The Road To Ruin Book の小説・ストーリー

When someone digs a grave for you economically, sometimes you have to hand them the shovel and then bury them with it. So I had taken the money left twenty-three million isn’t nothing if you wield it with precision and converted it into tools. I spent hours mapping routes, burning through bank accounts with careful cruelty, and hunting for places where we could exist off the grid. I’d found a house that could be made invisible to most searches, a place where tracks could be covered and traces could be buried. People like me learn the complicated arithmetic of ruin: what to keep, what to destroy, how to make pain pay back pain.

And even now, as I stand in the quiet aftermath once again — another husband gone, another chapter ended — I remind myself of one thing: I’ve lost everything before. And I still found a way to rise. And so, before the storm — before heartbreak, loss, and the long road that would shape the rest of my life — there was light. There was laughter echoing down dirt roads, Sunday dinners that stretched late into the night, and the kind of childhood that wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Before the pain, there was peace. Before the scars, there was innocence. This is where my story truly begins.

He pulled out of the parking lot, tires kicking up gravel. And I realized I'd just made a terrible mistake. Because now I was trapped in a car with Damien Cross's brother. And something told me this ride was going to be a lot more complicated than just getting home.

I bark the second Amos’ call connects through the car speakers. “It’s a trap!” he chokes out. A loud crash follows, then gunshots. My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I slam harder on the accelerator, speeding onto the highway and weaving between cars like a madman. The shouting and bullets coming from Amos’ end send rage boiling through my veins. My vision burns red. Every rational thought disappears. “Rain, call Quinn,” I order immediately as it hits me. The route and location guide leads to St. Martin’s Funeral Home.

It had set us all on the path to ruin. To be continued…

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.

"Is there any chance my father knows about it?" "Unlikely. The entrance was sealed with Daevari magic. Only someone of my blood can open it, and as far as anyone knows, I'm the last of my kind." Eron moved away from the window and sat in the chair across from me, his movements careful and deliberate. "But getting there will be the problem. The ruins are in the Blackthorn Range, high in the mountains. The only path passes within sight of three Crescent Fang outposts." "So we'd have to sneak through territory crawling with my father's soldiers, climb a mountain, break into an ancient vault, and get back out again. All while Aldrich is preparing for war and probably expecting me to try somethin

she argued. “Architetta.” He leaned closer, his hands gripping each side of his desk as his voice dropped dangerously low. ”Then this job may take more from you than you expect.” She could feel it then, the danger lurking behind his words. Promising retribution. AILANI’S POV (24 hours earlier.) “She collapsed suddenly.” Everything in my life changed with those three words. A single phone call was all it took to send my whole world crashing down, like a rollercoaster on a broken track.

It was predatory. I spent the afternoon unpacking, but I couldn't focus. Every sound in the house—a door closing, a footstep in the hallway—made me jump. To calm my nerves, I reached into the bottom of my bag and pulled out a paperback I’d bought at a bookstore in the city. It was a taboo erotica novel, the kind of story where a stepbrother takes exactly what he wants from his sister. I’d been reading it in secret for weeks, the explicit descriptions of forced submission and forbidden lust fueling fantasies I was too ashamed to admit to. As the clock ticked toward seven, I showered and dressed in a simple sundress, though I opted not to wear a bra. I wanted to feel the air on my skin, or per

But another voice whispered in the back of my mind, cold and familiar. You’re becoming Enzo. The thought made my hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I had promised myself I would never be like my father. Never lose control the way he did. Never hurt the people I claimed to protect. Yet here I was, driving a beaten man to a secret warehouse while the woman I’m madly in love with sat alone in my apartment, terrified of me. I glanced at the rearview mirror like I could see through the trunk. “You touched what’s mine,” I muttered under my breath. “No one touches what’s mine.”