All Chapters of Ruined By Mr. Cross: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Damien’s PovI told Marcus to hold everything for forty-eight hours. No calls, no updates, nothing urgent enough to interrupt unless the building was on fire. He’d looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and maybe I had, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what I’d told Selene in his office days earlier. All of it, not stolen minutes between crises. I intended to start proving I meant it.I found her in the library that morning, curled into the window seat with one of the files she’d sworn she’d stopped bringing home, and I took it gently out of her hands before she could protest.“I need this back by tonight,” she said.“You don’t,” I said. “Marcus has the office covered. Gabriel’s with his mother. Naomi’s fine. For one day, nothing in this house requires either of us.”She studied me, suspicion and hope warring across her face in a way that broke something small and tender in my chest every time I saw it, like she still hadn’t fully let herself believe good things could simply

Damien’s PovWe drove back into the city late the next morning, and I felt the change the moment the skyline came into view, something in both of us straightening slightly, the softness from the coast folding itself carefully away to make room for whatever waited at the estate.Marcus called before we’d even reached the gates.“Nothing urgent,” he said, when I answered, though his voice carried the particular tightness that always meant otherwise. “But you’ll want to see what came in overnight. When you’re settled.”“We’re settled,” I said. “Send it over.”Selene glanced at me from the passenger seat, the crooked little mug still wrapped in paper on her lap like she hadn’t wanted to let go of it even for the drive home. “That bad?”“He says it’s not urgent,” I said. “Which usually means it’s exactly that.”She sighed, but there was no real frustration in it, just the resigned acceptance of two people who’d chosen each other knowing full well what it would cost in stolen mornings. “One

Damien’s PovTalia resurfaced three days later, showing up at the estate gates in a car that wasn’t hers, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, looking like a woman who’d spent the last several weeks sleeping in places she’d rather not describe.Selene was down the front steps before I’d even reached the door, pulling her friend into a hug so fierce Talia actually staggered back a step, laughing despite herself.“Careful,” Talia said, “I bruise like a peach these days. Hiding in a cousin’s basement in Jersey does wonders for your immune system.”“Inside,” Selene said, already pulling her toward the house. “Now. You can tell us everything once you’ve eaten something that isn’t gas station coffee.”We sat her down in the kitchen, and I watched Selene move around her with the particular gentle efficiency of someone taking care of a person they’d been frightened for, setting food in front of Talia before she’d even asked what she wanted, and something in my chest warmed watching it, thi

Damien’s PovMarcus called it a breakthrough, though his voice carried the particular caution of a man who’d learned not to celebrate anything in this investigation too early. Vivienne had delivered, exactly as she’d promised Selene at the café, a trail of messages between Adrian and someone Helena’s people referred to only as “the accountant.”“It’s not a person,” Marcus said, spreading printouts across his desk. “It’s a role. Someone rotates through it. Whoever holds the title manages the shell entities, moves the money, keeps the ledgers clean. Right now, based on the timing and the access required, I think Adrian’s stepped into it himself.”“He’s not smart enough to run something like this,” I said.“He doesn’t need to be smart,” Marcus said. “He just needs to follow instructions and protect the people giving them. Helena doesn’t need a genius. She needs someone loyal and expendable, and Adrian’s both.”Selene leaned over the desk, scanning one of the messages. “This one reference

Damien’s PovThe address led to a storage facility on the edge of the industrial district, the kind of place designed to be forgotten, rows of identical units behind chain-link and cracked pavement. Marcus had two of his people posted outside before we arrived, and Selene held the key so tightly in the car I finally reached over and covered her hand with mine.“Whatever’s in there,” I said, “we open it together.”She nodded, and we walked in together, Marcus a step behind us, until we reached unit fourteen and Selene fitted the key into the lock with a hand that only shook slightly.Inside were boxes, dozens of them, meticulously labeled in handwriting I didn’t recognize, years stretching back further than I’d expected. Marcus moved efficiently, cataloging as he went, while Selene and I worked through the boxes marked with the earliest dates, the ones most likely to explain how any of this had started.We found it two hours in. A contract, signed by four names. My father. Selene’s fat