The Monster

IRIS.The smell of roasted garlic and rosemary was a physical assault.My stomach cramped, a hollow, gnawing ache that twisted my insides, but I refused to look at the silver tray on the nightstand. To eat was to accept his hospitality. To starve was the only middle finger I had left to give.So I lay perfectly still, ignoring the dull throb in my belly and the sharper, stinging burn where the ropes had eaten into my wrists.Minutes ticked by, heavy and silent.Then the lock clicked.Aiden walked in, flanking two men who looked like they were carved out of granite. They wore black suits that cost more than my college tuition and carried themselves with the dead-eyed efficiency of hired muscle.“Loosen her,” Aiden said. His voice was bored. Clinical.The men moved toward the bed. My muscles coiled tight, ready to snap, but they didn’t touch me. They went for the knots.When the final rope fell away, the relief was agonizing. Blood roared back into my hands and feet in a prickly, hot wa

Captive

IRIS.Three days.Seventy-two hours of silence, room service, and the maddening scent of expensive cedarwood candles. The luxury wasn’t a comfort; it was a psychological chokehold.I was going out of my mind.To keep from screaming, I focused on the one thing they hadn’t stripped away: my brain.I had swiped a leather-bound notebook and a heavy Montblanc pen from the study during my brief, supervised walk to the library yesterday. Now, sitting cross-legged on the floor away from the door, I treated it like a war map.I wasn’t writing a diary. I was building a dossier.Guard rotation: Shifts change every six hours. 6 AM, 12 PM, 6 PM, 12 AM.Staff: Three maids, one butler. None make eye contact. All terrified.Aiden: Volatile. Narcissistic. Calculates everything.My hand cramped as I scribbled, pouring my frustration onto the paper. It was dangerous — if he found this, I was dead — but the risk made me feel alive. It made me feel like me, not just the prisoner in the penthouse.The lock

White Lie

AIDEN.The question didn’t just hang in the air; it rotted.I paced the length of my private lounge, the heels of my handmade Italian loafers clicking like a countdown against the white marble. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Iris’s face — not the terrified, trembling girl I’d expected to break by now, but a banshee fueled by a brand of righteous fury I didn’t recognize.I didn’t kill women.It was the one clean line in my very dirty life.My thumb traced the jagged scar along my jaw, a tactile reminder of the night that line was drawn in blood. I was eight years old, hiding behind a kitchen island that smelled like Pine-Sol and copper. I’d watched my father — a man the world thought was a pillar of the community — turn my mother’s face into a raw map of bruises. I remembered the wet, sickening thud of his ring against her cheek. I remembered her silence.I swore then, with the clarity only a traumatized child possesses, that I would never be him. I would be a monster, yes. I would

Settling scores

AIDEN.The Vegas Strip didn’t bleed neon; it bled desperation. From the silence of my penthouse, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the city pulse like a restless, glowing beast.My mahogany desk was a mess of empty espresso cups, glowing laptop screens, and Anna’s crime-scene photos. I hadn’t slept since Friday. I stared at the glossy eight-by-ten of her lifeless body until my vision blurred. The cops were calling it a robbery gone wrong. Bullshit. The bruising on her wrists, the clinical precision of the puncture wound — it wasn’t a junkie looking for a quick score. It was a surgical strike. Someone had crossed a line, and I could feel the invisible thread of the puzzle cutting into my fingers.I sank into my leather chair, the deep groan of the material the only sound in the cavernous room. I clipped the end of a cigar, struck a match, and let the sharp, peppery smoke bite the back of my throat.My mind dragged me back to the safehouse. To Gordon.He was my eyes in the

Fallen For You

IRIS.My apartment felt like a tomb. After the sterile, high-octane tension of Aiden’s penthouse, the silence here was heavy enough to bruise. I sat on my velvet sofa, staring at the dust motes dancing in the moonlight, my skin still crawling from the way Aiden had looked at me when he threw me out. Like I was a virus he’d finally cured.I was free. So why did I feel like I was waiting for the floor to drop?A sharp, rhythmic knocking hammered against the door. My heart did a frantic somersault against my ribs. I peered through the peephole, and the air left my lungs.Derrick.I pulled the door open, and before I could even draw a breath to speak, he was in my space. He smelled of expensive sandalwood and something metallic. His trademark “Golden Boy” grin was gone, replaced by a look of frantic, calculated devotion. Before I could move, his hands were on my face, and he pressed his lips to mine.It wasn’t a kiss; it was a claim.“Have you been crying?” he murmured against my skin, hi

All Chapters of HIS TO RUIN: Chapter 121 - Chapter 125

The Monster

Captive

White Lie

Settling scores

Fallen For You