Page 130 of Mine to Ruin

I grit my jaw. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I am sorry, son, but you have to marry.”

“So in this family, there is no chance to ever marry out of fucking love?”

“You said it. Our blood is tainted.”

“What if you could turn back time?” It’s the fucking alcohol; I would have never asked sober.

“I would choose Esther.”

I snort. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think, old man?”

“The problem is, son, we men have a bad habit of wanting power and when we achieve it, we realize we sacrificed our heart on the way.”

My jaw ticks with the pressure I apply. “Ellia buried mine. I have nothing left, so don’t worry.”

Chapter 46

Ellia

Alone, agony washes over me, the pain shackling me. I lie on the bed, watching the day get swallowed by night. I rock myself and hope this pain that has me bleeding on the inside will stop.

But in the day, you can’t hide from the world because yours is in tatters. I apply concealer and stand taller. I will pretend everything is all right.

I step outside the elevator, and the pretense begins as I wave at the other staff on my way to my studio.

I still wear my ring, and on my phone with Mom, I agree to wedding suggestions I will never need.

On my lunch break, I go upstairs and find an empty table. I place my order and Kendrick takes a seat in front of me.

“Did you sleep with Brandon?” he asks, and whatever he sees on my face makes him add, “Sorry, I had to know. Why did you tell Kian you did?”

“Because I wanted him to hurt.” I force the tears back.

He doesn’t deserve them.

A week flies by, and I ask myself if I am losing my mind by continuing with the charade. I may not have a job if I keep painting layers of black, splashed with some greys, and angry reds. I put the brush down, and Kian’s heady scent invades my nostrils.

I turn, and my heart constricts, seeing him for the first time in a week. Stubbles cover his jaw, his eyes are void of any light, bags under his eyes. Why did he ruin us?

“It’s late,” he says, his voice lowering into a barely contained snarl. He strides toward me and my heart plummets in my chest. “Lorene came to me. She’s worried about you, and says what you’re painting is not fit for the hotel.” He looks over my shoulder, anger blazing in his eyes.

Did this man ever love me?

“What is that fucking black mess supposed to be?” He points at the canvas and I follow his gaze.

I named it Soul’s Nightmare. Quite fitting. My soul is swimming in darkness.

“I hate it,” he says, gritting his teeth.

I cross my hands. “Don’t look then. Art expresses my feelings. I remember you used to like it.”

“Start painting something useful.”

I flinch. Women are stupid only when they fall in love. “Sorry, I am not a cold and soulless bastard like you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s the one who needs patience. “Enlighten me. What are you expressing with all these fucked up shades of black over black?” His body twitches, the composure dropping.

---