His Brother’s Ruin

The Devil’s Proof

The restored watercolor hung in Liam’s study now, a spot of quiet beauty he insisted belonged “in a place of honor.” Every time Elara passed the open door, the glass seemed to catch the light, a beacon of her own violation. She could not tell him. A generous, anonymous donor from her old school sat between them at breakfast, tasteless and thick.

Kaelan’s texts had become a daily, unnerving liturgy.

K.V.: Does he appreciate the brushstrokes? Or just the frame?

K.V.: The blue in that jar was always your best color. It matched the vein in your temple when you were trying not to cry.

K.V.: Tell me he sees you. Really sees you.

She never replied. But she read every one. Each message was a key turning in a lock deep inside her, a place she’d boarded up a decade ago.

The Vanderbilt Foundation Gala was the social event of the season. Liam had been buzzing about it for weeks. “It’s our night, El. We’ll be in the spotlight, together.” He’d bought her a gown a breathtaking, icy silver sheath that made her look like a dagger of moonlight. As she stood before the mirror, a stranger stared back: polished, powerful, untouchable. A perfect Vanderbilt.

The gala was a whirl of crystal and caviar, a symphony of whispered deals and air-kisses. Liam never left her side, his hand a warm, grounding weight on the small of her back as he introduced her to senators and CEOs. She was performing flawlessly.

Until she felt it the specific, charged pressure of a gaze cutting through the crowd.

She didn’t need to look. She knew. Turning her head minutely, she found Kaelan across the ballroom. He was holding court, dressed in a tuxedo that looked like a declaration of war, listening to an older investor with a polite, bored smile. But his eyes were on her. They traveled the length of the silver gown, a slow, deliberate appraisal that felt more intimate than a touch. He raised his champagne flute, a tiny, private toast to her.

FLASHBACK - TEN YEARS AGO

The Winter Formal was a nightmare. She’d saved for months for a simple, navy-blue dress from a discount department store. It was pretty. She’d felt a flicker of hope standing in her dorm room mirror.

She arrived alone, clutching a tiny beaded purse. The gym was transformed, but the hierarchy was not. And there, at the center of it all, was Kaelan Vanderbilt in a rented tux, a crown prince among peasants.

He saw her the moment she entered. His smirk was instantaneous. He leaned and said something to his friends. Their laughter echoed. He detached himself from his group and swaggered over, a predator with all the time in the world.

“Well, look at this,” he’d said, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of others. He circled her, a slow, mocking orbit. “Is that… velour?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “It’s chiffon,” she whispered.

“It looks like something my grandmother’s couch threw up.” He stopped in front of her, his eyes cold and bright with malice. “Did you raid the lost and found? Or is this just what happens when you try to be something you’re not?”

Tears of sheer humiliation pricked her eyes. She wanted to disappear into the glittering floor. This was why she never tried. This was why she stayed invisible.

“The color is all wrong for you,” he continued, his voice dropping, for her alone. “It makes you look dead. But then, you practically are, aren’t you? A ghost no one sees.”

He’d reached out then, not to touch her, but to flick the delicate strap of her dress with his finger. A gesture of utter contempt. “Nice try, though. Almost convincing.”

He’d walked away, leaving her standing there, the hope in her chest shriveled and dead. She’d left the dance five minutes later, the sound of his laughter chasing her into the cold night.

PRESENT DAY

A shiver wracked Elara’s body in the warm ballroom. The memory was a fresh wound. She turned sharply away, seeking the solid comfort of Liam’s arm.

“You okay?” Liam murmured. “You’re trembling.”

“Just a chill,” she said, forcing a smile.

Later, during a waltz, Liam was pulled away by his father for an urgent word with a potential donor. “I’ll be right back, darling,” he said, kissing her cheek.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor, feeling exposed. She didn’t hear him approach, only felt the shift in the air.

“The color is perfect for you.”

She flinched. Kaelan stood beside her, his hands in his pockets, observing the dancers. He didn’t look at her.

“You said it would make me look dead,” she said, the words leaving her in a bitter rush.

Now he turned. His gaze was different. No mockery. No cold appraisal. It was intense, fathomless. “I was seventeen and an i***t. I was trying to kill the hope in your eyes because it terrified me. It was too bright.” He took a half-step closer. The music swelled. “Silver isn’t your color because it’s cold. It’s your color because it’s a weapon. And tonight, you look lethal.”

The contrast was dizzying. The boy who’d weaponized her insecurity now saw strength in the very armor she’d donned to survive him. It was a perverse form of validation that unmoored her completely.

“Stop this,” she breathed.

“I can’t.” His voice was low, raw. “You haunt me. That girl in the blue dress haunts me. What I did… it haunts me. This is my penance. This obsession.”

“It’s not penance. It’s just another form of torture.”

“Is it?” He finally looked at her fully, and in his eyes, she saw not a tormentor, but a fellow prisoner. “Then why are you still here, talking to me? You could walk away. You could go to Liam right now and tell him everything. But you don’t. Because a part of you is still in that gym, waiting for me to walk over and finally tell you the truth.” He leaned in, his words a soft, devastating blow against her ear. “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And I had to destroy you before you destroyed me.”

He straightened, his mask of cool indifference sliding back into place as he saw Liam returning. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Elara,” he said, his tone politely distant. He nodded at his brother and melted back into the crowd.

Liam slipped his arm around her. “Everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She looked up at her fiancé, his face so full of open, trusting love. She thought of the boy who flicked her strap and the man who called her lethal. Two versions of the same truth.

“Just a memory,” she said, her voice hollow.

As they danced, she caught Kaelan’s reflection in a distant mirror. He was watching them, his expression unreadable. He lifted his glass again, this time his eyes holding hers in the glass.

And she knew, with a certainty that shattered her last pretense of innocence, that the ghost wasn’t in her past.

It was her future. And it was coming for her.