Wolf is really determined to rewrite Savage’s will from beyond the grave.
I exhale slowly. “Fine. I’ll see it. But I’m not keeping it, or anything else Wolf is trying to throw at me.”
“Gifting you,” Ruin corrects, tone firm.
Now I do roll my eyes. “Whatever,” I mutter, stepping past him toward the stairs. “I’m not signing anything. He can keep his father’s assets.”
“There’s nothing to sign, Charlotte,” he says, ambling after me. “Quitclaim deed. Transfer is already done.”
I groan, loud enough a few heads turn as I hit the kitchen.
Perfect. Exactly what I needed this morning. New taxation headaches.
I ignore the stares and head straight for the pancakes stacked high on the counter. Food first. Property crisis second.
For once, Ruin doesn’t push. Breakfast is mostly quiet, and I’m grateful for it.
A few minutes later, Misty and Bel slip in. I didn’t know them well back then. Glory made sure of that. She monopolized my time, my loyalty, my world.
Now, sitting across from them, I realize what I missed. They tell me their stories—how they ended up here, what the club became for them. There’s something raw in the way they speak. Something honest. Fascinating. Even heartbreaking.
I should’ve spent my time with them, not with Glory.
An hour later, Ruin and I are walking across the club grounds. Our walk is silent, as usual.
The moment the house comes into view, my steps falter.
Ruin undersold it. The house is stunning. Cream brick. Black sills and roof. Floor-to-ceiling windows catching the light. A massive arched entry on one side like something out of an old European village—but sharper. Modern.
For three dangerous seconds, I imagine living here. Waking up to quiet mornings. Sunlight through those tall windows. A place that’s mine and not tied to anyone’s shadow.
The thought is traitorous, and I kill it immediately. Unfortunately, not fast enough. When I glance sideways, Ruin is watching me with a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
“As you said.” I deadpan, schooling my expression. “Nice house. Am I getting the grand tour of my property or…?”
His grin widens and I hate that. Maybe that’s why I say the next part. “I need to know exactly what I’ll be listing.”
His grin disappears instantly. Petty satisfaction warms my chest, a smirk planted on my face.
“I get it,” he mutters, moving to the door. “You don’t want anything to do with the club.” He swings the double doors open gesturing with one hand for me to enter, but I’m frozen in place. The scent of fresh paint and clean wood fills my nostrils. “But it’s still yours, Charlotte,” he says quietly.
I stare past him into the house, and dread settles heavy in my chest.
‘It’s yours…’
No. It’s another tie. Another thread binding me to a world I forced myself to abandon two years ago… even while a part of me kept reaching back for it. A world I only ever half-belonged to until it ripped the ground out from under me.
Mama Deb’s loving whispers. The hardened betrayals from my own brother. They exist in the same place, somehow.
Inside, I barely see anything. I should be walking through all of it. Opening cabinets, taking pictures, cataloging what I’ll be selling perhaps. But my mind refuses to cooperate.
“…and the backyard’s huge. The grill alone—”
Ruin’s voice drifts in and out. He’s been listing features like a realtor with emotional investment.
I stopped listening three minutes ago. My gaze lands on the kitchen island. A stack of papers, weighted down by a velvet box.
Keys.
