Page 87 of Shades of Ruin

She senses my approach, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she turns to face me for the first time in a decade. Her features are as stunning as the day we met, multiple cosmetic procedures ensuring that her face remains frozen in place. She doesn’t look a day older than the last time I saw her in that cafe in Paris.

Ten years, and nothing has changed. Nothing except for her eyes—they’re so cold and lifeless, like her soul was snuffed out long ago, every periwinkle fleck of innocencegone.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Grey,” she purrs, her voice a little sharper than I remember. “I’ve been waiting so long.”

“I told you were we done ten years ago,” I bite, refusing to give in to whatever the fuck this new manipulation is. “Did you not believe me, Aurélie? Or were your own lies so convincing you started to believe them yourself?”

“Did you meet your son?” she asks, hoping to throw me off by flipping the conversation away from her.

“Starting with the biggest lie first, then?” I slide into the chair across from her. I get a jolt of satisfaction when she flinches away from my sudden closeness. She may be a predator, but she knows I am too.

“I met Tobias. He’s an amazing boy in spite of who raised him.” I slam my arms on the table and lean across it so she’s forced to pull back. “But he’s not my son.”

A cunning smile spreads across her red lips. “Certainly you’re smart enough to do the math, Grey? He’s nine years old. You and I both know you were the only person I was sleeping with that summer. And you came inside me every fucking time.”

She’s not wrong, and I’m the luckiest bastard in the world that being such an irresponsible asshole didn’t land me with some sort of demon spawn bearing the blood of two murderous parents. Tobias really dodged a bullet there.

“Did you see his eyes?” she adds, pointing out the most damning piece of evidence. Because hedoeslook like me. “There’s no doubting he’s your son.”

“Well, a DNA test says that he isn’t.” She’s wrong if she thinks she holds all the leverage here.

Her smile falters. “What do you mean?”

“I found him last year. I noticed the resemblance. Like you said, I was smart enough to put two and two together. But I also know that you’re a scheming bitch, so I had someonecollect and test a sample first. The results came in with a resounding negative. For both of us.”

I lean back in my chair, enjoying my checkmate with a smug smirk. “He’s notyourson either.”

“What could you possibly be suggesting?” she asks, her voice falsely outraged. But both know lies are a fundamental part of her personality.

“You adopted him when suspicion around your husband’s disappearance was at its highest,” I answer with an educated guess. Maybe I should apologize for pointing that suspicion in her direction in the first place, but I don’t. Even when I took out Blaise, I was playing into her hands all along.

“You thought motherhood would make you look more sympathetic to the police,” I continue. “And it worked, didn’t it? It’s a shame for Tobias you didn’t give him back after you’d used him like you use everyone else.”

Aurélie scoffs, the sweet and innocent act shattering in one, startling moment. Those eyes I thought were dull and dead suddenly brighten with a viscous, serpentine gleam.Thisis who she’s been all along; she just didn’t let me see her without her mask until now.

“Don’t act like Tobias hasn’t been cared for. He’s been provided every luxury in life. He has everything he could ever want.”

“Nannies and tutors and personal chefs and house staff and mansions don’t make up for what he’s missing, Aurélie.”

She rolls her eyes. “And what is that?”

The fact that I have to explain it at all means she’ll never understand. “Something you’ll never have the capacity to give him. Something all the money in the world couldn’t make up for. It would be hard for you to understand since you’ve always picked wealth over love, but it’s not fair to make Tobias suffer for your choices. He deserves to live a real life. A full life.”

Her smile turns so cruel, a shiver slides over my skin. “Awfully attached to a little brat who isn’t yours, Grey.” She takes a long sip of her wine, the Bordeaux staining her lips a deeper shade of red. “But then, you always did have a bleeding heart.”

“Yes, and you never had one at all.” I wish I had a glass of whisky to dull the rage coursing through my body.

“This again,” she snaps as my words dig their way under her skin. “I kept your secret. I never told anyone about Blaise. Iprotectedyou because I care.”

“We both know you kept my secret because you’d be implicated. You’ve never done anything in your life that didn’t benefit yourself.”

I grab the glass from her hand and drain the last of her wine just to see the irritated look on her haughty face. “I watched you for the first couple years, you know. I never got close myself, but I kept tabs on you. It wasn’t long before I noticed the pattern.”

“Pattern?” she questions, playing coy. It doesn't suit her like it did a decade ago.

“You’d marry some rich bastard. Someone whose work took them out of the country a lot. Then whenever your darling husband was away, you’d fuck around—always naive, poorer boys out of your social circle. Starving artist types who would see you as a muse and worship you. I wasn’t your last. I wasn’t even your fucking first. I was just yourtype.”

I twist the glass in my hands, watching the last drop of wine swirl around the bottom so I don’t have to look at her red lips. “You know, I didn’t believe Blaise when he told me about you, but it seems the pig wasn’t as much of a liar as you are.”

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