His to Ruin

Welcome Back, Now Run

Morning came slowly, slipping through the gaps in my curtains like someone too polite to knock.

Golden light crept across the walls, bouncing off glass frames and wardrobe handles, brushing over a bed that had only been half-used the night before. I’d only slept a few hours.

The rest of the night had been wasted on thinking about Danny, about Alec, about a truth I couldn’t keep carrying alone forever. But morning came anyway. And a promise is still a promise.

I sat at my newly arranged work desk, staring at a calmly glowing laptop on the wooden surface. A cold cup of coffee stood nearby, a quiet witness to time slipping past with zero interest.

A folder filled with sketches and proposals lay open beside me. And on the screen, Darren’s face appeared. Tired smile. Messy hair that hadn’t seen a comb since last night, clearly.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” he said, his voice way more alert than his face.

I raised an eyebrow. “Look who’s talking.”

“Architects and designers don’t really sleep. We just… rest our eyeballs,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “You ready to get ambushed this early?”

I took a deep breath, then nodded. “Hit me.”

Darren pulled up a digital draft of the new Flatiron branch. Clean lines, modular layout, glass walls that felt too sterile for my personal taste. But the foundation had potential.

“This is still rough,” he said. “But we need someone to shape the interior elements and bring a more human rhythm to the flow. Not just modern but grounded. A space that feels professional without feeling cold. And honestly, Dani… that’s not where I shine.”

I turned the sketch screen toward me, fingers grazing over an area that felt way too exposed.

“The reception’s too open,” I said. “There needs to be a transition. People don’t want to be thrown into a glass box, they want to feel like they’re arriving somewhere.”

Darren nodded. “Exactly.”

I pointed to the meeting room. “And this shape... it looks like an interrogation room with expensive air conditioning.”

He chuckled. “I thought the same thing. But if I say it, they think I’m trying to cut costs.”

We spent the next twenty minutes going over lighting, wood tones, carpet texture, even the subtle scent of the space. Things only understood by people who design not just with their eyes, but with a feel for what a room should mean.

And for a little while, I forgot everything. The mansion. Alec. The little boy still asleep upstairs, holding onto his dinosaur plush like it could protect him from anything.

As the call started to wind down, Darren’s tone shifted, just slightly.

More serious. More direct.

“So,” he asked, “are you coming back?”

I hesitated.

Stared at the screen.

At the sketches.

And finally… at my own reflection in the black glass. Hair still not quite brushed, eyes a little tired, but something behind them had started to glow again. A flicker I hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I’m back,” I said quietly. But firmly.

Darren didn’t smile. But he gave a small nod. “Welcome back, Dani.”

I closed the laptop a few minutes later and just sat there, letting the morning stillness settle again. Outside the window, I could hear birds and the faint rustle of the garden—Tony walking, his heavy steps soft against the ground. Abraham would be up soon. Probably asking for breakfast right away.

But right now, for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had something that was mine again.

:::

The midday sky was impossibly blue ...

So perfect it almost looked fake, like a painting trying a little too hard. Thin clouds drifted lazily, as if they knew there was no reason to rush.

Alec’s backyard stretched wide and open, the grass a deep, uniform green. Trimmed like a living carpet under the soft touch of the sun.

I sat on a picnic blanket with Abraham. Between us: a small plate of sliced fruit, cheese crackers, and two glasses of apple juice.

He had one of his toy cars in hand, pushing it along the ground with exaggerated “vroom” sounds, then ramming it into my knee like it was the funniest thing ever invented.

“This car has a secret jet,” he said, eyes wide with excitement. “But you can only use it once a day. That’s the rule.”

“Whose rule?” I asked, peeling an apple.

“Aliens from Pluto.”

“Sure.”

The afternoon felt light. Too light. Like the world had temporarily forgotten we were sitting in the backyard of a man raised under the shadow of a gun and who quietly ran half the city’s underground network.

A soft breeze touched my face like a long breath from something peaceful. And suddenly, I realized how much I was enjoying this. Just me, Abraham, this open lawn, and nothing else…

Except the voice of my child, whose imagination never ran out of gas.

Abraham sat at the edge of the blanket, biting into a cracker, his little feet swinging back and forth. I glanced around.

A few of Alec’s men were positioned on the west side of the yard, dressed in casual black, always listening harder than their faces let on. Tony stood a bit farther off in his usual spot, eyes glued to us, hands tucked inside his jacket.

And then… I saw it.

Beyond the fence. Down the slope of the hill. Far enough to seem harmless but not hidden.

Three figures.

Not Alec’s men.

Not anyone who should have been there.

For a split second, I thought: maybe just added security. Alec had plenty.

But then I saw it. The metallic gleam.

Long. Sharp-edged.

No mistaking it.

A rifle.

And it was aimed right at us.

My body moved before my brain could catch up.

In one panicked motion, I turned, grabbed Abraham, and threw myself over him. My body shielding his, my hand covering his head.

“Don’t move,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“What—Mommy?” Abraham froze under me, confused.

A sharp, distant crack sliced through the air.

Not fireworks. Not something you could brush off.

A scream rang out from the east side of the yard—a guard. Then shouts: fast, clipped, professional.

“Contact outside the fence! East perimeter!”

I held my breath, arms locked around Abraham. He was trembling now. I could feel it.

“Mommy, what’s—”

“I’m here. I’m right here,” I said, over and over, like a prayer, even as my eyes scanned… something. Someone.

And then he appeared.

From the left side of my vision, Alec emerged with long, deliberate strides like a silent bullet that knew exactly where it was going. Dark clothes. Cold eyes. In his hand: a matte black pistol already raised and ready.

He wasn’t running. He wasn’t panicked. But his entire presence screamed danger, not because he was scared… But because he knew the threat.

He planted himself directly in front of us. A shield.

A wall.

“How many?” he asked, voice deep, steady.

Someone responded through the earpiece in his ear. I couldn’t make out the words.

Alec turned slightly, eyes landing on Abraham still shaking in my arms.

“Get him inside,” he said. Flat, firm.

“Alec—”

“Three seconds,” he said. “Or I’ll carry you both myself.”

I took a breath, then stood slowly with Abraham clinging to me. He wouldn’t let go. His arms were tight around my neck, face buried in my shoulder.

Footsteps thundered across the yard.

Alec’s men swarmed to the perimeter, fully armed.

But I saw only Alec. Standing still. The only unmoving point in the middle of chaos.