Page 29 of My Girl to Ruin

Everything’s gone dull now. The world has been stripped of color, leaving behind shades I no longer recognize. I still go to class, still sit through lectures, still take notes like I’m supposed to, but none of it sticks. None of it matters anymore.

Because he’s not there. Lachlan. The thought of his name alone is enough to make my chest ache.

I miss him in ways I didn’t think were possible. It’s not just the physical—the way he touches me, the way his presence fills a room. It’s everything. The quiet moments. The small conversations. The way he looked at me like I was the thing holding him in place.

Except maybe I imagined it. All I know is that I’m in love with him, and he doesn’t love me back. Not the way I need him to.

The realization sits heavy in my chest again as I walk down the hallway toward my dorm. My steps are slower than usual, like I’m delaying the moment I have to step back into that empty room. My fingers tighten around my bag strap as I stop at my door, exhaling softly before I push it open.

Then, I freeze.

He’s there. Almost like the first time.

Lachlan stands near the window, his back half-turned, shoulders tense. His hands are shoved into his pockets like he doesn’t know what to do with them. For a second, I think I’m imagining it.

Have I finally reached the point where my mind is filling in the space he left behind?

Then he turns. And it’s real.

My breath goes out of me, my heart slamming against my ribs. He looks tired. Worn. Like the past week hit him as hard as it hit me. I feel a small, ugly satisfaction that I’m not the only one hurting.

“How did you—” I stop and look at the door. Look at the deadbolt he put in himself, on a Saturday, at nine in the morning.

“I kept a key,” he says.

“Of course you did.”

Then my mind moves past my initial shock. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend, betraying me immediately.

His gaze moves over me slowly, lingering long enough to warm my skin before he speaks. “You’ve lost weight.”

I blink at the concern in his tone. “That’s not your business anymore,” I reply quietly.

Something flickers in his eyes. Pain. It’s gone as fast as it came. “Yeah,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s reminding himself of that.

I close the door behind me. Silence stretches between us, thick and uncertain, neither of us moving, neither of us quite sure where to start.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I add after a second, my voice steadier now, as I walk farther into the room and drop my bag on the bed, standing even closer to him.

“I needed to see you,” he says.

The words hit harder than they should. I hold still and refuse to let the small spark of hope grow into something bigger.

“Why?” I ask.

He hesitates. Just for a second. “I joined the lawsuit,” he says finally.

My brows pull together slightly. “What?”

“Against Bardon. It was in the folder you left behind.” His voice sharpens into something more certain. “That company supplied the parts we put in the car that day. Greg’s got an engineer on it. The tie rod failed before I lost control—it was cracked before we ever pulled out of the shop, and the photos in my own crash report show it.”

When I don’t say anything, he goes on. “It wasn’t reckless driving. It was never reckless driving.”

“But you pleaded guilty.” My voice comes out thin. “Doesn’t that—”

“That’s what I asked him.” He shakes his head slowly, like he still doesn’t quite believe the answer. “He says a plea doesn’t close the door. There’s a motion for evidence that didn’t exist when I entered it and couldn’t have been found. Their own internal testing data qualifies. He says it’s exactly what that motion is for.”

“That means…” I trail off, my pulse picking up for a completely different reason.