All Chapters of The Don’s Ruin: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

POV: Seraphina Present (Same Night) --- He was on his back on the floor, looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes that had haunted my dreams for four years. His chest was heaving. His lips were still wet with me. And his cock was straining against his trousers, thick and long and so fucking hard I could see every inch of it outlined against the dark fabric. I reached for him. My fingers found his belt. Unbuckled it with practiced efficiency. The sound of the metal clinking was obscenely loud in the quiet room. "You're really going to do this?" His voice was rough. "You're really going to—" "Shut up," I said. "I told you. I lead." His throat worked. A slow smile formed at his lips. He nodded. His hands stayed at his sides, fisted in the carpet, fighting the urge to grab me. I pulled his trousers open. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with a pearl of pre-cum. I wrapped my hand around the base, felt the heat of him, the weight of him, the way his

POV: SeraphinaPresent (The next morning)___"It's been four years." Victor's voice was flat. "Four years, and the Volkovs have been expanding. Killing our men. Taking our women. Trafficking our children." His eyes swept the room, cold and measuring. "And none of you have done anything.""We've been waiting for orders," Harold Sinclair said. His voice was reedy. Nervous. He was sweating. I could see the beads of moisture on his forehead."Orders." Donovan Davenport slammed his hand on the table. The sound echoed through the room like thunder. "We've been waiting for orders for six months. Six months, Moreau. Six months while the Volkovs have been killing our people."Antonio Moreau didn't flinch. "What would you have us do? March into their territory without a plan?""Better than doing nothing." Davenport's eyes were burning. "My people are dying, Victor. My people are dying, and you're sitting here talking about strategy.""Your people are dying because you're reckless," Victor said

POV: SeraphinaPresent (Same Night)---The foyer was still crowded.I could feel them everywhere. The Moreaus lingering near the entrance, pretending to be in conversation. The Davenports clustered around the bar, their eyes sliding toward us every few seconds. The Sinclairs hovering near the windows, pretending to admire the view.And Vivian. She was standing near the staircase, her arms crossed, her eyes burning into me with hatred so pure it was almost a physical weight.Marcus was beside her. His jaw was tight. His hands were clenched at his sides. He was watching Damian's hand on my waist like he wanted to cut it off.And Liliana. She was standing in the doorway of the drawing room, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo, her black silk dress clinging to her curves. Her smile was poison. Her eyes were glittering with malice.I could feel all of them. Their stares. Their judgments. Their hatred.But I couldn't look away from him.Damian's hand was still on my waist. His fingers

POV: Xander---The trailer was a fucking disaster.Empty bottles everywhere. Clothes strewn across the floor. The mirror above the sink was cracked—I remembered doing that. I remembered the satisfying crunch of glass, the way my fist had connected with my own reflection. The way I'd imagined it was her face.That fucking bitch.Three weeks. Three weeks since she'd walked out. Three weeks since she'd humiliated me in front of everyone. Three weeks since my career had started circling the drain.And it was all her fault."Xander!" My manager's voice was sharp, cutting through the fog. "Xander, we need you on set. Now."I didn't move. Didn't care. The whiskey was warm in my stomach, the only thing that made the rage bearable."Xander!"The trailer door burst open. Light flooded in, harsh and unforgiving. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes."Get him up." My manager's voice was cold. "Get him in the shower."Hands grabbed me. I tried to fight them off, but I was too weak, too drunk. T

Dual POV: Seraphina & DamianPresent ---The stairs descended into darkness.My heels clicked against the stone, each step echoing in the narrow passage. The air grew cooler with every step, carrying the scent of leather and something else—something dark and intimate. The flickering light from below cast dancing shadows on the walls.I heard the click of footsteps behind me. Calm. Measured. He wasn't rushing. He wasn't trying to stop me.I glanced back. Damian was descending the stairs with the unhurried grace of a man who owned everything he surveyed. His hands were in his pockets. His jaw was set. His eyes were fixed on me.He wasn't ashamed anymore.He was the Don's Heir, and he was declaring this was his domain.I turned back and kept walking.---The chamber opened before me.It was larger than I'd expected. The walls were lined with tools—floggers, paddles, crops, canes, each one displayed with the precision of a collector. They hung from hooks, organized by type and size. The