Page 129 of His Ruin
“We love you,” Mom whispers before reaching out and grabbing my hand. “If you need something—”
“I’m fine,” I answer quickly. I’m anything but fine. “I love you too.”
“Drive safe,” Dad says heavily.
As we load up in the car and I settle in the passenger seat, I don’t like the atmosphere. Being alone with Dylan feels like the wrong choice that can’t be rectified. It feels like etching something in sacred stone that isn’t meant to be touched.
Wrong.
It’s wrong.
He backs out of the driveway, and I remain tense. As he pulls towards the gates, Kaden’s car comes into view. I sink lower in my seat, avoiding his eyes as we pass.
Dylan raises a hand, waving as he smirks viciously. It isn’t cordial or friendly. It’s claiming and territorial.Look at who I have, it screams.
Yet it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Chapter fifty-five
Kaden
Agravemistakehasbeenmade. Dylan took what belongs to me. He made his move silently, biding his time until he could strike with vengeance.
I’ll give him that.
But he forgot one crucial detail. What belongs to me will always return. He can hold onto Melody with tight clutches, hide her away, try to sway her thoughts, and whisper to her in the dark.
But she’ll still answer to me.
And when I come to reclaim, I won’t be silent.
Chapter fifty-six
Melody
One Week Later
“She’llhavetheLobsterRisotto, and I’ll take the Filet Mignon,” Dylan smiles charmingly at the waiter, handing over our menus as I sip my red wine.
We’re seated at a table that cost an arm and a leg to get, celebrating the booking of our wedding venue. At least, to my fiancé, this is a celebration. To me, this is another pity dinner where he tries to apologize for the way we left things last week.
Since his manipulation to get me out of my parents’ house, he hasn’t done it again. Instead, he’s resorted to having flowers delivered to me every day, taking me out to fancy dinners to try and pretend I’m not glaring at him at all times, and grand acts of affection that often involve a large crowd to witness.
He’s love bombing me, and he thinks I don’t know.
“I don’t like lobster,” I say casually as I set my glass aside.
Dylan sighs, lifting his scotch to his lips. “You look lovely this evening. Is that a new dress?”
It’s a romantic sleeveless floral number that cinches at the waist and molds to my hips. I saw it in a shop window yesterday and decided that retail therapy with my fiancé‘s credit card was the best way for me to cope.
“Mhm,” I hum. “Two thousand dollars.”
Dylan chokes, setting his glass down as he slams a fist against his chest. “Really?“ He asks, his voice becoming an octave higher. “It-it’s beautiful. I love it, baby.”
My eyes narrow. “Do you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he nods, regaining his composure. “It suits you. It gives you a soft kind of elegance.”
