All Chapters of His To Ruin: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The world didn’t stop turning just because I did.Papers still arrived. The sun still rose. Victor still knocked on my door every morning with that worried voices. Not when mother begged me to come out. Not when Victor stopped coming. But I didn’t move.Not really.I stayed curled up in my studio, like the silence could protect me from everything unraveling outside. I played music with no lyrics. Painted over paintings that never felt like enough. Sometimes I danced until my legs gave out. Sometimes I just lay flat on the cold floor, hoping it would freeze the ache from my chest.It didn’t.Nothing did.And then I saw him.The magazine had been slipped under my door. Probably by my mother or a well meaning maid. A glossy, ugly thing. I nearly stepped over it before I saw the name in bold gold letters.Killian Wolfe spirals: Wild nights, new mystery woman.My hands shook as I picked it up.He was on the cover. Disheveled. Sunglasses at night. Lipstick smudged on his jaw that didn’t ma

The last champagne flute had been drained. The string quartet had packed up their instruments. The skyline beyond the rooftop shimmered like the ending of a perfect night.But the perfection was a lie.The guests were gone. Only family remained, clustered in the golden-lit lounge beyond the ballroom, an intimate setting meant for final toasts and soft goodbyes. Ivy sat beside her father, posture tight, the weight of her dress heavy now, the way silk felt after too many hours in the spotlight.Victor stood near the bar, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched, flanked by his parents like the crown prince of a carefully constructed kingdom. His smile had cracked hours ago. Now, he just watched. Waiting.Killian had kept his distance all night. Not one glance. Not one word. He stood by the far windows, coat already slung over one shoulder as if ready to leave.And he was.Until Victor’s voice cut through the air like a blade.“You’re leaving already, Killian?” His tone was smooth, deceptively c

The night air hit like a slap the second I walked out the ballroom doors. Cold. Loud. Too real.My feet moved fast, like they knew where to go before I did, just away. Away from the golden lounge, the shattered silence, Victor’s twisted smirk, Ivy’s tear filled eyes. Away from the chaos that exploded after he opened his venomous mouth and dragged everything into the light.The party had been hosted in one of the most prestigious rooftop venues in the city. The kind with glass walls and velvet couches and a view designed to impress. But all I saw now was the hollow shell of it. The cleanup crews were already inside, clearing away the evidence of what was supposed to be a celebration.What a joke.I didn’t stop walking until I hit the parking structure beneath the venue. My car was waiting. I got in. Drove. Didn’t care where.Victor’s voice still echoed in my skull, each word sharp, slicing, perfectly calculated to humiliate Ivy and paint me as the bastard he always wanted me to be.And

The study was dimly lit, thick with cigar smoke and old silence. The doors of the study slammed shut with a weight that echoed like a final verdict.Robert Wolfe didn’t look up. He poured a double scotch into the crystal glass with the precision of a man who controlled everything in his world, money, power, people.Except, tonight, that control had slipped.Victor stood across the room, rage and humiliation barely restrained behind his clenched jaw.“I did what had to be done,” he snapped. “He’s been fucking her behind my back..."Robert raised a hand. Not a gesture of peace, but of command. The kind that silenced rooms, ended conversations, crushed resistance.“You humiliated this family,” he said, voice low but blistering. “In front of her father, her mother, in front of me. Do you think scandal looks good for you?”Victor stiffened. “You’re mad at me? After what he did?”Robert’s eyes narrowed, glass raised to his lips. He took a sip, then turned toward his son, his heir, with a co

I had barely touched the suitcase.It sat open at the foot of my bed, hollow and accusing, like a grave waiting to be filled. I’d pulled out a few dresses, folded two blouses, then stopped. My body felt like it had sunk in wet cement. Heavy. Stuck. And no part of me could move with purpose.I stared at the wall instead, unblinking, until the next knock came, heavier this time. No pause. Just impact.Then the door opened.My father stepped inside.He didn’t ask permission. He never did. He entered rooms like he owned the air inside them, and today was no different. Except this time, he looked at me not like his daughter,,but like his disappointment.He closed the door behind him, the click unnervingly soft.“You’re not dressed,” he said.I looked down. Still in my robe. My hair a mess. No makeup. No mask.I didn’t answer.His jaw tensed. “I told Andrew you were to be ready. Are you going deaf now?”“I’m not going,” I said quietly.He stared at me like I was a stranger. “Excuse me?”“I’m