prison bars. Guards in black tactical uniforms flooded the grounds, radios crackling with clipped orders. No car entered, no servant left. Every door was bolted, every window latched. The house, once alive with the bustle of florists and planners, now breathed fear.Victor Wolfe stood at the center of it all like a general preparing for war. His tailored suit was half buttoned, his hair still disheveled from the early hours, but his presence was electrified, dangerous.“She didn’t vanish into thin air,” he barked, pacing before the line of trembling staff gathered in the grand hall. “She had help. Someone in this house opened a door, carried a bag, left a post. Someone thinks they’re clever enough to betray me.” His eyes swept over them like a blade. “I will find them. And when I do..." He snapped

Robert Wolfe was a man who believed silence was the sharpest weapon in his arsenal. Noise was for men who had nothing else to offer, men like his son Victor who thought rage equaled power. Robert knew better. Rage clouded, rage exposed. Strategy killed.The study smelled of smoke and oak, curtains drawn to keep the morning light at bay. The shattered whisky glass from the night before had already been swept away, though Robert could still see the stain bleeding faintly into the carpet fibers. He sat behind his desk, hands clasped, and waited as one of his men returned with a phone pressed into his palm.His voice was low, clipped. “Call Mercer back. Tell him the retraction is coming. Immediate.”The man nodded, no questions asked, and disappeared again.Extraction. That was the word Robert had used. Cold. Clean. Not a trace of softness to it. He gave no further instructions aloud, but his men knew what it meant, and a message would be sent soon to killian or anybody that helps him , a

The burner phone buzzed against the table.A sharp, vibrating sound that cut through the silence of the safehouse like a blade.Ivy was asleep again. it was as if she had not had any good sleep in months, her head pressed against my chest, her hand curled over my heart as if she could anchor me there. I’d spent hours listening to her breathing, memorizing the rhythm. For the first time in years, I felt something close to peace.And then that damned phone lit up.Unknown number.But I knew.I stared at it, jaw locked, blood turning molten in my veins. I should’ve thrown it into the fire the second I brought Ivy here, but part of me had been waiting for this. Expecting it.The Wolfe don’t let go. Not without blood.The phone buzzed again.Ivy stirred, whispering my name. I pressed a kiss to her hair, forcing calm I didn’t feel.“Go back to sleep,” I said, my voice a gravelled lie.Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t push. She trusted me. And that was the cruelest part.Because when I sl

The Wolfe mansion gleamed under the midday sun, but inside, the air felt weighted, like a storm pressing against glass.Robert sat at the head of the long mahogany table, every inch of him a portrait of control, shoulders squared, movements deliberate, expression carved into cold stone. Victor paced at the far end, the energy in him frantic, restless, spilling into every corner of the room.The phone on the table buzzed once, discreet, and Robert picked it up. He listened in silence, his expression never shifting.“The extraction is complete,” the voice reported.Robert’s eyes narrowed, though his tone remained calm, clinical. “Hold position. Secure until further instruction.”He ended the call and set the receiver down with surgical precision, as though he were placing a scalpel back on a tray. He didn’t need to pace, didn’t need to shout orders. His control was absolute. He had always known where this game was heading. Killian, for all his arrogance, was still walking a path Robert h

The walls of the safe house hum with silence. Not the kind that feels oppressive, but the kind that teases me with a taste of freedom I am not sure I will ever fully have yet. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe without victor’s shadow crawling across my skin. There are no locked doors here, no eyes watching every step, no whispers of disobedience waiting to be punished.Here, the air smells of dust and paper, the faint musk of old wood, and Killian’s cologne lingering in the fabric of the room. Here, I am not caged. And yet, I am not free either.But I like this freedom. Freedom is a strange thing, fragile, fleeting. I can feel it brushing against me like a breeze through an open window, but just as quickly, it threatens to slip away. Victor and his father are out there, plotting, waiting. Victor doesn’t let go of what he thinks belongs to him. He never has.I sit curled up on the couch, notebook abandoned in my lap. My thoughts refuse to settle. The burner