Page 7 of Ruin Me
I watch as she leaves campus and heads in the direction of the supermarket. I hang back, not going inside, just waiting until she exits and turns towards her flat.
She’s unknowingly painting a target on her back with every step she takes towards her destiny—a destiny entangled with mine, ours.
It’s not just about sex or power—it’s about connection. The desire to see if someone like Vogue can understand the man behind the title, the expectations; if she can look beyond the Earl, beyond the nobility, beyond the mafia prince, and see the raw edges that define Callum Wakefield.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching her like this, oblivious to my gaze. It makes me feel like I’m already a part of her life in some twisted, sick way that will only continue and become deeper, darker and more possessive than she could possibly imagine.
5
VOGUE
Having hadan hour to nip to the supermarket to buy some more groceries that could form a half-decent meal and drop them off at home, I’m now back on campus and weaving through the sea of students in Crestmont’s hallways, my gaze flicking up to each sign I pass.
Where is it?
The fear of being late gnaws at my gut, and I dodge past a group of laughing first-year students without an apology. It’s almost like they think time stands still for them. Not for me.
Around the corner, the hallway narrows, and the students disappear.
“Is this right?” I ask, frowning and looking around for Room 203B. I’m hustling to make up time when a slightly ajar door catches my eye. I aim for it, thinking this must be it. Voices, a low murmur, slip through the gap, and I keep moving towards it.
As I push the door wider, my hand trembling, I’mmet with a sight that freezes me in my tracks. A group stands in a tight circle, their postures tense, heads bowed together. My heart lurches into my throat when I recognise them.
The Crowned Syndicate.
Their power is in the way they hold themselves too still, like predators mid-pounce.
Callum is facing me but hasn’t seen me yet, so I can back up and move on if I could just get my feet to work. But I remain rooted to the spot.
My breath catches, and for a second, I’m entranced by the sight. Power like that is magnetic, even if it’s the last thing you should be drawn to. Callum seems to be the kind of guy who doesn’t just inherit power—he wears it and owns it like he was born to dictate the fates of everyone around him.
I’m playing with fire, and I know it. This knowledge finally gets my feet moving, and I take a slow, silent step back.
Then, I freeze mid-step.
Callum’s gaze cuts through the sunlit room, finding mine with an eerie precision. It’s as if he senses my presence before I even fully register his. A slow, sinister smile curls the corners of his mouth, and it’s like a cold hand wraps around my soul.
“Vogue,” he says, his voice low and playful but with an edge that sends a clear message: You shouldn’t be here.
Panic squeezes my chest. My breath hitches. I should bolt, make a break for the hallway, but my legsdon’t cooperate; they’re jelly, unresponsive, betraying every instinct screaming at me to run.
“Something we can do for you?” His voice is a velvet threat that coils in the air.
I need to think fast, talk my way out of this, but all I manage is a strangled, “I was just...”
“Looking for something?” His smile never reaches his eyes—those cold, calculating pools that seem to strip away any pretence of courage I have left.
The distance between us feels charged, each second stretching out as I struggle to regain control over my traitorous body. Fear has me in its grip, tight and unforgiving, and I hate how it makes me feel small, vulnerable. Idon’tlike it. I’m tougher than this.
Usually.
“Lost,” I finally choke out, my voice steadier than I feel. “It’s easy to get turned around in this building.”
“Is that so?” Callum tilts his head, regarding me with a curiosity that’s far from innocent.
“Yeah,” I insist, trying to infuse a hint of anger into my tone to claw back some semblance of control. “I’m late for a lecture, so if you’ll excuse me...”
But the words hang there, hollow, because we both understand the game that’s started—a game I’ve unwittingly walked into, and Callum’s the one holding all the cards.
