Page 39 of Carved in Ruin

“There’s financial aid,” he tells me. “You can apply for scholarships. I’d be happy to write you a recommendation.”

I bite my lip, overwhelmed by the offer but still unsure. Before I can respond, he continues.

“I also need an assistant,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Someone to help with preparing Powerpoints, organizing lab work, and keeping my schedule on track. If you’re interested, the position is yours.”

I blink at him, stunned. “Why me?” I ask tentatively.

Elliot smiles faintly, his grip on my hand tightening just slightly. “Because I see great things in you. You might not see it yet, but you will.”

I draw in a shaky breath, overwhelmed. “Thank you,” I whisper. Then, gathering my courage, I add, “I promise, I’m going to work so hard. I won’t take this opportunity for granted.”

“So,” he says, “should we get started on the application?”

“Yes, please.”

For once, it feels like things might actually be turning around. Maybe I can finally be someone I’m proud of, not for anyone else, just for me. The thought barely has time to settle before Rafael walks in. He moves through the café like he owns it—like he owns everything, like he owns me, and his eyes are zeroed in on my hand in Elliot’s.

Nineteen

No One Else

Rafael

My knuckles ache against the wheel, the leather groaning under the pressure. Anatoly’s smug voice claws at my brain. Those fucking pictures. Her sitting with him. Her lips curved in a smile meant for me. My fist slams against the steering wheel again.

“You thought she’d stay celibate?” Anatoly had said, that fucking smirk on his face.

Yes. I did. I thought the damage I left behind would seal her off from men. She was supposed to belong to me, whether she knew it or not. Whether she hated me or not. Mine.

The cafe is up ahead—some hipster shithole that reeks of mediocrity. She has no business in a place like this. She’s meant for beach dates in Greece, wine by the Eiffel tower, and dinners where the plates cost more than this entire block. But no, she’s here. Withhim.

I park and step inside, the door slamming shut behind me. My eyes find her instantly. She’s sitting there, her hand resting on the table, and that bastard’s fingers skim over her skin like he has any right.

My chest tightens. My fists curl. My pulse pounds like a war drum. She is letting him touch her.

The chair screeches against the floor as I drag it up beside them. She sighs, her head falling into her hands, already exasperated. Good. She should be.

“Thank you again, Elliot. I’ll contact you later on to sort out the details.” Her voice is rushed, and she’s already rummaging in her bag for money like she can escape this.

My gaze locks on them, boring into the man she’s with—Elliot. What a pathetic excuse for a name. He’s not worth acknowledging, but I let the silence hang, heavy and oppressive. He looks between us, confused, but otherwise doesn’t ask.

He gives her a soft smile. Weak. Spineless. “No, it’s on me, please.”

Hell no. Over my dead body.

Before she can respond, I slap a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the table. “I’ve got it.”

I stand, grip her waist, and hoist her over my shoulder. She yelps, hands immediately pounding against my back. Everyone is watching, and I couldn’t care fucking less.

“I’ll call you later!” she shouts over my shoulder, desperation laced in her tone. I fucking hate it.

“You won’t,” I mutter under my breath.

Her fists continue their assault on my back as I stride out of the cafe, but I barely feel them. I’ve decided—Elliot is no longer a problem. He’s nothing but a name I’ll erase from her lips.

I shove the car door open and set her down in the passenger seat, but she immediately starts squirming, her fists pushing against my chest as she tries to free herself.

“Sit still,” I growl, but she doesn’t.

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