Page 11 of Ruin Me Gently

She’d slid in earlier, interrupting me mid-conversation with one of my employees. I hadn’t seen her approach, but I sure as hell caught the sharp floral perfume that hit my nose like a slap.

Her perfectly manicured hand rested on my shoulder, the tips of her long nails tracing idle patterns along the edge of my jacket as though she had every right to bethere. Her body pressed firmly against my side, lips painted a bold red that matched the wine stain on her glass.

Some influencer, I thought. An educated guess based on the number of times she’d asked me to take a selfie with her. Apparently, her hundred thousand followers couldn’t live another second without seeing her cosying up to me.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my tongue to the inside of my cheek. She was speaking, but I wasn’t listening. I had no interest in whatever rehearsed lines she thought would work on me. I wanted to continue my conversation with my devs. But she was making it really damn difficult, and not in a good way.

I shifted slightly on my seat, pulling away from her, but she followed, pressing her thigh against mine.

My gaze dragged across the room, searching for a way out.

She leaned in closer, her fingers drifting lower, trailing down the smooth fabric of my tux, lingering against the lapel like she was testing the texture. Her voice dipped, sultry now, like she thought it might ignite something.

It sparked nothing but a flicker of irritation beneath my ribs.

I wondered how long it would take for her to get bored of being ignored and slink off to find someone who actually gave a shit about her follower count.

Her nails skimmed lower. A light graze, trailing downward, testing, lingering.

I clenched my teeth, a muscle in my jaw ticking.

She pressed further against me, the manicured hand venturing into territory that absolutely wasn’t open for exploration.

There was a sharp pulse of irritation, then something hotter and sharper.

It was invasive. Maddening. Like a grating itch I couldn’t scratch, a pressure that gnawed, suffocating and unwelcome. Every muscle coiled tight.

I wasdone.

I didn’t acknowledge her as I moved. I simply stood, the sudden shift enough to make her hand fall away. Her fingers hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before dropping, like she wasn’t sure what to do now her target was gone. I adjusted my cuff, the smooth motion enough to give me some semblance of control. Calm. Composed. Not at all irritated by the fact she’d spent the last fifteen minutes trying to grope me in public.

The excuses I offered to the people around us came easily, though I barely heard my own words as I slipped through the crowd, focus locked straight ahead, the stink of her perfume following me even as I tried desperately to get away from it.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind me. The air was cooler, cleaner, the silence broken only by the soft trickle of the small stone fountain in the corner. Leaning heavily on the marble counter, I braced my hands on either side of the basin, the cool stone grounding me as I bowed my head and forced a deep, steadying breath.

A thirty-four-year-old man reduced to hiding in the bathroom. Impressive. Truly.

Get it together.

Deep brown eyes stared back at me in the mirror’s reflection, full of judgement I hadn’t asked for. I ran a hand through the dark waves that usually ran a little too wild for the image I was supposed to project. Tonight, they were combed back neatly, only a few loose curls brushing against the edges of the mask.

Perfect.

Except, nothing felt perfect.

I stared harder, as if looking long enough might bring something back—some flicker of recognition. But the man staring back wasn’t me.He was hollow. A stranger wearing my face.

He hadn’t vanished all at once. He’d slipped away in pieces, quietly, until everything was drained out, long gone. Just an empty shell with a familiar reflection, a perfect image of composure, polished and unshaken. But there was nothing behind it.

Enough.

It wasn’t the time for this.

I forced the thoughts back, pressing them deep into the mental box labelled‘Deal with later.’

Straightening, I squared my shoulders, adjusting the edges of my jacket like armour, and stepped back into the noise of the ballroom.

Not two steps in, my stomach turned to stone.

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