Page 197 of Ruin My Life
But none of that makes him invincible.
And that—fuck—that scares the hell out of me.
When I don’t answer right away, his hand rises to my jaw, fingers coaxing my face back to his.
“I used to worry your words would be my downfall,” he whispers, his voice rough around the edges. “But it’s your silence that’s killing me now,mi rosa.”
God. That line almost undoes me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, forcing myself to take a breath. “I’m just… a little stressed about tomorrow.”
It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth either.
“Maybe I’ll take a bath. Try to relax before I come to bed.”
His thumb strokes my cheekbone. His expression softens, the sharp intensity folding into something warmer. Gentler.
“Take as long as you need,” he says. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
He kisses me again. This time it’s soft, tender. The kind of kiss that tastes like promises I’m terrified to believe in.
For one second, I almost scrap my whole plan. Just so I can stay here and keep kissing him.
But I can’t. Iwon’t.
Not just for Damon’s sake. Not just to keep him alive tomorrow.
I need to finish what I started.
I grab my duffel—still packed—and slip into the ensuite bathroom. The door closes behind me with a quietclick, and I exhale as I flip the lock.
It’s identical to the bathroom in the guest room I used to occupy. Same pristine tiling. Same giant shower. Same massive soaker tub.
One day,I promise myself,I’ll actually take a bath in that thing.
I twist the taps and let the water thunder against the porcelain. It spirals into the drain until I plug it, letting the tub fill—just for the ambient noise.
Just in case Damon’s still listening.
Who am I kidding? Iknowhe’s listening.
Because if our roles were reversed, I’d be doing the same.
I sit on the edge of the tub and unzip my bag, pulling out my laptop. The screen lights up immediately, casting a harshblue glow against my face. Within seconds, I’m in the deepest corners of the dark web, digging for whatever dirt I can find on Matthias O’Doyle.
It’s...easierthan I expected.
His digital footprint is a field of landmines.
Unlike Damon, whose firewalls are built like bunkers, Matthias’s arrogance—or maybe just laziness—has left his inner network riddled with vulnerabilities.
Sloppy code. Open ports. Unpatched backdoors.
It doesn’t take long before I’m swimming in enough dirty secrets to cripple an empire.
He’s been running the Songbirds longer than I’ve been alive. His fingerprints are on every laundering scheme, contract kill, black market auction, and tax fraud doc I unearth.
It’s the kind of dirt that could bury him in six countries.
