Ruin Me Gently

Chapter 6

-London-

I arrived late.

I hadn't planned to attend, not after the picture drama. But when I heard Parker would be there—and his mystery woman he'd invited who his desires charged—curiosity overpowered common sense.

And there she was.

My breath caught when I saw her. Laughing—flirting—with Parker. Her hand lightly brushed the man's cufflink, like it belonged there. Like she belonged here.

Jealousy hit me like a gut punch.

Not because of Parker. But because she was doing to someone else what she did to me. Drawing them in. Playing the perfect game.

Was this what she did? All calculated seduction and champagne lies?

I couldn't help myself. I crossed the room and slipped in beside her.

"Funny seeing you again."

She turned, slowly, as if she hadn't noticed me. As if my presence didn't set her on fire too.

"London," she said with a smile that meant war. "You remember Parker?"

"I do," I said evenly, not looking at the man. "You two go way back?"

"Just met," she said airily, sipping her wine. "But I'm already charmed."

My jaw clenched. "He's not your type."

"And you know my type?"

I stepped closer. "I can tell."

The air between us pulsed.

Parker, awkward and clearly outmatched, excused himself with a stiff nod. She didn't blink.

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

"Same as you," I murmured. "To play the game."

Her lips parted, but no words came. I was too close. The scent of me—the confidence, the tension—wrapped around her spine like silk and fire.

I leaned down. "You're not who you say you are."

Her heart stopped.

But she laughed. "Neither are you."

Touché.

"You came," I said softly.

"Wouldn't miss it. Your mother's taste is…" Her gaze flicked to a grotesque abstract piece. "Unforgettable."

I laughed, low and startled. "You're dangerous."

"You have no idea."

"I do," I murmured. "And I still want you here."

Before she could respond, another voice cut in—smooth, commanding.

"London." Sterling had arrived. "Won't you introduce me to your… friend?"

The pause was microscopic. But she caught it.

"This is—" I began.

"Lena Volkova," she finished, stepping forward, hand extended. "Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Brinchfort. I've admired your work from afar."

My father didn't shake her hand. He studied her instead, like dissecting an enemy. "Volkova? As in…"

"Yes," she said before he could finish. "That Volkova."

He blinked once.

The game shifted.

His tone cooled further. "Interesting. I wasn't aware your family was still in circulation."

"We find ways," she said smoothly, withdrawing her hand. "I'm surprised you remember us at all."

"I remember everyone who's crossed me," he said with a polite smile. "And everyone who tried."

I stepped between them. "That's enough."

But her heart beat louder. Sterling remembered. Good.

Later, beneath the pale lights of the rooftop terrace, I wrapped my arms around her from behind.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I've dealt with worse than frosty parents."

I exhaled against her neck. "They'll come around."

She turned to face me. "Do you believe that?"

My eyes flicked away. "I want to." They always wanted to make decisions for me and it had to end.

She reached up, touched my jaw. "Then let them come. Let them throw everything they have."

"You say that like you're ready for war."

She leaned in, brushing her lips to mine.

"Oh, I am."

-Sable-

The rest of the evening went in pretentious acts. I was ready in every way for them. After a little chat I headed home.

I barely made it two steps out of the art gallery when I heard someone call my name—well, the name I borrowed for this new life.

"Miss Lena."

I turned slowly, my spine instinctively straightening. Sterling Brinchfort stood by the open door of his black town car, dressed in a navy suit that screamed old money and quiet power. The same steel-gray eyes that had appraised CEOs now regarded me like a puzzle piece that almost fit.

"Mr. Brinchfort," I greeted with a careful smile.

He nodded once. "You left quite the impression. My wife hasn't stopped talking about your commentary on the O'Keeffe piece."

I kept my smile intact. "I'm flattered. I only spoke honestly."

"Rare, these days." He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "Which is why I'd like to extend an invitation. Dinner at the house. Nothing extravagant. Just… conversation."

I blinked once. Was this a trap? Or something worse—curiosity?

"That's very generous of you," I said slowly. "May I ask why?"

Sterling's mouth twitched, a semblance of a smile. "Because I like to know the people circling my son."

There it was. Not a trap. A warning wrapped in civility.

I tilted my head. "And if I accept?"

"Then I'll have a place set for you this Friday. Eight sharp."

He turned to the car without waiting for my answer. But before stepping in, he glanced back.

"I'm looking forward to hearing more honesty, Miss Lena."