Page 48 of Whispers of Ruin

“Oh, trust me, you need more than charm. I mean, who knows? Maybe under that ridiculous mask of yours, you’re hiding a face full of bloody pimples and a bleached monobrow.”

Xan steps forward, closing the distance between them, his presence suddenly overwhelming. He leans in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that makes the room feel smaller.

“Let me make something clear, dear Zoey,” he says, darkly amused. “My charm is theleastof it. Without showing my face, without a single kiss, without even riding her sweet tight pussy with my imposing dick, I’ve managed to make your best friend come so fucking hard to the point where she wouldn’t care if I was Quasimodo himself.”

Zoey’s eyes widen, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Meanwhile, I try to hide the mix of horror and laughter threatening to bubble up inside me. This is Xan—irresistible, infuriating, and completelyridiculousin the most unexpected way.

I let them battle it out, each trying to out-stubborn the other, a silent competition to see which of the two most bullheaded people on the planet would be the first to break. But getting lost in it is not an option—Julian’s things are already choking the air out of me.

I start gathering the remnants of the man who once made me believe I mattered, who convinced me I was important in his heart, only to leave me drowning in the aftermath of his disgusting lies.

Each object I touch feels is a cruel reminder, a sharp stab of betrayal. His belonging—his presence—I need them gone, erased, as though I realize they were never part of my life to begin with.

After a few hours, there is barely a trace of him left. The atmosphere feels lighter, as if the walls themselves are relieved to be rid of his shadow. Several garbage bags sit by the door, waiting to be sent off to charity. Ironic really, considering the man they once belonged to had never known the meaning of the word.

It stings, just a little, to think that someone out there might one day wear the same shirt as that coward, unknowingly draped in the ghost of my regret. But I have wasted enough years on him—I will not let perfectly good things go to waste too. Let someone else give them a new story. His chapter here is done.

Isink into the couch beside Zoey and let my head drop onto her shoulder, the weightless surrender that only a best friend can catch. Across the room, Xan leans against the doorway like he’s carved into it—watchful, unreadable, carrying that ever-present air of quiet torment. There is a softness to his look now, a rare flicker of contentment at seeing me breathe easier beside a friend who knows the real me.

Zoey gently strokes my hair, the way she used to when we were teenagers hiding from the world. We both stare down at the garbage bags near the door as if they were cursed relics.

“You have to tell me what happened, Mira. I mean… you loved Julian,” she says softly.

Xan’s entire body shifts—subtle, but seismic. His arms tighten; his shoulders lift slightly.Jealousy. Not the loud, messy kind. His is quiet. Lethal.

Because even if she was only speaking in past tense, even if Julian is just trash waiting to be hauled out, the idea that I ever loved someone else—that someone else touched the parts of me Xan now holds like sacred fire—is enough to make him burn.

And honestly? I could get used to it.

“I don’t really want to talk about it… Let’s just say that, once again, if it hadn’t been for Xan, I would probably still be stuck under the sweaty arms of some greasy old pervert.”

Zoey stays quiet for a moment. I can see her brain working, trying to stitch meaning from the scraps I am telling her.

I cannot blame her. I have given her so little to hold on to, and yet she is still here, persevering.

After a brief pause, she lifts one brow and says, with a crooked little smile,

“Was he rich at least?”

The laughter bursts out of me like a pressure valve cracking open—sharp, loud, and so desperately needed. She joins me, our voices climbing over one another like they used to when we were fifteen and fearless.

“Yeah,” I say through giggles, wiping a tear from my cheek. “But he definitely had a tragically tiny dick.”

We both fall into hysterics, the kind that steals your breath and makes your ribs ache. For a second, the world tilts back into a place that feels like home. Even Xan cannot help but chuckle—whether it is at our absurd jokes or just at us. Either way, the moment feels warm and right, a balm over bruised skin. He steps forward and gently takes my hand in his.

“Alright, ladies,” he says, low but amused, “I will handle the charity bags. You two deserve a drink—hell, maybe five. Grab a cab, go sip something sinful, and if you’re not stumbling backwith mascara tears and inside jokes that make no sense, you’re doing it wrong.”

I glance down. My palm is now filled with twenties—crisp, clean, and far too many.

“I can pay for my own things, you know,” I protest, lifting my eyes to meet his.

Except Zoey is quicker. She snatches the bills with the speed of a woman possessed.

“Geez, are you insane? You say thank you and run before he changes his mind. Go, go, GO!”

She grabs her purse and yanks me by the arm with the force of a tornado in heels. My feet barely brush the ground as she drags me toward the door. I twist back to catch a sight of Xan, smiling at him through the whirl of motion. He meets my gaze with a knowing wink before gently closing behind us.

Let’s be real—a tiny part of me expects to come back to a ceremonial bonfire of Julian’s belongings blazing in the middle of my living room. I remind myself:trust. I need to let him in. Even if he has an unhinged glint in his eye when it comes to my ex.

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