Page 125 of Ruined

I move through to what must be Alexander's study. Dark wood paneling. Leather-bound books that look unread. A massive desk with a single photo—Evelyn at some competition, trophy in hand. Not a family photo. A trophy photo.

The living room is just as cold. Everything matched and coordinated, like a museum display of how the wealthy should live. No wonder Evelyn grew up so controlled. This house offers no room for mistakes, or mess.

From upstairs, I hear movement—drawers opening and closing, voices murmuring. At least they're following instructions.

I watch Noah disappear down the stairs, his movements fluid despite the bullet wound that nearly killed him days ago. The room feels colder without his presence, though Franco stands guard by the unconscious Russian. My hands won't stop shaking.

"Evelyn," my mother says, her eyes wide with shock. "Who is that man? What have you gotten yourself into?"

I grab a handful of clothes from my closet, stuffing them into a bag without caring what I take. "He's Noah Rivera. He works for the Feretti family."

"The Ferettis?" Her voice rises an octave. "The mafia family? Evelyn, what?—"

"Mom." I stop packing and look at her. "Noah is the only one who's truly cared about me. Not for what I can do, not for who I know, but for me."

Jessica zips up her own bag, nodding. "It's true, Mom. He took a bullet protecting his friend. He came after Evelyn when she was taken."

My mother sinks onto the edge of my childhood bed, the same bed where I used to cry myself to sleep after Father's punishing practice sessions.

"Are you sure about him?" she asks quietly. "This world he's in... it's dangerous."

I close my eyes for a moment, seeing Noah's face when he burst into that concrete cell at Ivan's. The raw desperation in his eyes, the way he positioned himself between me and danger without hesitation.

"He risked his life for me, Mom. More than once." My voice catches. "No one's ever done that before."

"But is that enough?" She reaches for my hand. "For a life together?"

The question hits me hard. A life together. Is that what I want with Noah? The man who kidnapped me, who's killed people, who's part of a world I never chose?

"I think..." My throat tightens. "I think I might be in love with him."

The words hang in the air. I've never said them aloud before, never even fully admitted them to myself. But they feel right.

"I am in love with him," I say more firmly. "And it terrifies me."

Jessica stops packing and stares at me. "Wow, Evie. That's... big."

My mother looks at me with tears in her eyes. "Your father and I, we had love once. Before ambition poisoned everything. If you truly love this man..."

"I do." And it's true. Despite everything—how we met, what he's done, what I've become since knowing him—I love Noah Rivera. I just don't know if I can tell him yet. If I'm brave enough to be that vulnerable.

"Then we need to hurry," my mother says, suddenly practical. "These men came. Others might follow."

We hurry downstairs, bags in hand. Noah stands in the foyer, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in rapid Italian. His eyes never leave the front door, body coiled tight, ready for any threat. When he sees us something in his expression softens.

"Matteo's five minutes out," he says, ending the call. "We need to move. Franco will stay with our friend upstairs until cleanup arrives."

Mom flinches at the clinical way he discusses what just happened. I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her. This is Noah's world—efficient, dangerous, direct.

He opens the front door, scanning the street before ushering us towards a black SUV parked at the curb. "Mrs. Anderson, Jessica, get in the back. Evelyn, passenger seat."

Mom and Jessica climb in without question. I pause on the sidewalk, overcome by the weight of everything—the confrontation with my father, the Russian gunmen, the realization that I love this dangerous man.

"Noah."

He turns to me, alert for any sign of danger. I step forward and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest. His heart beats steady and strong beneath my cheek.

"Thank you," I murmur. "For coming for me. Again."

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