All Chapters of His To Ruin: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The world outside the Wolfe estate had teeth tonight.The papers would not stop talking.News vans clustered at the end of the long drive like insects around a light. Reporters flitted across the gravel in dark coats, microphones thrust forward as if they could reach the truth with their poles alone. The flashes from cameras stole the breath from the moon. On social feeds the story had already metastasized; the bride who vanished, the postponed ceremony, the whispered hints that the Wolfe-Lancaster alliance might be a ruin before it ever baked. Bloggers spun theories into headlines; television anchors said “breaking” until the word itself felt worn and meaningless.Robert Wolfe watched it all from his study with the same unhurried, dangerous calm he kept for storms. He sat behind his desk like an old general, hands placed lightly atop a sheaf of briefing papers as if those thin pages contained the architecture of continents. In truth, nations had been born and died under his touch; a c

The door closed with a sound that felt like the end of the world, a metallic echo that sealed the dark around him like a coffin.Killian Jackson didn’t move. He sat there, eyes fixed on the wall that had stared back at him for thirty-three years, breathing through the ache that had begun to rise from his chest, slow, molten, unstoppable.A son.He had a son.And Elena… she had named him Killian.He laughed. A sound that scraped out of his throat like broken glass. It wasn’t laughter. It was disbelief made sound. It died halfway through, strangled by the weight in his lungs.“Killian,” he muttered, the word tasting foreign and holy all at once.The air was damp and cold. His fingers trembled as he pressed them to his face. He could still see the photo Robert Wolfe had shown him, the boy, the man, the son. Broad shoulders, hard jaw, eyes that didn’t flinch. Eyes that could have been his own.Robert had watched him closely, feeding on his silence, on the destruction behind it. That devil

The night stretched thin across the Wolfe estate, all shadows and whispering lights.Robert Wolfe sat alone in his study, the air heavy with the scent of old leather, wood polish, and his untouched whiskey. The fire in the hearth burned low, a faint hiss now and then breaking the stillness. On his desk lay a scattered pile of newspapers, headlines circling like vultures. “No sighting of the bride yet,” one read. “Speculation grows around the Wolfe wedding delay.”Nonsense. The media had always been vultures.What unsettled him tonight wasn’t the noise outside, it was the silence inside.Killian hadn’t reacted.No retaliation, no message, no move. Nothing.Robert tapped a finger against his glass, slow, deliberate. He’d expected fury, recklessness, an explosion. His stepson was impulsive, always had been. Too much like his biological father. But this time? Nothing. Just a void.And Robert Wolfe had always feared the quiet more than the storm.He leaned back, eyes tracing the dark corner

The city had gone dark hours ago, but Robert Wolfe’s mind was far from still.The drive back from the facility was quiet, almost too quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath. The streets blurred past the tinted windows, each passing light a fleeting witness to the thoughts coiling behind his calm, predatory gaze.He thought of Victory Wolfe, his son, his heir in pride and fury, probably drowning himself somewhere in drink. And he thought of Killian Jackson, the man who had survived thirty‑three years in a prison Robert had built with patience and precision. The video he had made would reach his boy soon enough, a carefully placed spark to ignite the storm Robert had been shaping for years.But even that storm had a shadow he couldn’t ignore. Elena.Her silence had been unusual these past days, deliberate in its way, a pause that had begun to gnaw at him. She had always been careful, restrained, but now… it felt like she was hiding something.Of course, he knew she was hid

The safe house was quiet, too quiet. Killian stood by the table, his jaw locked, eyes burning at the laptop screen. The videos were still there, Robert’s voice, his mother’s fear, his father’s broken face. Every frame felt like a blade under his skin.He’d watched them once. That was enough. Enough to know what kind of war he was in now.He slammed the laptop shut and dragged a hand down his face, breathing hard through his teeth. Ivy was sitting on the couch, watching him silently. Her legs were drawn up, a blanket loosely draped over her lap, but her eyes were steady, not frightened, steady in the way only she could be.“Say it,” she whispered. “Whatever’s in your head.”Killian looked up. The air between them was heavy, almost trembling.“He thinks I’ll lose control,” Killian said finally. “That I’ll come running like a dog to his leash. I won’t. I know what to do.”Ivy tilted her head slightly, reading him. “what will you do?”He exhaled slowly, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Hit