Page 79 of The Ruin I Chose

But grief is a tidal wave. It recedes. And when it does, it leaves behind someone stronger. Not untouched or unscarred. But resilient. The imprint of loss remains, yes. But it becomes part of the architecture. And I was rebuilding. Quietly. Fiercely.

But he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know anything.

“I’ve got plenty of attention. Just not interested in any from you,” I snapped back.

“Not yet,” he said. “But I’m persuasive.”

I turned to face him. “You’re delusional.”

And dangerous. But I wouldn’t let him see that.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a growl.

“Let’s be each other’s company. One night. No strings. No lies. Just skin and sweat.”

“Are you insane? I’d rather sleep in a grave.”

He laughed. “So dramatic.”

Then his tone shifted, darker.

“I want to see Marcello burn.”

My breath caught.

“I want everything that’s his. Starting with you.”

I stared at him.

“I told you I’m nothing. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Marcello and I, we were never real.”

He stepped closer.

“Ahh… but that’s where you’re wrong, amuri. I saw the way he looked at you in Florence and the way he held on to you in Rome.”

What? Was he there—at the auction?

Had he kept someone to follow me?

Shit. Isabella.

I swallowed. “He won’t.”

“You sure?”

I looked away. Because I wasn’t.

Marcello wouldn’t come for someone who hid the truth. Someone who betrayed him. Someone who cheated and lied. Someone he didn’t love.

But did I love him? Or just the idea of him? The allure. The danger. The excitement.

He chuckled. “I need something from Marcello.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Well, you see amuri, he’ll listen to you.”

“We’re not in touch.”