Page 82 of The Ruin I Chose

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. We’re stronger than this. The storm will pass—and we’ll sail through. Just don’t keep things from me again.”

Relief washed over me. The thought of starting over—of losing everything we’d built—was finally put to rest.

“Have you told Marcello?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I don’t even know if I want to,” I whispered.

After China, there was no trace of him. No message. No call. Just silence. Maybe he’d moved on and the necklace was the final goodbye. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe I wasn’t worth the trouble after all.

The week passed in a blur. We worked through the nights—drafting statements, consulting lawyers, shielding our team from panic. We rewrote contracts, reassured vendors. Held emergency meetings.

We were exhausted, under a mountain of paperwork. But we didn’t stop. We went into war mode. Because when you’ve built something from nothing, you don’t let it fall without a fight.

We called every client, assuring them the news was bullshit. We opened our books and came clean. I was glad I’d insisted on taking payments only by bank transfer or cheque. It was the one thing that paid off.

After an agonising month, the audits cleared. The whispers faded. Studio Rasa stood tall again—bruised, but not broken.

Lorenzo had rattled me, yes. But he hadn’t broken me.

This time, he failed. But I knew he wouldn’t stop. He’d told me himself—he always got what he wanted

And I couldn’t call Marcello. Not now. Not when the fire was already licking at the edges of everything he’d built.

Because if I did, maybe he’d come for me. And Lorenzo would come for him. And I couldn’t watch the man I fell for burn to the ground.

So I stayed silent. Shielded the wreckage and waited for the next wave. Because sometimes survival isn’t about fighting. It isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just… enduring. It’s about knowing when to disappear. When to become invisible.

When to protect the people you love—

Even if it means they never know.

I left the studio late that night. The year was finally coming to an end—and hopefully the new year would bring in some relief.

The roads were quiet, the city washed in sodium light. My hands gripped the wheel tighter than usual. My mind was chaos—thoughts clashing, looping, refusing to settle. And the silence in the car only made it louder.

I kept thinking about Kyra.

Had I done enough? Had I sent her away too soon? Was she safer with Vihaan’s family—or had I just handed her over to people who barely tolerated my existence?

I thought about Sahil. About the studio. Had I put a target on his back by telling him everything? Had I dragged him into a war he didn’t sign up for? Especially with his wedding only a month away.

I thought about my mother. Her hands trembling as she signed the audit papers. Her voice steady, even when mine wasn’t. She didn’t ask questions. She just stood her ground.

And then—Marcello. His face. The memory of his cologne. The way he looked at me like I was something worth protecting.

I couldn’t imagine Lorenzo trying to take everything from him. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the match that lit the fire that would burn him.

I kept thinking about what would happen if Lorenzo didn’t stop. If the next wave wasn’t just a raid or a threat but something worse. Something final.

I didn’t think about myself. Not my body. Not my mind. Not the fact that I hadn’t slept properly in two weeks. I was just a vessel carrying everyone else’s safety like it was mine to bear. Like I was built for burden. Like I didn’t deserve rest.

I didn’t see the truck until it was too late.

It came from the side—fast. Unforgiving.

Metal against metal. A deafening crunch. Then—whiplash. My body ricocheted, whipped hard against the seat.