Page 69 of The Ruin I Chose

“Marcello.”

He froze. Just for a second. Then he turned, opened the door and vanished. I stood there, flushed, flustered, trembling. I opened the door—an empty corridor.

Was I dreaming?

Hallucinating?

I pushed the keycard in. The lights flickered on. I picked up my bag and walked towards the bed. I stood there stunned.

A velvet box lay on the duvet, dead centre, like it was placed with intent. No letter. No note.

It was him.

I sat at the edge of the bed, shaking, still registering the kiss. The velvet box lay open beside me, the emerald catching the light like it was watching me.

I tried to convince myself it was a dream. A ghost. A hallucination born of alcohol and longing. But my skin still burned where he touched. And my heart—

My heart hadn’t stopped racing.

What did this mean? Why had he come? Why did he come at all? Why hadn’t he said a word?

Was this forgiveness? A goodbye?

Had he missed me? Had he watched me all evening, waiting for a moment to strike—not with anger, but with memory?

Or did he want to punish me? Or remind me?

The necklace glinted again, cruel and beautiful. It wasn’t just a gift. It was a message. One I didn’t know how to read.

Did he love me? Did he hate me? Was this his way of saying he hadn’t forgotten? Or that he never would?

I pressed my fingers to my lips, still swollen from his kiss. My body was humming, my mind unravelling. I felt like I’d been branded—not with pain, but with something worse. Longing.

I curled onto the bed, the necklace still beside me, and stared at the ceiling. The questions poured in, relentless and unkind. And somewhere between the ache and the silence, I whispered his name again.

“Marcello.”

But this time, no one answered. The silence didn’t feel empty.

It felt loaded. Like he’d left something behind. Not just the necklace. But a storm.

And I knew, whatever came next, it wouldn’t be gentle.

CHAPTER 28

ROXANNE

The flight home was quiet.

Sahil slept most of the way.

I stared out the window, watching clouds drift past like unfinished thoughts.

I hadn’t spoken about the encounter. Not the velvet box. Not the kiss. Not the way my body had surrendered in the dark. Not the way it still hummed with memory. I didn’t know what it meant. Only that it hadn’t left me.

Upon landing, Sahil looked at me with searching eyes, asking softly if everything was okay. I simply nodded, deeply grateful when he chose not to press.

The weekend arrived fast—too fast. It was Saturday.