Lahat ng Kabanata ng His To Ruin: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

The garden was overgrown now. Vines climbed over cracked marble benches, weeds threaded through the paths once manicured by staff who’d long since been dismissed or silenced. No one visited this corner of the estate anymore.Except me.I knelt near the old stone sundial at the far end of the garden, the place my mother used to sit when she thought no one was watching. She’d come here often, sometimes for hours, hands folded in her lap, face turned toward the sky as if waiting for something. Or someone.I used to think she was praying.Now I knew better. She was mourning the man she loved. The man whose initials were etched into the back of the locket.K.J.For all the love we were never allowed.I rolled the locket between my fingers, letting it catch the late sun as it slid toward the horizon. The warmth didn’t touch me. Not anymore.I was colder now.Sharper.Hungrier.I stood, brushing dirt off my slacks, and headed for the gate at the edge of the property, where my bike waited. I’d

I stepped into the penthouse, the door clicking shut behind me. It felt empty, too still, too perfect. High ceilings, polished floors, curated art. A space I had made mine by right of name. But tonight, it made me feel hollow.I dropped my bag onto the couch and powered on the terminal. Screens lit up: Robert Wolfe’s face, financial dashboards, satellite views of the estate. But I didn’t care about power or money, not yet. Tonight, everything had changed.In the attic box from June, I’d found Killy’s leather journal. But I needed names. I needed proof. I needed to know how they killed him.I opened a secure terminal. A dark web portal. I typed keywords: “Killian Jackson,” “June Jackson,” “Elena Williams wolfe,” “snake cufflink,” “tall woman gloves.” Data sparked. IPs. WhoIs tracings. Lineage. Photos. By morning, I had a list: personnel files from Wolfe Enterprises security contractors, private investigators, off the books fixers. I scrolled, each name a calorie burned from my spine.M

The drive out of the city was quiet. No music. No distractions. Just headlights carving through the rain slicked roads and the sound of my breath in the silence.I didn’t know what to expect.I didn’t know what to be.When June texted me the address, I punched it into the GPS like it was any other target. Like I was preparing to intercept someone, not show up as… a nephew. A cousin. A grandson.The house sat at the end of a quiet street lined with tall trees and overgrown hedges. Modest. Warm light glowed from the windows. The kind of place that smelled like soup and old books. The kind of place people belonged to.I killed the engine and sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.Then I got out.The door opened before I could even knock.June stood there, apron tied around her waist, eyes already glassy with tears. She took one look at me, and I barely got a word out before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.Not tentative. Not polite.Real.Like I was flesh and bl

Uncle Mark’s truck smelled like leather, old cigars, and something that felt like home. It rumbled over the narrow town roads like it had never left them. I sat in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the window, watching the trees blur past.Aunt June had dug out one of my father’s old shirts that Grams had kept fresh all these years. It fit me too well.“You good, kid?” Uncle Mark asked, glancing at me over the rim of his sunglasses.He still called me “kid,” like time had never moved on. Like his little brother didn’t die. Like I hadn’t spent my whole life being someone no one on this side of the family even knew existed.“Yeah,” I said, voice rough. “Just taking it in.”It was strange, the way no one knew me, yet nearly everyone knew the man who made me.Killy.They didn’t whisper. They stared. Some tilted their heads, trying to fit my face into the frame of a memory. Others stepped up without hesitation.“You’re Mark’s nephew, huh? You favor your daddy something fierce.”“Are

I didn’t move for a long time after the call ended.The receiver was still in my hand, the dial tone humming low and steady like it was waiting for me to come back to myself. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just sat there on the edge of the bed in this quiet room, swallowed by a silence that didn’t feel so empty anymore.It felt full.Full of everything I didn’t say.I closed my eyes.I could still hear him. That voice. Rougher than I remembered but still unmistakably his. Killian. The man I had no right to miss, no right to think about, and certainly no right to love. But somehow, I did all three. Every day. Every hour. Every breath.“I just wanted to hear your voice. Today… I felt like I belonged somewhere. And I wanted to share that with you.”He said it so simply.Like it didn’t shake the walls I’d built around myself.Like it didn’t make me want to fall apart and put myself back together with only the parts that remembered him.My hand dropped to my lap, fingers still curled from where I’