บททั้งหมดของ His To Ruin: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

The city at night never slept, but Killian Wolfe’s apartment sat high above it all, quiet, detached. He liked it that way. Clean lines, dark stone, silence stretching through the rooms like a second skin. It was a place built for forgetting. A place where nothing reached him unless he allowed it to.And tonight, he couldn’t stop letting her in.He scrolled through his phone with the slow, unfocused rhythm of someone trying to numb himself. News. Markets. Weather. A text from a broker. Then, There she was.Ivy Lancaster.His chest seized before his mind caught up.It was a photo. Her smile was demure. Too demure. Her back was straight. Her clothes expensive and soft, cream silk and pearl earrings.But it was the caption that shattered him.“Adjusting. Slowly. Grateful.”He read it again.And again.The words were wrong. Ivy didn’t speak like that. Ivy was spitfire and sarcasm. She had once written him an entire paragraph about how “grateful” was the kind of word rich men gave their wiv

The file came just after three a.m.No message. No warning.Just a quiet buzz from my encrypted line, followed by a digital packet that unpacked itself in a slow, efficient bleed of data.I didn’t open it right away.Instead, I stood barefoot in the center of the room, nursing black coffee like it could delay what I already knew was coming. The night pressed against the floor to ceiling windows like a question I didn’t want to answer. I have been awake all night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of ivy had creep into me all day till midnight. There is something going on, I have seen it with my mother, but with ivy, it is different. She is strong, stubborn and difficult to break. It seems different seeing her being mould into something else by Robert and Victor. Eventually, I walked back to my desk and double tapped the screen.One file.One face.One mark.Red.My stomach clenched, of guilt, but not with fear, and with something heavier. Familiar. The way old grief wraps around your ri

The tape measure was cold against my skin.I stood still, arms stretched slightly out, as a stranger circled me with pins in her mouth and a tablet in her hands. Another woman crouched at my feet, murmuring something about the hem. A third pointed at fabrics I hadn’t chosen, describing a dress I’d never seen.None of them asked me what I wanted.“Silk organza,” one of them said. “Ivory, not white. Mr. Wolfe prefers ivory, it photographs better under chandelier lighting.”I blinked. “Who said I wanted ivory?”Silence.The woman smiled politely, too polished to flinch. “It’s standard for a Wolfe bride. Classic. Elegant.”I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I did neither.Instead, I stood there, barefoot and quiet in the middle of the grand guest salon, surrounded by sketches, fabric swatches, and a flurry of preparations I had no control over. I wasn’t a bride. I was a mannequin.The planner’s assistant adjusted the bustline on the mock bodice. “We’ll bring the final fittings in two w

The rain hadn’t started yet, but I could feel it coming.It hung in the air like a held breath, dense, electric, almost oppressive. From the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, the skyline looked like it was holding a secret. The clouds above the city bruised darker by the minute, pregnant with a storm that had no intention of waiting long.I was nursing a glass of whiskey, pacing slowly through the dim light of my living room, thoughts spinning like a blade. Ezra had gone quiet. Again. He’d said he was working on it… “just a few more days”… but I knew better. Men like him didn’t go dark unless something bigger was at play.And right now, the silence felt like a warning.A knock cut through the quiet.I froze.Not the buzzer. Not the doorman. A knock. That meant someone had gotten past the front desk, past the private elevator, past the security I paid a small fortune for. Which meant whoever was on the other side of that door either had clearance……or didn’t give a damn about cl

The cursor blinked against the dark screen like a warning.I leaned over the desk, the flash drive connected to my laptop, its contents slowly unraveling. Not all of it made sense yet, at least, not in a way I could use. But the patterns were beginning to emerge.Transaction logs routed through offshore accounts. Silent wire transfers to a company that didn’t exist on paper but somehow owned half the land surrounding Wolfe Enterprises headquarters. Surveillance clips, grainy, low-resolution, but damning, marked with metadata from a private contractor Robert Wolfe used when he wanted someone to disappear.I clicked through email threads next, buried deep in an encrypted folder, hidden under the name Foxglove. Fitting. Pretty name. Poisonous flower.Subject lines were mundane: “Q1 Reports,” “Asset Review,” “Meeting Notes.” But once decrypted, they bled meaning. Inside jokes about “wedding presents” that cost human lives. Attachments labeled with redacted contracts. Notes about personnel