Ruin Me Gently

Chapter 3

— London —

I spotted her across the room, and for a moment, I thought I’d conjured her again.

The same pull hit me in the gut. That firestorm of curiosity, obsession, and something else. Something darker.

She was laughing softly, head tilted toward Caden. Her bare shoulder glistened under moonlight. Her fingers circled a whiskey glass like she was about to make it confess.

Who the hell was she?

She wasn’t just another socialite. She was dazzling and controlled the conversation like a seasoned manipulator.

I watched for a full minute before stepping in.

“Caden,” I said flatly.

He turned. “London. Didn’t know you were back.”

I barely looked at him. My eyes were on her.

On our walk, she met my gaze without flinching. Like she knew me.

Like she had always known me.

The way she spoke, that voice.

I knew that voice.

But it didn’t make sense.

Caden looked between us like he’d sensed something. “London, care to join us?”

I took the glass from her hand, ignoring the spark when our fingers brushed.

Her smile didn’t falter.

She leaned in, lips near my ear. “Careful, Mr. London. People might think you’re intrigued.

“I am.”

It slipped out too fast.

She tilted her head. “Then let’s keep it interesting.”

She excused herself before I could say more, her perfume lingering like a dare.

I watched her disappear into the crowd. My chest tightened with something raw and violent.

This woman… Lena…

She was familiar.

Not in the way of old lovers or fleeting flings.

No—familiar like a scar you forgot you had until someone pressed it.

And it throbbed

— Sable —

My heart was pounding.

The way he looked at me… did he almost recognize me.?

Never.

London Brinchfort, the devil in a tailored suit.

Even now, he wore darkness like it was stitched to his skin. That signature black-on-black, silver cufflinks shaped like daggers. He hadn’t changed. But his eyes… colder. Sharper. Haunted.

I knew he felt something.

And I’d play that to the bone.

Back in the crowd, I found my next piece: Eliza Fairchild. Former debutante. Now a social media mogul and one of London’s closest confidantes.

I caught her alone on the terrace, chain-smoking a gold cigarette.

“You look like you need a better distraction,” I said.

She raised a brow. “You offering one?”

“I might.”

She liked games. And I fed her enough truths to make me credible. I hinted at hedge fund drama in Dubai, whispered about a stolen painting in Paris. All lies. All just convincing enough.

“You’re dangerous,” she said with a slow smile.

“Only if you need me to be.”

By the time I left her side, I had her curiosity and her number. Two powerful things.

One by one, I was threading my way into London’s web. Only I wasn’t getting trapped.

I was re-spinning it.

— London —

Later, I found myself watching her from the upper level.

Sable moved like she owned gravity. People bent toward her without knowing why. She had already spoken to three of my closest contacts.

Something wasn’t right.

She came from nowhere.

Slipped into my world like she belonged.

And the worst part? I wanted her.

That scent. That curve of her neck. The sharpness in her smile.

I wanted to pin her down and ask every question burning inside me. I wanted to taste the secrets I saw flicker behind her eyes.

But I also wanted to destroy her.

Which made no goddamn sense.

I turned away. Drowning in memory.

That name… S. Black.

It echoed too loudly.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being played.

— Sable —

At midnight, I slipped away, exiting through the side gate before London could follow. I’d planted the seeds.

Now I’d let them grow.

I had touched his world.

Next, I’d burn it down.