Page 64 of Velvet Corruption

I turned and walked down the hallway, every step hammering into the floor like I was trying to bury the fire still burning in my chest.

Letting her in was a mistake. Letting her out might’ve been worse. I should’ve known better…but that was the problem.

I never did when it came to her.

I’d never done a single thing right when it came to Ruby Marquez.

And if I didn’t change that soon, she’d be the one to destroy me.

Chapter Fourteen: Ruby

My hand felt like it was on fire.

It was the first thing I noticed when I woke up, groggy and unsure of where I was. Then everything else came into sharp focus: I was on Kieran’s sofa, my shirt still smelled like him, and my head was pounding. The bandages were too tight, the pain a steady pulse in my fingers. I flexed them instinctively. Bad idea.

Then, a second assault: the smell of eggs and bacon and coffee, all conspiring to remind me of the hell I was in. My stomach growled, which was bullshit, considering where I was.

Kieran’s voice sliced through that flood of memory. Low and smooth, as if this was just a casual conversation.

As if we did this all the fucking time.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he said from the kitchen, then started whistlingHungry Like The Wolf.

I forced myself upright, the couch creaking beneath me. Everything hurt. My hand. My ribs. The corners of my eyes, rubbed raw from exhaustion. My chest heavy. It was still dark outside, the barest glimmer of dawn on the horizon, and a quick glance at my watch told me it was just after four in the morning.

And then, just to top it all off, my gaze landed on the triptych hanging on the far wall.

Boston.HisBoston.

A three-panel oil painting, the city stretched across it in bold strokes of shadow and light, a fractured skyline split into thirds. A statement piece, perfectly curated, perfectly placed. It was the kind of thing someone bought when they wanted to be reminded of the kingdom they owned.

My stomach twisted.

I knew it wasn’t there for me—Kieran wouldn’t decorate his home around my political career. But it felt personal.Like even now, even here, I couldn’t escape the fact that this city—mycity—was still under Callahan control.

My eyes flicked to the rest of the space. Everything else was controlled and personally tailored. Leather and steel. Minimalist, but not impersonal. An electric guitar with the word Suhr scribbled on the neck propped up in the corner, a framed Celtic Football Club poster, a cross-stitched coat of arms—and all of it perfectly at home.

Unlike me.

Kieran moved in the kitchen like it was already noon, like he hadn’t spent all night not sleeping, same as me. I watched him for a second, the way his muscles flexed under the twisting lines of black ink on his back, the easy, practiced way he flipped something in the pan. Completely unbothered. As if he had no idea that the sight of him shirtless was doing something to me.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “What the hell are you doing?”

My voice was rough with sleep. Kieran didn’t even turn around.

“Making breakfast.”

Like this was normal. Like any of this was fucking normal. I looked around, my gaze finally landing on one of the home assistant displays. “It’s still dark outside, Kieran.”

He shrugged like the hour didn’t apply to him. “You didn’t eat last night. You’re gonna eat before I take you home.”

I dragged myself off the couch, feeling every bit like a ninety-year-old, and shuffled to the kitchen island. It was set neatly with two plates, two mugs. My hand throbbed, reminding me of why I was here in the first place. Reminding me of everything. I collapsed into a chair and gave him the best death glare I could muster in this state. It didn’t faze him.

He was serving the food like this was a goddamn bed-and-breakfast.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered. He hummed in response, not even trying to defend himself.

I watched him pour coffee, adding cream and sugar. “Let me see...you’re a mood drinker, right. Hard night last night...You want some coffee with your three sugars in the morning, right?”

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