Page 52 of Ruin Me
“Sounds useful,” I say, locking the names in my mental vault. But it’s the twitch in Marcus’s shoulderwhen he laughs, the way Jonah’s eyes dart to the door and back, that grabs my attention. Useful, sure, but trustworthy? The jury’s still out on that one.
“Very,” Alex agrees, then turns to introduce me to the next in line—a girl with sharp eyes.
“Vogue, meet Jess. She’s our inside track on the administration.” Alex gestures to the woman I met on my first day, who greets me with a nod so subtle it’s almost invisible.
“Hey, we’ve already met,” she says with a quick half-wave. Her smile is brief, her manner guarded. I file away her measured response like currency; it might buy me something later.
I’m guessing her coming over to me in class was a strategic one. It seems everyone knows who I am, or rather who my father is when I didn’t. “Yep.”
She doesn’t give much away, but I can see the cogs turning behind those sharp eyes.
“Seems like you’ve got all bases covered,” I comment, but what I’m really thinking is how every piece fits into the bigger picture. How can I leverage these assets for The Crowned Syndicate’s gain while keeping one eye open for any knife aimed at our back?
“Almost all,” Alex says, bringing my focus back. “We’re good at what we do, but with your organisation’s power? We could run this place together.”
‘Could’ being the keyword. Opportunities are just pretty words until they turn into cold, hard cash. I lean back, mirroring Alex’s earlier pose, letting thesilence stretch for a heartbeat or two. This alliance is a chess match, and I need to be thinking three moves ahead.
“Let’s hope it comes to that,” I say finally, the words smooth, but inside my mind races, piecing together every scrap of info, every half-hidden glance, because in this world, it’s not just about making allies—it’s about figuring out which ones will stab you in the back before they get the chance.
I scan the room as I sit back in my chair, the chatter of the café creating a backdrop to the hushed tones at our table. The members of the student group are talking amongst themselves now, their laughter a touch too bright. I catch a look here, a too-quick smile there; it’s like watching a play where everyone knows their lines except me.
“Everything alright, Vogue?” Alex asks, but I barely register the question.
“Fine,” I reply, my gaze still roaming. My gut twists, a silent alarm that says something’s not lining up. Trust is currency in this world, and right now, I’m feeling short-changed. “Look,” I add as an afterthought, “if there’s a leak in this ship, better to patch it up before we all drown, right?”
Alex’s eyes flick up to meet mine, and there’s a flash of something that screams trouble. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but now I’m certain—he’s holding cards he hasn’t played yet.
“Alright,” I concede with a nod, letting the conversation drop. For now. If there’s one thing I’ve learned,it’s patience. The truth always floats to the surface, eventually. I’ll just have to wait for the tide to turn.
The café continues to buzz with the chatter of students, but I might as well be in a vacuum for all I care. Only Alex and his next words matter.
“Look, we need clear terms,” I start, tapping my fingers on the tabletop. “Who’s in, who’s out. Who does what, when, where, how? We can’t walk blind into this.”
Alex leans back with a smirk. “Vogue, you’re asking for the blueprint to our operation. You know it doesn’t work like that.”
“Trust goes both ways,” I shoot back, my voice low and steady. “I’m not about to hang my crew out to dry without some insurance.”
“Insurance?” A laugh escapes Alex, short and sharp. “You think we don’t need the same?”
“Then let’s talk loyalty?—“
“Commitment to The Crowned Syndicate is non-negotiable,” he cuts me off, the defensiveness in his tone raising the hair on the back of my neck.
“Non-negotiable? Sounds like a fancy way of saying ‘blind faith’.” I lean forward, narrowing my eyes. “That’s a lot to ask for without offering something solid in return.”
“We have our reasons to keep our cards close to our chest,” Alex says, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze, a shadow that wasn’t there before.
“Reasons or secrets?” I prod, feeling the tension coil between us like a spring.
“Call it what you want,” Alex retorts, pulling at the collar of his shirt as if suddenly too tight.
The hiss of the espresso machine and the clatter of cups interrupts our standoff. It gives me a moment, just a beat, to glance around the room. My gaze catches on two members of the student group huddled close, their heads almost touching as they murmur to each other.
I strain my ears, catching fragments of hushed conversation. “...not according to plan...” one whispers, a note of urgency in their voice. “...need to act fast before...”
They break off as they sense my attention, casting nervous glances my way before falling silent. A cold realisation washes over me. These plans, whatever they are, they’re not for us—for The Crowned Syndicate. They’re moving against us.
“Okay, Alex, let’s cut the crap,” I bite out, my voice low but sharp as a knife. “You’ve got a mole in your circle, and if you think I’m going to sit back while they screw us over, you’re dead wrong.”
