Page 8 of Her Ruin

Rye shrugged, his smirk one I was too familiar with. “Just took her client, they confirmed yesterday, and from how quickly she contacted me, I guess they told her today.” He shrugged, slipping his hands into his pocket. “She’s not a fan,” he added with a mock pout.

I grinned. “Isla Wells is not a fan of much except the sound of her own disapproval.” I walked over to the bar, went behind the counter, and took a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge. I handed one to Rye. “I hear she’s a good party planner.”

“Eventplanner,” he corrected me. “They get touchy when you liken them toamateurs,” he added with air quotes.

I grunted but didn’t comment. With a final glance at the door, I pushed Isla Wells and her uptight character out of my mind. “We’re behind on deliveries. Tell me why and what you’re doing to fix it.”

Rye opened his water and took a drink. “We’re behind because you expect everyone to work to the same schedule as you do; they’ll come when they come,which,” he added, speaking over me before I had the chance to interrupt, “is before opening night. What I’m doing to fix it?” His look was full of amusement. “I’m reminding you that you’re a control freak and everything is under control.”

“If it was under control, then my deliveries of booze would be here,” I grumbled as I stepped out from behind the bar. My attention wandered to the door again. “Who did we take off her?”

“Corporate party. They specialize in…” he hesitated. “I don’t know or care. There are thirty of them paying top dollar, and there is a little extra to be here during the opening week.”

“They share her proposals?” I tightened the cap on the bottle of water.

“Obviously.”

“Good. Use them and make them better.”

I stepped through the door I knew Rye wouldn’t have let Isla near because it led to the lower-level club. Satisfaction stirred in my chest as I took in the familiar space. Like its counterpart upstairs, the decor was a study in dark opulence—black leather, polished wood—and here the walls were a deep blood red. Black chandeliers cast muted shadows across the room, their light glinting off the glass and marble. I’d toyed with the option of spotlights; the clientele who would use this level shouldn’t feel the need to hide, but I knew all too well that those who thrived in the shadows preferred to remain unseen.

This level had been my vision—a space for society’s boldest and most secretive, those who wanted to see and be seen but only on their own terms. I moved deeper into the room, my shoes echoing softly against the wooden floor as I walked. I was eager for the club to open and be filled with muted conversation and music. Even empty, the atmosphere of the room promised to be everything I had planned for.

My hand trailed over the back of one of the booths as I moved toward the far end of the room, where a heavy curtain of black velvet cordoned off a private section. Once the club was opened, that section wouldn’t be for the faint of heart. It was for those who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to take it—for those who understood the value of discretion and, most importantly…how easily it could be bought.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder, my gaze sweeping the room. As much as I liked the exclusivity of this level, it wouldn’t be without its risks. Power attracted power, and some would use this space for more than just private conversation and expensive drinks. Deals would be made here, alliances formed…and broken.

It was one thing to create a haven for the elite and powerful—it was another to control the chaos that came with them.

But that was my job, wasn’t it? To know who to trust, who to watch, and who to stop before they crossed a line.

I let the weight of it all settle over me like a second skin, reveling in the power this club would bring me. There was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing it would be under my control—not just this space, but its energy, in the lives that would play out here in whispers and shadows.

This was my world.

And I had no intention of letting anyone forget it.

At the door at the far end of the room, I pressed my thumb into the scanner, heard the click, and opened the door to the entrance to my office. Climbing a few stairs, I went through the same process and opened the door to my sanctuary.

A stark contrast to the hidden club below and the public level, my office was well-lit, neutral in decor, and challenged any shadow that dared cross the threshold. Where the club outside enticed its occupants to hide their secrets within its seductive darkness,thisspace refused to play that game.

The office walls were in a pale dove gray, smooth and unadorned, save for a single, large abstract painting in muted tones of white and gray and then a slash of vibrant red. It had cost me more than I would ever admit, but the piece’s simplicity spoke to me. The floor was wooden, like outside, only here it was oak flooring, the highly polished surface catching the light from the recessed spots above. Unlike the chandeliers in the club, which seemed to dim more than illuminate, the lighting in my office was clinical and uncompromising.

Like me.

A glass desk dominated the center of the room, its sharp edges reflecting the room’s stark design. My desk was clutter-free—just a sleek laptop, a leather notebook, and a single pen. My desk chair was high-backed and ergonomic, but the gray leather was deceptively comfortable. Two matching armchairs sat opposite. The design was relaxed and professional, conveying a sense of calm and control to whoever occupied them.

The cool air of the room enveloped me, crisp and slightly sterile. A subtle fragrance of citrus and cedar lingered, clean and faintly invigorating. It was purposeful. Everything about this room was intentional.

The glass walls on one side overlooked the club’s upper floor, the window tinted to prevent anyone outside from seeing in. From here, I could observe without being observed—a feature that wasn’t just convenient but necessary. Trust was a currency in the business I was in, and knowing who could be trusted required constant vigilance, which was why the other wall in my office was filled with screens.

The real power lay in the live feed on the screen even though it was a different kind from the one outside. It wasn’t in the quiet, seductive hum of the whispered secrets in the leather booths; it was here, laid bare and unafraid of being seen by those who would step into the office, where control of structure and decisions was made with precision and intent.

This office was my refuge, the one place where I allowed no chaos to intrude. It reminded me of who I was, of what I needed to be to keep everything I had built running smoothly.

My office mirrored me in many ways: deliberate, calm, untouchable, and a reminder that even those who thrived in the shadows could flourish within the light.

I opened the laptop, and within moments, all the screens came to life. After punching a sequence into the laptop, I settled into my chair and watched Rye lead Isla through my club. It had been years since I had seen her, and time had been good to her.

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