Page 35 of Ruin My Life
My nails dig into the top of the windowpane as I slam it shut, trying to keep my breaths even.
I reinforced the door when I moved in. Replaced the deadbolt. Upgraded the frame.
But I never thought about the goddamn windows.
Stupid.
And then—I see it.
In the glass. A flicker of movement reflected behind me.
A figure, hidden just beyond the reach of the moonlight, standing still in the shadows of my galley kitchen.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Hood raised.
No mask—but his face is cast in shadow.
Then he grins.
Wide. Gleaming. White.
A grin too similar to the demon mask that still stalks my nightmares.
It’shim.
Ithasto be.
The bastard who tried to kill me six months ago.
The bastard who slaughtered my family.
The bastard who missed.
He came back to finish what he started.
But I’m not the girl he left on the floor anymore.
And I won’t give him the chance to take another shot.
I grip the edge of the curtain, pretending to smooth the windblown fabric while keeping my eyes on his reflection.
He moves slow—too slow. Each step he takes is deliberate. Predatory. Like he’s savouring the moment right before the strike.
I adjust my stance. Grip the knife tighter. Take a breath.
Three steps.
Two.
One.
I yank the curtain wide, moonlight pouring into the room—and I spin on my heel, blade flashing as I drive it toward his face.
He lunges, going for my wrist. But I’m faster.
My blade slices deep into the meat of his palm—through skin and tendon until it grinds against bone.
His strangled curse hisses through clenched teeth as he jerks back, blood pouring from his fist, soaking into his sleeve in thick crimson rivulets.
