Page 5 of Carved in Ruin

I nod, wiping the corners of my mouth with a napkin, my leg bouncing under the table. I need more information, but I can’t seem too desperate.

“It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” Layla voices my thoughts, spreading strawberry jam on her toast like this is just another morning. “The Russians don’t even like us. Why would he agree to dinner? Scratch that, why would he help Mila at all?” She frowns. “It doesn’t make sense.”

The silence that follows is heavy. She’s right, and we all know it. I glance at Father—his forehead’s tense, that vein bulging like it always does when we start asking too many questions.

“Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, little girl,” he growls, glaring at Layla. “Your job is to look pretty and sit quiet.”

I can tell he’s in one of his moods. Layla turns away, rolling her eyes, and I bite back a laugh. Father clears his throat,adjusting his Rolex. “To answer your question, idiot,” he says, his tone dripping with condescension, “they’ve probably finally figured out I had nothing to do with that fire. They want the alliance back.”

Father checks his Rolex again and then looks up. “The gowns will be here in an hour or so,” he informs us.

Layla turns back to him, giving him those wide, pleading eyes that definitely work on me, and on any person with a beating heart. “Can it please not be pumpkin orange this time? And maybe… something that actually covers more than a top?”

It’s not like this is new. Father treats us like dolls, dressing us up for every event, every business deal, and every party. He never lets us pick what we wear when it matters to him. It’s weird.

And still, despite everything—his rules, his moods, his coldness—he loves us. In his own messed-up way.

He snaps his gaze to her, jaw tight. “You’ll wear what I give you, and you’ll shut your mouth about it,” he growls, cursing under his breath. Then, with a flick of his finger, he dismisses us to our rooms.

Layla slumps back, disappointment clear on her face. I feel it too. We didn’t get any real answers, but getting anything out of him would’ve been like pulling teeth anyway.

I head to my room and start pacing. Back and forth. Over and over. Is he coming for me? Could he have realized what we had was something real, something worth rekindling? Doubt creeps in. He’s not the emotional type. He’s cunning and cold. But still—maybe?

I don’t know.

I make my way to the bathroom, digging through the drawers for that face mask Layla gave me months ago. I never bothered with it before. I fill the tub with steaming water, slather the mask on my face, and sink into the heat. I try to relax, but it’s useless.How can I relax when I know I’ll be face-to-face with the bane of my existence tonight?

I’ll have to look into those green eyes and hear his voice again. God, what if we talk? I sound pathetic, desperate, but how can I pretend he wasn’t a huge part of my life? How can I just forget him?

Sighing, I grab the razor and start shaving my legs. I finish my legs and start on my arms, then my pits. The rhythm of the razor against my skin is almost calming. Almost.My mind’s still spinning, and I can’t stop thinking about tonight, about him.

My hand lingers lower, hovering over the spot I’ve never touched with a razor before. I’ve never cared enough. But something compels me now. It’s like I need to be… different. Cleaner, more prepared, more… vulnerable. For him.

Why am I doing this? But before I can talk myself out of it, I start shaving down there too, unsure whether it’s for me or for him, or maybe both.

I rinse off, the hot water washing away the remnants of the mask and soap. My skin feels smooth and fresh. Stepping out of the tub, I grab a towel and pat myself dry. The mirror fogs up from the steam, but I wipe it clean to catch my reflection.

My skin’s paler than I remember. I barely see the sun anymore, and with winter creeping in, that’s not about to change. I trace a finger over my collarbone, then down to my breasts. They’re small, a B-cup at best. Would he like them? Probably not. Every girl I’ve seen him with has a chest twice the size of mine. I squeeze them, wondering if he’d wish they were bigger.

“Ugh!” I screech, hitting myself lightly on the forehead with my palm. Stop. That’s enough thinking about him. If he wants me, he wants me. If not, I’ll move on.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

The door bursts open, and I scramble to wrap the towel back around myself, pulling it tight. My heart jumps as Layla strolls in without a care in the world, her eyes giving me a once-over before she whistles.

“Hot lady,” she grins.

I glare at her. “Ever heard of privacy?”

She just laughs, shaking her head like I’m the ridiculous one. “You’re my sister. What privacy are you talking about?”

I sigh, rolling my eyes, but she’s already twirling around the room, her sunshine energy filling the space. “The dresses arrived,” she sings, spinning to a stop in front of me, and giving me a smile that could light up Las Vegas.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Why are you so happy?”

Layla’s smile only widens as she steps closer, her face inches from mine. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Chance of a lifetime.”

I tilt my head, confused. “What do you mean, Layla?”

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