Page 33 of Whispers of Ruin

The heat lingers on my skin as I step out of the jacuzzi, water streaming down my legs in glistening rivulets. I wrap myself in the plush towel; the fabric soaking up the moisture as I run a hand through my hair. The high from my earlier indulgence has faded, leaving me restless.

I peek around the penthouse. Luxurious, opulent… and suffocatingly dull. Xan locked himself away without another word. And as much as I appreciate the safety of this gilded cage, I feel like I might go insane if I stay here any longer. I pad barefoottoward the bedroom he designated as mine, pushing open the door.

Just as he promised, a selection of clothes is neatly folded on the bed. Classy, expensive, a little too tailored for my usual style—but beggars can’t be choosers. I slip into a silky black dress that hugs my curves, the fabric cool against my heated skin. The neckline plunges just enough to be tempting without screaming desperation, and the hem skims mid-thigh, teasing more than it reveals. A pair of strappy heels waits by the dresser, and I slide them on, reveling in the subtle click they make against the immaculate stonework as I move.

A glance in the mirror confirms what I already know—I look good. More importantly, I look like I belong in a place like this.

I do not bother knocking on Xan’s door. If he wanted to be part of my night, he wouldn’t have shut me out. Honestly, I don’t need him. Instead, I grab my keycard and head straight for the elevator, anticipation humming through my veins.

The bar downstairs is calling my name, and it would be very rude to not answer,right?

Istep into the elevator, the sleek mirrored walls reflecting the image of a woman who should feel safer, who should feel grateful. Xan gave me this lavish escape, this sanctuary high above the city, yet all I feel is restless. A drab ache of dissatisfaction coils in my stomach, deeper than boredom—much closer to longing.

The hotel bar is haloed in murky light, bathed in a golden glow that makes everything feel slow, hazy, intimate. A grand chandelier hangs above the curved mahogany counter, its crystals reflecting the amber hues of expensive whiskey in crystal glasses. The scent of aged liquor and faint cigar smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the soft notes of a jazz tune humming through the speakers.

I slide onto a green velvet barstool, crossing my legs deliberately, ignoring the way the dress I threw on clings to my damp skin. The bartender approaches, all polished charm and sharp features, offering me a smile that probably works on every woman who walks in alone.

“What can I get for you, Miss?”

I could ask for something strong, something that would burn, but instead, I ask, “Something sweet.”

As he nods and moves to prepare my drink, my fingers drum idly against the smooth bar top, my pulse a little too quick, my nerves a little too sensitive. I have no business being here. I was meant to stay upstairs, in the safety Xan carved out.

Maybe that’s the problem. Safety. Controlled environments. Locked doors and dictated choices. I want to feel something else. I want—

The bartender sets the glass in front of me, a cocktail in deep red, garnished with a curl of citrus. I take a slow sip, letting the strawberry warmth settle in my chest. Maybe if I sit here long enough, if I push the boundaries just a little, he will come. I beg myself to stop wanting. But want is written in my skin.

Would he be angry? Would he drag me back upstairs, growling? Or would he stay in the shadows, watching and waiting, letting me churn in my own desire?

I shift in my seat, exhaling sharply. If he won’t come, then maybe I will just have to give him a reason to.

The ice in my glass clinks softly as I swirl the crimson liquid inside, my fingers tracing absent patterns along the rim. The hotel bar is barely illuminated, an ambiance of quiet luxury that hums around me, wrapping me in a cocoon of muted conversation and soft music. Though my mind is absent, because it is still upstairs, sealed in that penthouse suite with him. Or rather, it should be. I cannot shake the irrational hope that, any second now, he will appear behind me.

I take another long sip of my drink, my heart quickening at the idea. Again, would he be jealous? Would he yank me from this stool, whisper venomous threats against anyone who even dare look at me? The thought sends a thrill curling low in my stomach. I want him to come and find me. I want to push him. I want to see what it takes to break his self-control.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a figure slides into the seat beside me. My breath stills. Black gloves. Black jacket. Mask. He says nothing. Just reaches for a bottle behind the bar—a movement so casual, so practiced, that it sends a delicious shiver down my spine. Without a word, he pours a glass of a dark smoky drink, setting it before him with a slow motion. I smirk.

“So, you changed your mind?”

Still, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, as if studying me and slowly trails his gloved fingers along the stem of my glass before nudging it closer.

A subtle invitation.

My lips part, my tongue flicking out to wet them. He is playing a game. A dangerous one. And I want to play too so badly.

I savor the liquid; my gaze focused on him. He shifts closer, just enough for his knee to brush mine.

The moment lingers. My pulse thrums against my skin. Without a word, he stands and starts walking away. I hesitate for half a second before finally following.

The elevator ride is silent. Tense. His gloved hand presses the button for another floor—not ours. That should give me a pause. Instead, I am drawn forward. I want to see where this leads.

When the doors slide open, he steps out first. I trail after him, biting my nails as we move down a long, dim hallway. The whole thing feels surreal, like I have stepped into someone else’s fantasy. He stops in front of a door, swipes a key card, and pushes it open without looking at me. I smirk.

“A second room, huh? Getting creative.”

No answer.

I step inside, my heels clicking softly against the floor. It is smaller than the penthouse, but still insanely luxurious, the lights lowered to a soft glow. The door shuts behind me, and a thrill of anticipation runs in me.

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