All Chapters of TO HATE, TO TOUCH, TO RUIN: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I spun around fast, pretending like the feel of his breath on the back of my neck hadn’t just erased my ability to walk straight.My eyes traveled up slowly, reluctant. They stopped at his chest first. The thin gray t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, stretched tight over arms carved like they were molded from stubborn stone. Even the faded fabric couldn’t hide the muscles underneath, drawing shadows that moved like they had their own pulse.His left hand was still on my waist. Long fingers curved along my ribcage like he hadn’t decided to let go yet.I swallowed. My gaze moved higher to his throat, to that thick vein that pulsed just above the collar, to his jaw clenching like it was holding back things his teeth couldn’t.God. Whoever said an old t-shirt makes a man look plain was a liar. Zach Romano could wrap himself in a mop and still make my lungs short-circuit.“Do you always bark out orders like that?” I snapped, pretending like his nearness didn’t mess with me, pretending m

His lips stayed on mine for a long moment before he pulled back slowly, letting my leftover breath crash against his mouth.He kissed my chin first, pressing it softly with his hot lips, then moved down to my jaw, tracing its line with small, wet kisses that sent sparks dancing under my skin.His mouth moved lower, pressing against the base of my neck, kissing me gently before parting to bite down softly on the thin skin there.He didn’t stop. His lips kept trailing down, finding the curve of my collarbone, planting warm, damp kisses that made wet sounds far too erotic for this cold, silent room.I shut my eyes, my breath coming in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling quickly.His mouth moved lower again, pressing against the line of cleavage visible through my wet bra. His hands slid up, pushing the strap aside, baring my shivering skin to the cold air and the burning heat of his mouth.He kissed me softly, lingering there for what felt like forever before parting his lips to take

I sat at the edge of the bed, chin resting on my knees, staring blankly at the curtain swaying gently in the breeze. The sea air drifted in, carrying hints of salt and a faint trace of coconut trees from the garden below. But it wasn’t enough to wash away the boredom curdling in my chest like day-old coffee.My mind wandered to forbidden territory:If only I hadn’t been kidnapped.If only I were still at Matteo’s house...God, even my own brain groaned in protest.By now, I’d probably be sitting at that long marble table, surrounded by bodyguards pretending not to listen while Matteo dictated my schedule like some god-complex secretary.Breakfast would arrive without question, usually a too-delicate French butter croissant, Valencia orange juice, and a cup of black coffee that tasted like a passive-aggressive threat.I’d nod, smile like the obedient wife I pretended to be, and try not to stab him with a fork when he said, “Don’t go out today, sweetheart. The world’s unstable.”Then, l

I stepped out of the phone booth, hoping my stride looked purposeful rather than desperate.This old city had layers. Its cobblestone streets twisted and narrowed, crowded with tourists snapping photos of pale-painted walls. Salt-laced sea air drifted through narrow alleys, mixing with the scent of grilled fish and fresh bread.Thirty minutes.Javi said thirty minutes.I grabbed a hoodie from the car seat and pulled it over my head, covering part of my face. I slipped my car key into my pocket, just in case I needed to vanish again. I refused to be caught empty-handed.My pace was fast, but I made sure not to rush. Papa always said, “If you run, everyone runs. But if you walk like you’ve got somewhere to be, only the smartest people realize you’re running away.”I passed a fruit stall. The vendor shouted offers of big oranges. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Momentum mattered.Behind me, the sound of boots clicked on stone. Not tourist boots. Too heavy. Too deliberate.I didn’t turn. I vee

A few hours after that conversation, I woke again as the plane’s wheels kissed the runway with a gentle thud. Through the window, Medellín greeted me with a pale pre-dawn sky and the silhouette of mountains framing the city like an old painting.Jevan didn’t say a word as we disembarked. He simply steered me toward the black car already waiting, and before I could ask where we were going, the door shut, the engine roared, and we were gliding out of the airport.The drive to the Serrano mansion always made me feel like a character in a high-end mafia film. A private road cutting through the hillside, lush trees blocking out the rest of the world, and mountain air carrying the scent of wet earth.Once we passed the massive iron gates with the family crest welded into the center, I could see the house from a distance: sprawling, layered with stone balconies, and lined with tall windows catching the first gold of morning light.And in front of it… a crowd.Not strangers. Family. All of th