Page 134 of Ruin My Life
Why did they come after my family?
Why amIstill alive?
If the universe left me breathing after that night, it has to be for a reason—and I refuse to believe that reason was to fall into the arms of the man protecting her killer.
No. It has to be so I canend this. So I can burn it all down and scatter the ashes.
So maybe—hopefully—I can figure out how to live again.
Last night doesn’t change that. Nothing can.
That’s the truth I tried to remind myself before we fell into this bed. Before his hands rewired my body and his mouth stole pieces of me I swore I’d never give away.
There’s no version of this that doesn’t end in up in flames.
And after tonight, I’m almost certain it’ll be my fault.
I peel the sheets back slowly, easing out of bed without letting the mattress shift too much beneath me. My legs tremble slightly, still weak from the night we had, but I grit through it.
I round the bed quietly, eyes darting between Damon’s sleeping face and the floor. I find my underwear and shorts in a little pile and slide them on carefully, then scan the floor for his jeans.
Near the foot of the bed, I find them crumpled with all his other clothes. I crouch low, my fingers searching through his pockets.
My heart hammers as I fumble past coins, his wallet. The faint scent of his cologne is still clinging to the fabric, but I try not to let it distract me.
Then—there. A cold metal ring.
His keys.
My ticket into The Speakeasy’s security room.
The place I’m sure they’ve been keeping that burner phone locked away—along with every picture of the man who ruined my life.
I curl my fingers around the ring and gently pull them out, slowing down my movements so they don’t jingle.
When they’re free, I glance at Damon again.
He hasn’t moved. Still asleep. Still unaware.
He looks... content.
And the guilt slices through me like a dull, serrated knife.
But I straighten, the keys tight in my palm.
I take a moment to memorize the relaxed line of his jaw, the soft curve of his mouth, the peace I know I’ll never see on his face again.
This moment is the eye of the storm. The last breath before it all goes to hell.
“I’m sorry.” I mouth the words, my lips moving silently in the dark, hoping he’ll feel themsomehowwhen this is over.
When it all breaks.
WhenIbreakhim.
I tiptoe into the hallway, closing Damon’s bedroom door as quietly as I can. The soft click echoes down the hall like I just slammed the door and yelled“I’m guilty!”for good measure.
My feet carry me next door to my room—
