Page 26 of Ruin Me Gently

It was the perfectnight—red wine, a good book, and silence.

And yet, I couldn’t focus on a single goddamn word.

It’d been a long few days. Overseeing the development of a new security program, dealing with HR over one of our newer employees who apparently had theworstconcept of professionalism, back-to-back calls, and general corporate bullshit.

But none of that was what was really weighing on me. It wasfour days ago.That moment. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life.

Fucking ‘bike.’

I should’ve just taken it for what it was—a well-earned kick in the teeth. A reminder as to why I needed to stay the hell away.

If it wasn’t for the scarf, she would’ve seen me.

Reallyseen me.

And that couldn’t happen.

And yet I still hadn’t stopped.

Every morning, without fail, I still dropped off something for her, taking a detour before I headed to the office. I couldn’t help but think if she ever wondered who was leaving them, or if she took them in her stride, enjoying them without a second thought. Did she smile when she found them? Did she sip the coffee absently while flipping through the pages, completely unaware of the man whose mind she was on every single day?

My phone lit up on the coffee table, a soft buzz breaking through the quiet.

Motion Alert.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Lilith didn’t leave the house this late.

I swiped the notification.

Clark. Pounding on herdoor.

The book in my lap slid to the floor with a dull thud and I stormed across the room, snatching my keys off the kitchen island. Blood roared through my ears, drowning out everything but the singular, violent need to get him away from her house.

I tore through the penthouse, yanking the elevator door open before it had even finished sliding, slamming my palm against the panel.

Too slow.

The second the doors opened, I was out, feet hitting the polished floors hard as I sprinted for the garage.

My car sat in the far corner. Sleek, black, ready and waiting. The moment I slid into the driver’s seat, the engine growled to life, deep and hungry, the low rumble vibrating through my bones.

I’m not too late.

I didn’t know what this feeling was—this sharp, instinctive urge to move, to go. But I didn’t have time to unpack it, didn’t have time to sit and analyse the twisted knot of rage and panic curling tight in my chest.

All I knew was that the thought of that piece of shit forcing his way into her space, pressing too close, crowding her the way he had at the gala—

Go. Now. Stop him.

In what felt like five seconds flat, I was reaching into the back seat, grabbing my hoodie and scarf, yanking them on as quickly as I could.

Then I was out, shutting the door without a sound.

Don’t do something reckless.

I slipped into the shadows across the street, gaze locked onto her front door. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but I forced myself to stay rooted, forced every muscle in my body to obey one simple command—wait.

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