Library

Maghanap

Home / Romance / His To Ruin / Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

Lahat ng Kabanata ng His To Ruin: Kabanata 121 - Kabanata 130

235 Kabanata

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-one: The weight of ivy’s disappearance

Night fell heavy over the Wolfe mansion, but the glow from the long dining table carried no warmth. The Lancasters sat stiff on one side, the Wolfes opposite, the two families bound by an alliance that now threatened to unravel under the weight of whispers and speculation.The wedding that should have been celebrated today had dissolved into scandal. Outside, the media spun wild tales: that Ivy had run away, that ivy is unwilling to marry Victor Wolfe, that Victor had been betrayed in front of the world, that Victor might be an asshole not a Prince Charming like everyone thinks. Inside, the truth was messier, and far more dangerous.Robert Wolfe poured himself a glass of wine with unhurried calm, his silver hair catching the light. “We cannot allow the world to think the Wolfes have been slighted. Appearances are everything. A statement must go out before midnight.”Victor shifted in his chair, eyes sunken, jaw tight. “The statement should make one thing clear, Killian abducted Ivy. He

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two: The Morning Lies

Morning comes slow inside the safehouse.I wake with sunlight cutting in through the blinds, thin golden lines painting across the sheets. For the first time in what feels like forever, my body isn’t braced for a door to slam, a command to bark, or footsteps to drag me back into submission. The silence here is different, it doesn’t cage me, it frees me.I lie still, just breathing. The mattress is firm, the air faint with dust and the scent of old wood, but it feels safer than silk sheets in the Wolfe mansion ever did. Beside me, Killian moves, his arm brushing against me as he shifts awake. He doesn’t speak at first, he rarely does in the mornings. His presence is enough, steady, grounding, the kind of constant I’ve longed for without even realizing it.For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe I’m free.But the world has sharp ways of reminding me that freedom never comes without a price.The muted glow of a small television in the corner flickers on, its blue light catching my att

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three: The Phone Call

The burner buzzed against the table, its screen lighting up in the dim safe house.Killian froze.Ivy, curled beneath the blanket on the worn couch, stirred. Her eyes opened, bleary with half sleep, but instantly sharp. They both knew that sound meant trouble, no one had this number unless the Wolfe.Killian let it ring once more before picking up. He didn’t say hello, only waited. Silence stretched, then a familiar voice slid down the line like oil.“Killian,” Robert Wolfe said, calm as ever. “You’ve made quite the spectacle.”Ivy’s hand clutched the blanket tighter.Killian leaned back in his chair, his tone measured, flat. “You called me to waste my time?”Robert chuckled softly. “I called because, unlike my son, I am a man who understands strategy. You’ve put yourself in a position that can only end one of two ways. Return what isn’t yours, and perhaps I’ll consider showing you a measure of mercy.”Killian’s jaw flexed. “Mercy,” he repeated, like the word itself amused him.“Yes.”

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four: Mine to Claim

The room was still humming from the venom of Robert Wolfe’s voice, the cold steel of his threat lingering in the air long after the burner phone went dead. I could still hear his words echoing, sharp as glass. Return Ivy. She is not yours to keep.But it wasn’t Robert’s cruelty that gripped me. It was Killian’s response.He hadn’t faltered. He hadn’t bartered me like some item of leverage. He hadn’t hesitated to cut his step father’s script into shreds with a voice that was deep, steady, and absolute: She isn’t a bargaining chip. She stays with me. She chose. She isn’t something you get to take back.Chosen.The word replayed in my chest like a heartbeat. He didn’t just say it to them. He said it to me, too. Out loud. In front of the shadow that had always tried to reduce me to a pawn, Killian had stood like a wall and declared me his equal.I didn’t know what burned hotter, my anger at Robert’s attempt to erase me, or the ache curling low in my body, sharp and sudden, when Killian ref

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five: A Love to believe in.

The night was quiet, but I couldn’t sleep.The sheets were tangled around us, Ivy’s bare body soft and warm against mine, her breathing steady with the deep rhythm of dreams. The moonlight leaking through the curtains touched her face like silver, painting her skin with a glow that made her look unreal, like she belonged to some world better than this one.And yet here she was. In my bed. In my arms.I’d spent years building myself into a fortress, a man untouched by sentiment. Love was a word I’d never trusted, too fragile, too dangerous. I’d seen what it did to men. it made them weak, reckless, willing to bleed themselves dry for a woman who could still turn and walk away. I had sworn I would never let that be me.And also, I have never truly felt love, to closest I ever felt was Mrs B and it was motherly. I grew up with a mother who never stood up against her husband for me and in a home where there is no love between me and my brother. Robert have always considered me below Victor

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six: The Ghost in the Frame

The room still smells like her.The faint sweetness of Ivy’s skin clings to the sheets, tangled with sweat, heat, and the sharp edge of release. The safehouse is quiet, the kind of silence you only notice after chaos, too fragile, too thin, like a thread waiting to snap.She’s curled against me, her breath warm where her face rests against my chest. Her body is soft, heavy with the exhaustion of sleep, and for once, she looks at peace. I should close my eyes and drift with her. For hours, we fought for that peace with our bodies, needing each other like oxygen.But the world never sleeps.The sharp buzz cuts through the dark like a blade.My eyes snap open. The burner phone, tossed onto the nightstand, lights up with a glow that feels like poison. For a moment, I don’t move. My heart pounds once, hard, as though it already knows this isn’t another empty threat.I slip away from Ivy carefully, my movements sharp and precise, like I’m diffusing a bomb. She stirs but doesn’t wake.The pho

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven: Carrying the weight of his Ghost too.

The room was still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, the sheets twisted around our bare bodies, but it was the sound that woke me, the low, insistent vibration cutting through the silence.At first, I thought I was dreaming. Then I felt Killian’s body shift beside me. The bed dipped as he reached for the burner phone on the nightstand. His movements were sharp, almost violent, as though even touching the device burned him.The vibration stopped. For a moment, all I heard was his ragged breathing. Then it buzzed again, angrier, more insistent.He answered.Not with words, not with a greeting. Just silence. The kind that makes your skin crawl. Then I heard the faint click of a message received.When I turned to him, his face was carved from stone. Only his eyes betrayed him, wide, hollow, flickering with something I couldn’t place. Fear? Rage? Pain?The phone trembled in his hand.“Killian?” My voice was soft, hushed, like I was afraid of breaking something fragile.He didn’t answer

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty- Eight: The Bound is Mine

The house was quiet at this hour, and Robert Wolfe relished it.In the stillness of his study, the crackle of fire in the hearth was the only sound besides the faint clink of ice in his glass. He sat in his leather chair, the weight of his robe draped over broad shoulders, fingers turning a heavy crystal tumbler of amber whiskey. The scent of oak and smoke filled the air, soothing, familiar.On the desk before him lay a neatly stacked set of files, papers organized with military precision. Some were old reports on acquisitions, others intelligence briefs, still others photographs, each one a piece of the board he had been arranging for decades.His gaze lingered on the single print he’d chosen to send out earlier that night. The photograph was grainy, the figure in it aged and ragged, but unmistakable. Killian Jackson. Alive.Robert let the corner of his mouth tug upward in a faint smile as he sipped his whiskey. He knew Killian had seen it by now. He knew the younger man’s blood would

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine: Blood ask blood

The silence in the room pressed down on me like a second skin. I could hear the faint hum of the city outside, the occasional distant horn, but in here, just the sharp rhythm of Killian’s pacing back and forth across the floorboards.His bare feet made no sound, but his presence was thunder. Shoulders tense, jaw tight, his hands flexed at his sides as though he were holding back from tearing the world apart. The phone, the phone that had delivered the picture of his father, lay abandoned on the nightstand, but its shadow clung to the room.I sat up against the pillows, pulling the sheet higher across my chest. I had never seen Killian look so… raw. Not when Victor taunted him, not when Robert tried to undermine him. This was different. This wasn’t fury directed outward, this was devastation turned inward, tearing him apart piece by piece.“Killian,” I said softly.He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me. He just kept pacing, running a hand through his dark hair until it stood on end.

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty: Ghosts Don’t Stay Buried

I reached across the nightstand, careful not to wake Ivy where she slept curled in the sheets, hair spilled like ink across the pillow. She’d finally drifted off after hours of holding me together, of pressing her warmth into my skin like a promise I didn’t deserve.I thumbed open the phone. And callMy mom. I stared at the picture again. Grainy. Blurry. But unmistakable.My father.Not Robert Wolfe. Not the devil who’d raised me in shadows and coldness. But the man whose blood I carried, the ghost who had haunted me my whole life.Killian Jackson.Alive.The picture was cruel in its simplicity, just him standing in a concrete cell, his hair gone white, skin hollowed by decades, his eyes tired but still burning. A length of chain hung from the wall behind him. His clothes were little more than rags.Alive.My stomach dropped, nausea sweeping through me. For thirty years, Robert had let me believe I was nothing more than a mistake, a bastard abandoned by a dead man.Now? He was here.

PREV

...

...

NEXT

I-scan ang code para mabasa sa App

DMCA.com Protection Status