Page 14 of Ruin Me Gently

“Come on,” I said softly, gesturing for her to follow. I waited, giving her the time she needed, then led her out, past the rooftops glowing lanterns and down a quiet stairwell, bypassing the ballroom. She didn’t need to walk back through that shark tank.

The car was already waiting by the time we reached the lobby—a sleek black sedan, headlights glowing softly against the stone steps.

The sidewalk was empty now. No photographers, no gawking strangers. Just silence, broken by threads of late-night traffic.

I opened the door for her, holding it wide, giving her room to breathe.

She hesitated for a second, her hand hovering over the edge of the doorframe like she wanted to say something. But she just slipped inside, careful and silent, like she wanted to take up as little space as possible.

“Tell the driver where you want to go,” I said, keeping my words soft. “He’ll take you wherever you need.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The door shut with a quiet thunk, and the car pulled away, red taillights disappearing into the city’s glittering sprawl.

I stood there for a moment, watching until the glow disappeared. Until there was nothing left but the cold air biting at my skin and the faint scent of honey and incense on my jacket.

Then I turned and walked away.

CHAPTER FIVE

I’d walked into workthis morning feeling and looking like complete and utter shit. The adrenalinefrom two nights ago had burned out, leaving a dull ache in my chest and a bone-deep kind of exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

Molly had met me with an overly cheery, “You look like you haven’t slept in a decade, did you fight a raccoon on the way in?”

But when I didn’t answer, her expression changed, and she took in how Ireallylooked. Slumped shoulders, purple marks under my eyes, and a red nose from where I’d blown it one too many times.

She’d asked me what happened. At first, I didn’t tell her. I was embarrassed. The words felt too heavy, too messy, and the last thing I wanted to do was to say them out loud and have to hear them back. That would’ve made it all too real. So, I’d tried to brush her off. Mumbled something vague. Made a joke about my questionable life choices, and hoped she’d let it slide.

She did. For a little while. But when she’d accidentally dropped a book in front of me and I flinched—because of course I flinched—she’d stopped being gentle.

“Lilith Whitlock,”she’d said. “Tell me what happened. Now.”

I’d tried to brush it off again, but she just stood there, waiting, her gaze pinning me in place, staring through my attempts to dodge her. It took a good five minutes of a silent standoff before I cracked, and the words poured out, tripping over each other in their rush to be free. I told hereverything.

The hits. The grabs. The bruises. How it had started so small—little things I could excuse away, convince myself weren’t real. How the apologies always came so quickly, so sweetly—soft words wrapped around razor-sharp bullshit.

How I’d let it happen. How I’d let it keep happening.

The moment the last word left my mouth, the weight of it all slammed into me at full force, and I’d braced for the inevitable.

The‘I told youso.’

The‘What were you thinking, Lilith?’

The‘Seriously, how did you not see it coming?’

But it didn’t come. Instead, she’d just sat there, silent and shaking, her grip on my hand iron tight, jaw clenched so hard I thought it might shatter. She never hid her emotions, but I’d never seen her like this. Not just angry.Livid.

“That fucking asshole,”she’d whispered.

Then she’d moved fast and fierce, wrapping her arms around me before I could even react. She’d held on tight, warm and crushing, like she was trying to put me back together with sheer physical strength alone.

Now, as I reached for the next book, the sleeve of my shirt shifted, exposing the finger-shaped bruises that were darkening into deep violet blooms across my wrist. I swallowed hard and yanked the fabric back down, wincing as it scraped against the tender skin.

The dress was a damn masterpiece.

Black satin, sleek but not too tight, cut just right to skim my curves like it’d been made for me. It hadn’t, obviously—I’d thrifted the hell out of it. Found it crammed between a hideous sequinned monstrosity and something that looked like it belonged at an 80’s prom. But the second I’d slipped it on, I knew it was mine.

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