Page 252 of Ruin My Life
Lola’s gaze drops just a fraction. Not defensive. Just... exhausted.
“She didn’t stop at the cars,” she says. “They were just the fastest liquid asset. The house took longer to close. I had to find a buyer willing to pay in cash before it hit the market. I told her she'd be taking a loss. She didn’t care. She said if the plan with Matthias went sideways, she might not live long enough to hand it to you herself.”
The words hit like a fist to the sternum.
“She sold her parents’ house…”
Not a question. A realization.
The one thing she kept. The last thing she had of them—gone. And she sold it for me.
No—
She sold it forthem. For The Speakeasy. For Kings County. For the people I swore I’d protect. For what we could’ve built together—if fate allowed.
My throat burns.
I clench my jaw again and look away.
“She told me once the sale went through to contact her,” Lola exhales, her eyes fixed on something far away. “But if she didn’t respond in twenty-four hours, I was to come straight to you. And send you that email.”
I study her profile, hunting for cracks in the mask she wears so well. But her voice holds no venom tonight. No sly edge. No spin.
“She thought Matthias would be the one to come after her,” Lola add softly. “If plan A failed… this was her plan B.”
“It was Connor,” I say quietly—though I’m not sure why I tell her. Lola and I aren’t friends. She’s the type of person who always has her own angle.
“I know,” she replies.
That surprises me.
“I found out today,” she clarifies. “Called Monroe when I couldn’t reach anyone at your place. He told me Brie washere. Didn’t say more, but… when I said Connor’s name, the look he gave me was enough.”
We both fall silent.
The hallway hums with static and far-off voices calling doctors and nurses to other wings, other crises I’m not part of. But here, just outside Brie’s room, it’s too still. Too quiet.
“I’m sorry,” Lola says after a long pause.
I glance at her again, waiting for the punchline.
“I know what it feels like to trust someone and have them turn on you,” she goes on, voice steadier than I expect. “You and your people—for all the work you’ve done—you didn’t deserve this.”
If I didn’t know her the way I do, I might believe she really means that.
But then again…
People change.
My gaze follows hers through the glass. Only this time, she’s not looking at Brie.
She’s looking at Monroe.
He’s seated beside Brie’s bed, dragging a hand down his stubbled jaw, eyes cast low, unreadable to most.
But not to me.
They’ve always had… history. Tension. One of those dynamics born from fire and ruined before it could become anything more.
