Ruin Me Gently

Chapter 5

-Sable-

The warmth of London's body lingered against my skin even after he pulled away. His fingers brushed my cheek, eyes searching mine for something neither of us could name. I didn't flinch. I let him look. Let him fall a little harder.

"I'll send a car to pick you up tomorrow," he murmured, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. "You don't have to come, but I'd like it if you did."

"To the gallery event?" I asked, tone smooth, as though I hadn't already known. I'd studied every detail of his calendar.

He nodded. "My mother's hosting it. And my father will be there."

That caught my attention. London's father—Brinchfort Sterling. Political shark, real estate titan, manipulator of markets and minds. The man hadn't been seen publicly with London in over a year. Not since the scandal that nearly torpedoed their family name.

"Sounds… thrilling," I said with a slow smile. "I'll think about it."

He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to my temple. "Don't think too long."

The door closed behind him, and I exhaled—finally alone. I padded to the windows, pulling back the curtain to watch him disappear down the marble hallway of the hotel. My phone buzzed before I reached the table.

1 New Message: Unknown Number.

Nice work, sweetheart. But you're not the only one watching.

Attached was a photo.

Of me.

With London.

In his lap.

Lips barely apart.

And better—the watermark. SocietyLeak.com.

My blood ignited.

- London -

The Thorne estate was already awake by the time I arrived. I should've known. The moment my driver's tires touched the circular driveway, the front doors opened like jaws. My mother's silhouette stood at the top of the stairs—flawless, cold.

"Inside," she said.

I bit back a sigh. "Good morning to you too, Mother."

"Don't test me today."

The foyer gleamed. So did her fury.

"Care to explain why half the board is calling me before eight in the morning?" Celeste Brinchfort swept down the stairs like a winter storm in heels. "There's a photo of you with some girl—on your lap, in a public lounge. Do you understand how that looks?"

"She's not some girl."

"Oh, that's a relief." She arched a brow. "Is she at least from a respectable family this time, or are we bracing for another front-page exposé?"

I clenched my jaw. "Don't."

Footsteps echoed behind us. My father appeared, sharp in a charcoal suit and no trace of warmth. "She's already trending."

I turned to face Sterling Thorne fully. "And you care because…?"

"Because we can't afford another scandal. Because the foundation has its largest donor event in two weeks, and now there's an image of my son acting like a horny frat boy splashed across gossip blogs."

"She's not a scandal." I could barely keep the edge from my voice. "She's a woman I may care about."

"She's a liability." Sterling's voice cracked like a whip. "And if you don't sever it quietly, we will."

For a split second, something inside me caved. The years of pressure, of expectation, of being shaped and used and discarded—I felt them crash over me.

Then I straightened.

"Try," I said flatly. "Just try to come between me and her."

Celeste's eyes narrowed. "You don't know what she wants, London. You never do."

"I do this time."

…………….

-Sable-

Across town, I stared at the same photo on my glowing phone screen.

It had gone viral in the upper circles within hours. "Mystery Heiress Seduces Brinchfort Scion" one headline teased. The comments were merciless. The vultures had tasted blood.

I should've felt triumphant.

Instead, I felt… raw.

I should've anticipated this part. I had anticipated it. But something about seeing my face—albeit in soft light and low resolution—next to his, felt too close. Too exposed. My entire plan had been to stay incognito. To operate in shadows. Now I was in the spotlight, and there was no pulling the curtains.

Still, I pressed forward.

I was due at an art gala tonight. Brinchfort-funded. Exclusive. Everyone who mattered would be there—and I had a new target.

"Parker Langston," I murmured to myself as I applied crimson lipstick. The man controlled half the Brinchfort investment arm. He had a weakness for redheads and power plays. I could be both.

By the time I entered the gallery—heels tapping against marble, hair tousled like I hadn't even tried—I'd become someone else. Not Sable. Not even the woman London kissed on a balcony. Tonight, I was untouchable.

Parker noticed me before I approached. Good.

"Do I know you?" he asked, the way powerful men often do—like they didn't care about the answer.

I smiled. "No. But I think you'll want to."