Ruined By Design Novels & Stories

Her irises lowered and traced the marks on most parts of her body, mocking her ruination. "Why?" Her damaged soul complained. Why was she so helpless? A stranger came out of no where and ruined her whole life in a night. Her mind pledged her body not to smile ever again. She lost her reason to survive. She wasn't living anyway. After demise of her parents, she was merely surviving yet this right was also taken from her. After yesterday's night, what was the purpose now? Her blurry eyes studied the surroundings. The door was unlocked and open, illuminating the whole room with bright light.

She might need to come after hearing what I have to say, "You know how I almost went crazy looking for my design this morning and you suggested I take one of my old designs?” "Yeah,” she said on the other end, "Guess what?” "He liked it,” she said and I groaned, "I wish, but the fucking bitch spilled coffee on my design,” for a moment it became dead quiet that I had to remove my phone from my ear and check if she hung up on me but the call was still connected, “Jane?" I called, “What did you just say?" She asked, her voice calm, too calm. "She ruined my design, spilled coffee on it,”

His obsession deepened. I walked the line between ruin and surrender. How long before the secrets met? How long before the man I meant to destroy realized the ghost in his bed would be the one to bring his empire down? The game had never been more dangerous or more consuming.

Thomas has been asking after you. “I’d love that.” Meredith patted Sloane’s cheek before moving away toward another cluster of guests. Sloane moved from conversation to conversation with the easeand laughed at the right moments. A councilman discussing donor fatigue, a gallery owner complaining about customs delays. Carolyn Park from the design firm downtown talking animatedly about a hotel renovation disaster involving imported marble and a flood. “Oh, it was catastrophic,” Carolyn said, laughing. “Three weeks ruined.” “How terrible,” Sloane said sympathetically.

The vast presence's grip around me began, slowly, to loosen, its formless edges fraying under the combined weight of shared strength pressing steadily against it. "You cannot simply undo three centuries of careful design in a single night's defiance," it said, though desperation had crept, unmistakable now, into its ancient, patient voice. "Maybe not entirely," I admitted, "but I don't have to undo all three centuries tonight. I just have to prove, once and for all, that the design was flawed from the very beginning." I pushed forward against the loosening grip, the shared light blazing brighter with every heartbeat. "You wanted a door opened by exhaustion and isolation. Instead, you got a d

And I had ruined it. I had ruined it by simply existing. By being the chaotic, messy, loud girl who couldn't stay inside the lines Peter had drawn for me. I had ruined it by looking past his billionaire titles and his robotic defense mechanisms and forcing him to acknowledge that he was a human being capable of bleeding.

Someone with such a shady past gaining recognition in the design industry was shocking enough, but the work he produced was so poorly done that it felt like a mockery of art itself. In no time, his reputation was in ruins. Everyone shunned Miles, and Atkinson Group's design department was finished.

A loud gasp escaped my lips at the sight of the horrific sight in front of me. The masterpiece that we had spent over ten days creating was not a shadow of itself as it stood there. The intricately beaded patterns now lay in ruins, and the ruined beads lay on the ground in a pebbled mess. The immaculately white design was not covered in a red hue, and the attire was ripped apart. I felt my jaws clench at the sight. "Who could have done this?" "This is terrible!" "Oh no. That cost millions" "This is bad!"

Their voices fading into the background. Tears streamed down my face, freely, but even then, I didn't react.. I couldn't. I couldn't wipe them away. What was the need? It was all over, wasn't it? What I had worked so hard for, my dreams, my future, wasn't it all gone? What was the need to remain composed, fighting to maintain an image that was already lost? What could be worse for a designer than carrying a plagiarism banner on their back? Wasn't my dream over? My future? My goals?

Ethan walked around, bringing the suit to him, a frown on his face. “Isn't that extreme?” he asked. Jason's gaze cut to him—they lacked the warmth of life, the light in them muted, like a storm brewing behind a glass pane. “Extreme?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “What is extreme and what isn't? What they did—wasn’t it extreme?” He turned away, took a steadying deep breath. His voice was low, his grip on the suit tightened. “You've no idea the scope of the damage they did—she did.”