Page 61 of The Ruin I Chose

Ritu bowed dramatically. “Wow, the shots have done a number on you, Baba Roxy. Have you considered preaching? Or becoming a love guru?” she asked, teasing. “That was beautiful—even though it went straight over my head.”

“Love guru who can’t keep a man.” We burst out laughing.

“I may have fallen too fast,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder. “I’m officially fucked.”

Ritu smiled—sad and warm.

“But you should be happy. You’re finally getting out. Just a few more months and the divorce is done.”

She ordered another round.

“You’re getting me too drunk,” I laughed.

“To drown out your sorrow,” she said, clinking glasses.

We drank.

“To finding better men,” Ritu said.

I raised my glass. “To forgetting the unforgettable.”

We sucked on lemons and shrieked as Sahil joined us for another round.

“To Studio Rasa,” Ritu cheered. “More success to you—and more parties to me!”

Glasses clinked.

“So, when are you guys flying to China?” she asked.

“Next week. We’ll be gone for a week.”

“Don’t worry, our office will handle any post-handover snags,” Sahil assured.

I nodded, eyes a little too glassy. The music throbbed around me. I was surrounded by people, by noise, by celebration. And yet, I felt empty. Like I was watching myself from the outside—smiling, dancing, pretending.

The ache of him not being here settled in my chest like a weight I couldn’t shift. His absence wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Sharp. It hurt in places I didn’t know could ache. I missed him—in a way that felt carved into bone. Not just his touch, or his voice but the way he looked at me like I was something rare.

And tonight, in a room full of people, I felt anything but.

CHAPTER 25

MARCELLO

It was just past 8 p.m. in Sicily when her name lit up my screen.

Roxanne.

Two rings. Then silence.

My chest tightened—her silence was always louder than anyone’s voice.

I stared at the phone. Stunned. Not a dream.

Mr. Cheung and his son sat across from me, watching the colour drain from my face. It felt like a ghost had called.

“Let’s continue this tomorrow.”

They were here to acquire some arms and ammunition, which could reach them only through me. They were leaving tomorrow, but I couldn’t give a damn. Not when her name had just burned through my screen. Not when something in me had just lurched awake—violent, unwanted.