Page 249 of Ruin My Life
Now that I know, I can’t unsee it. The signs were everywhere. His sudden appearance after her death. His obsessive hatred for the Songbirds. His complete disregard for his own safety.
Six months ago, he shaved his head and started wearing contacts. Told me they were prescription—that he was trying something new. I never questioned it.
But he’d already set it all in motion. He had a plan—every piece of it. Every move. Every conversation.
He got close. Got inside. And when he found out I’d hidden my mom away, he realized he needed someone smarter, more resourceful. Someone who could do what he couldn’t.
That’s when he found Brie.
Only she wasn’t some hacker for hire. She wasn’t another pawn in his twisted game.
She was a student. A daughter. A sister. Ahuman beingwith morals, and dreams, and a family that anchored her.
So he took it all. Tore her life apart until all that remained was grief, rage, and the broken remnants of the girl she used to be.
He thought that would be enough to make her one of us. To drag her down into the same pit we all crawl through where morality is optional, and revenge becomes religion.
But he was wrong.
Brie never lost herself—not completely.
Even through the blood and the bodies and the fire she lit behind her, she never stopped seeing the difference between whatshouldbe done and whathadto be done.
That fire inside her burned hot with vengeance. But the part that burned the hottest was always herhope.
Hope that no one else would end up like Amie. Like her parents. Hope that the violence would end with her. Hope that when the ashes settled, she’d find something worth living for.
That fire is what pulled me in.
Like a moth to a flame—knowing damn well I’d be reduced to ash if I got too close, but still reaching anyway.
And now?
Now all I want is to see that fire in her eyes again. To see hertearthese tubes off her face and scream at the world like it owes her something.
Because her lying here like this—so still, so pale, so fuckingfragile—it makes me feel weaker than I’ve ever felt in my entire goddamn life.
Not even when Isabella died. Not even when I left the Songbirds. Not even when I buried the person I used to be.
Because now… now I have something to lose.
And her name is Brie Rosenberg.
My little rose.
Past the beeping machines and the steady tap of my restless leg against the cold tile, I hear the door to Brie’s room creak open.
Monroe steps inside. His gaze lands on Brie first—like always—then shifts to me.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he says.
I lift a brow.
I had Dahlia lock this entire floor down. No press. No patients. No interruptions. Just the people I trust—and even that list is short.
But if it were Lee or Chavez, Monroe would’ve let them in without a word.
“Who?”
