love in the ruins
964 Words
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Love in the Ruins
By Tessy
Ruth stared at the man across the courtroom, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Kingsley Thorne. Slick suit. Arrogant smirk. The man who had once ruined her father's business with one ruthless takeover and had the nerve to wink at her afterward.
She hated him.
And yet, there he was again — now offering to partner with her on a city redevelopment project. One that required both their companies to sign.
“I’d rather build on ashes than work with you,” she’d said when he first brought the proposal.
Kingsley had smiled, cool and calm. “Then lucky for you, Ruth — I’m really good at burning things down.”
She should have walked away.
But pride and ambition were the only two things that rivaled her hatred for him. So she signed the deal. Begrudgingly. Bitterly. Every meeting since was war.
Today, the two of them stood at the edge of the crumbled city block where they were building something new — affordable homes, parks, the kind of hope the place hadn’t seen in years.
“You’re late,” Ruth said, not turning to look at him.
Kingsley adjusted his sleeves. “I don’t recall agreeing to take orders from you.”
She faced him, arms crossed. “You don’t follow orders. You just destroy things until they go your way.”
He tilted his head. “And yet you’re still here. Working beside the destroyer.”
“Because I care about this city. About the people. Not like you — you just want to slap your name on something to look good.”
His smirk faded a little. “You think you know me, Ruth. But all you’ve ever known is the version of me you created in your head.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You were the villain the moment you gutted my family’s legacy.”
Kingsley’s eyes darkened. “Your father built an empire on debt and bad promises. I didn’t destroy it — I exposed it.”
“Liar.”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
Ruth looked away. The wind swept past, carrying dust and the faint scent of smoke from somewhere nearby. The ruins around them felt like ghosts — of buildings, of people, of who they used to be.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
Kingsley stepped closer, quiet. “I know.”
The way he said it made her chest tighten. Like he wasn’t just accepting her hatred — he was carrying it. Wearing it like armor.
“I hate that you’re in my head,” she muttered. “That every time I walk into a room, I look for you.”
He was close now. Too close.
“I hate that you’re not the man I tell myself you are,” she added, voice softer. “That you show up. That you listen. That sometimes... you say something that makes me want to stop hating you.”
Kingsley reached out but didn’t touch her. His hand hovered like a flame near skin.
“Then stop,” he said.
Her eyes snapped to his. “It’s not that simple.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not. But we’re already in the ruins. What’s left to protect?”
Ruth felt the air shift — the walls between them cracking.
“We were enemies,” she said, like she needed to remind herself.
“Maybe,” Kingsley said. “But I’ve only ever wanted to be understood by you.”
“You think we’re the same?”
“I think we both know what it feels like to fight for everything we have. And to lose things we’ll never get back.”
She looked at him then. Really looked. Past the suit, past the charm. And she saw it — the hurt he never let anyone see. The part of him that hated himself for what he’d done, even if he never admitted it.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why try to fix what you helped break?”
Kingsley exhaled slowly. “Because I got tired of building walls when I wanted to build something real. Something with you.”
Ruth felt her heart twist.
“I should walk away,” she said.
“But you won’t.”
“No.”
And then she kissed him.
Not gently. Not sweetly.
It was angry and desperate and full of every emotion they had buried under years of hatred. He kissed her back like she was the first truth he’d ever tasted.
When they broke apart, breathing hard, Ruth whispered, “This doesn’t fix us.”
Kingsley touched her face. “No. But it’s the first thing that feels real.”
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Weeks passed.
They worked together, argued less, touched more. There were moments they couldn’t look at each other without tension — the kind that builds behind closed doors and explodes when no one’s watching.
One night, after a long day at the site, they sat on the hood of Ruth’s car, watching the sunset bleed into the sky.
“I still don’t trust you,” she said.
Kingsley nodded. “I don’t blame you.”
“But I want to.”
He looked at her. “Then let me earn it.”
“You won’t run again?”
“Not from you.”
She leaned against his shoulder, tired but content. “You know, this place… it was never about buildings. It was about rebuilding people.”
He placed a hand over hers. “Including us.”
They didn’t speak again that night. They didn’t have to.
Sometimes, the best things grow from what’s broken — love rising from ashes, truth rising from lies, two hearts finding each other in the ruins.
- Writer
