My chest tightens. “I haven’t worked, continued my studies, or had much of a life since moving back here,” I say slowly. “So how exactly do you know about my work-life balance?”
My voice isn’t sharp. But there’s enough edge to it that his gaze drops. He stares helplessly at the tattoos winding across his hands as if they might save him.
My eyes widen. The pieces fall into place so fast it makes my head spin. “It was you,” I breathe.
His shoulders tense.
“It was you?” I shoot up from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “God! That day on terrace—when I felt someone watching me—when I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest…” My voice rises. “It was you?!”
“Charlotte, I was—”
“Stalking me,” I finish for him with a shriek. The air rushes out of my lungs as I collapse back into the chair.
He winces. Then his brows pull together. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I just wanted to protect you.”
I scoff. The sound is sharp enough to slice through the room. “How long?”
“What?” He looks up, his gaze almost pleading.
“How long were you stalking me?” I drawl.
He exhales hard through his mouth, cheeks flushing, the tips of his ears turning red. “Since… uh… four months after you left.”
My jaw drops. What the hell was he thinking?
I had thrown him out on his ass every single time he—or Wolf—tried to talk to me. So his brilliant solution had been… stalking?
I’m just opening my mouth to verbally eviscerate him when his phone buzzes on the desk, the vibration slicing through the tension.
He stiffens.
I glance down at the screen.
Sarah.
Great. I hate the way my shoulders sag at the sight of her name. The way my stomach twists with something ugly I refuse to name.
Instead of answering, Ruin simply rejects the call.
“You should’ve answered,” I say flatly. “Your girlfriend might’ve needed you.”
“I’m not—” He drags a frustrated hand down his face. “She’s not my girlfriend, Charlotte. Never was. Apparently, Glory’s been sniffing around her, so I told her to call me if she ever saw the bitch again.” His tone turns defensive. Like he’s trying to clarify something. Like he thinks I need the clarification.
I’m immediately disgusted with myself for even letting that thought exist.
His phone lights up again. Voicemail.
“Listen to it, Ruin,” I say, more resigned than anything. “If what you’re saying is true, it might be important.”
He sighs, visibly restraining himself from arguing, then taps the screen.
Sarah’s voice fills the room. “R-Ruin,” she whispers shakily. “I… that woman from the picture—Leila, or whatever her name is—she… she was at my salon tonight at 8:20 p.m. I thought she wouldn’t show up for her session but… well she came late. You told me to inform you so… err… yeah. She was here. That’s it.”
I frown.
Her voice trembles through the speaker. The words rush out like she’s moving fast—like she’s speed walking. Maybe running. But the gasps between her sentences don’t sound like exhaustion. They sound like fear.
Ruin barely seems to notice. He taps the share button immediately, probably forwarding it to Ryder.
