Page 151 of Ruin Me Gently

Bad idea.

The second I put my weight down, my balance wavered, the floor tilting beneath me. My hands shot out, grabbing onto the edge of the nightstand just in time.

My knees felt like they didn’t belong to me, but I forced myself forward anyway, gripping furniture for balance as I moved to what I assumed was the bathroom.

I flicked the light on and cringed.

Too bright.

Everything in there was sleek and expensive, but I wasn’t in the state of mind to care. The stream of water called out to me like some beacon of hope in the middle of the jungle library. I bent down, shoved my mouth under the tap, and let the cold water rush over my tongue. I drank in heavy gulps, coolness spilling down my throat, dripping onto my collarbone. When I finally pulled back, I reached for a hand towel and wiped my face.

Then I looked up.

The moment my eyes met the glass, horror slammed into me in an uncontrollable wave.

I was a damn corpse.

Hollowed out. Painfully, sickly pale. Dark bruises bloomed along my jaw and my eye sockets, shadows sinking deeper, making them look too sharp. Too lost. Even the whites of them looked dull, edged in red.

I sucked in a slow breath and reached for the hem of the ridiculously oversized T-shirt I was wearing, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell I was about to be faced with.

Ugly patches of yellow-green stretched across my ribs, creeping over the stomach I hated. The mottled blooms melted into murky grey at the edges, veins like spiderwebs cracking beneath the surface, thin and branching like death. New damage layered over old scars.

I dropped the fabric quickly with a wince. Fingers gripping the sink.

Okay.

Okay.

I needed to figure out what on earth was happening. So I took a few deep breaths to steady myself and headed out of the bathroom.

Massive.

That was my first thought. Everything was too big. The walls too tall, the ceilings stretching forever. But it wasn’t cold. It looked like it should’ve been though. It was all clean lines, tasteful furniture, perfectly polished hardwood floors. But there was warmth. There were more shelves lined with novels. So many plants, green and thriving, littered everywhere.

My gaze swept over the open-plan layout as I approached the kitchen, my fingers brushing the edge of the island, tracing the cool, smooth marble.

I knew this place. I just didn’t fully know how.

A rush offlavours, scents, half memories—food, warmth, something comforting and distant all at once. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Spaghetti. Pizza.

I pressed a hand to my temple and peeled my attention away from the kitchen, drawn instead by the glow that was creeping across the room.

A huge sectional couch curved across the space, its pale plush cushions rumpled. Heavy throw blankets draped along the edges, soft, inviting.

But beyond the furniture, past the books, the plants, the expensive everything—was the view.

The air was stolen from my lungs in the best kind of way, like wonder twining around my ribs, gently pushing aside each one on the way out.

The windows spanned floor-to-ceiling. Morning light bathed the city skyline in lavender and rose, the first touches of sun gilding the edges of buildings, catching in the glass and steel, turning them ethereal.

The aches, the bruises, the tight sting of stitches—all of it dulled, fading beneath the quiet hum of awe as I crossed the space and pressed a hand lightly to the glass. I had to be at least a hundred stories up. Maybe more. It made my stomach flip. Too high. Too much space between me and the ground. The glass was solid, thick, but my mind didn’t care. It still made my throat tight, my palms damp.

“Lilith?”

The sound of my own name shattered through the silence.

I locked up. Every muscle went numb, like my body didn’t know whether to try and run or fall to my knees.

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