Page 27 of The Ruin I Chose

“Your throat,” he said, voice rough but controlled.

“You took it well.”

I smiled, slow and knowing.

“You didn’t seem gentle enough for me to pretend otherwise.”

His hand stilled at my lower back. Not softer. Not gentler. Just more deliberate.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re learning what you provoke.”

I bit my lip and wished he’d take me there—in that alley—without a care for who might see. As we walked back, he turned to me.

“There’s an auction tonight, just outside Rome. I’d like for you to come.”

“I don’t have anything fancy to wear,” I said. “Plus, I’ve never been to one.”

Marcello just smiled. “It’s taken care of.”

I blinked. “You’re serious?”

“I always am,” he said with a wink.

After my shower, I found the dress laid out on the bed. It was a deep emerald green silk gown, tailored to skim my curves without clinging. The bodice was structured, with a subtle sweetheart neckline that elegantly framed my bust. A high slit on the left thigh added drama, revealing glimpses of skin as I walked. The waist was gently ruched to soften my pooch, and the fabric flowed like water.

I stared at it, stunned. It was perfect. I felt beautiful in it. Wanted. Seen. And I was in awe of his choice—how he’d gotten my size exactly right. And somehow, he made me feel like it was all worth dressing up. Like I was worth being seen.

I pinned one side of my dark hair back with a jewelled clip, letting the rest cascade over my shoulder in soft waves. My makeup was minimal—just enough to accentuate my features. A hint of kohl and eyeliner framed my eyes, and my lips wore a deep pink, somewhere between rose and berry. Natural, yet striking.

Marcello entered, dressed in a black suit that fit him like a second skin. A crisp white shirt, a bow tie, and slicked-back peppered hair made him look devastatingly sharp. He paused, eyes sweeping over me.

“You look ravishing,” he said.

I smiled as he stepped closer, studying my reflection in the mirror.

“You’re missing something.”

Before I could ask, he fastened a necklace around my neck—a delicate white gold chain holding a single teardrop diamond that shimmered like moonlight, cold against my skin.

I touched it, stunned.

“I can’t wear this. It looks expensive.”

He didn’t blink.

“Think of it as borrowed,” he said. “But it’ll remember your throat. Even if you give it back.”

His fingers lingered, just below the clasp, just above my pulse. I swallowed hard. It wasn’t just a necklace. It was a leash. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be led or claimed.

He knelt before me, his hands slid up my calves, slowly, as he helped me into my heels, kissing my thigh just above my knee. His breath was warm and his gaze, consuming. My body responded faster than I could breathe. A small moan escaped my throat.

“It’s dangerous when you make sounds like that,” he murmured.

He rose, eyes sweeping over me like he was memorising every inch. Then, casually, like it was nothing, like I was his—

“Let’s go show you off.”

I followed him into the glittering world of the auction, pulse still racing. The room sparkled with glamour. Women looked like models—tall, polished, impossibly elegant. I felt underdressed, tiny, exposed, like I’d wandered into a world that wasn’t meant for me—every polished heel, every glittering glance, a reminder that I didn’t belong.