Page 95 of The Ruin I Chose

Her mother tried to bridge the gap—gentle nudges, shared meals, small talk.

One morning, I decided to win her over through her stomach. Literally. I woke up early and made breakfast for all the ladies. Roxanne’s mother helped with chai—the one thing I still hadn’t mastered. But I’d get there. For her.

Roxanne woke late, walking into the kitchen—hair tousled, eyes half-lidded. Her oversized tee slipped off one shoulder, barely covering her micro shorts.

It should be illegal to walk into a room and steal a man’s sanity like that.

“Ohh… something smells delicious. Have you made French toast?”

She picked up a warm French toast, drizzled honey and took a bite.

“Umm… Ma, you’ve outdone yourself today.”

The sound she made—soft, indulgent, obscene—went straight to my cock.

“It wasn’t me. Marcello made breakfast and even packed Kyra’s lunch,” her mother said.

Roxanne froze. Then nodded, mouthing “Thank you.”

She held my gaze longer than necessary. Her thank you landed like a touch I was starving for. Damn those eyes. They didn’t just look—they branded. Getting through breakfast was going to be harder than I thought.

Once all the women had left the house, I decided to meet with the security team assigned to protect Roxanne and her family. I stayed in touch with Antonio, Santino and Martin—tracking Lorenzo’s movements, bleeding his businesses dry. Ensuring other warehouses where he held women hostage were also exposed.

If I couldn’t erase Roxanne’s pain, I could at least bury the man who caused it.

Her family left for the wedding on Wednesday. We’d join them tomorrow. I stayed back just to keep her company. This was my chance at being alone with her, to talk to her. Ask for forgiveness.

She came home late, tired. I met her at the door. She looked beautiful.

“I made pasta. Your favourite.”

“I’ll shower and join you,” she replied.

The apartment was dimly lit. Almost romantic. She wore a t-shirt dress that skimmed her thighs. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra—her breasts swayed freely, teasing with every movement. I shouldn’t have been noticing these things. But I was. God, I was.

We ate in silence—occasional questions, nothing deep. She washed the dishes while I dried them. Our hands brushed one too many times. She didn’t flinch.

Once we were done, I moved closer, hands on either side of the counter, trapping her between them.

“Why won’t you even look at me?”

She closed her eyes and spoke.

“Because it hurts too much.”

She pushed my hand away and stepped back, putting distance between us.

“You walked away. Then showed up in China. Gave me the necklace. Gave me hope. And vanished again. How do you expect me to forgive you? To look at you without hating you?”

“I did it for you. To keep you safe.”

Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes.

“But you couldn’t. Where were you when my company was being torn apart? Where were you when Lorenzo cornered me in his office and touched me like I was his whore?”

The word whore hit me like a bullet and lodged somewhere between my ribs. It sliced through me. I saw black. My body trembled, like rage and shame were fighting for the same breath. When I opened my eyes, I saw fear in hers—for the first time.

I stepped closer and pressed my forehead to hers. Drew in her scent.