Chapter Five: Halfway To Ruin
1104 Words
It started with a door I wasn’t supposed to open.
Of course it did.
Every part of this place screams don’t, but something in me keeps asking, what if?
It wasn’t the east wing this time.
It was a small, quiet door near the staircase. One I’d passed a dozen times and never noticed.
Until today.
Until I saw Demian leave it slightly ajar after a phone call—his voice sharp, angry, and low enough to make my spine react.
I waited a full hour.
Then I opened it.
It led to a study.
Not a cold, polished one like the library. This was something else. Smaller. More personal.
His jacket hung on the back of a leather chair. A half-empty glass sat on the edge of the desk. And scattered across the surface were pages of paper—some typed, some handwritten, some stained at the edges.
I shouldn’t have gone in.
But I did.
I walked slowly, carefully, my fingers grazing the smooth mahogany surface until I found it: a file.
My name was on it.
Not my first name. My full name. Lena Evelyn Reed.
Typed in bold at the top.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
Inside were pages of information—my school records, medical history, old job applications I barely remembered submitting… even a copy of my mother’s latest hospital report.
He had all of it.
Everything.
I didn’t know what scared me more—that he had it… or that he’d had it before I signed anything.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
I jumped. Hard.
Spun around so fast the papers fluttered to the floor.
Demian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, chest rising and falling like he was keeping himself from doing something violent.
“I—I didn’t mean to—” I started.
But he was already walking toward me.
“Did I give you permission to touch my things?”
“No. I—You left the door open—”
“And that gave you what? Liberty?”
He stopped in front of me, jaw tight, eyes burning.
“You don’t get to snoop, Lena.”
“You had a file on me,” I snapped. “Before I even agreed to anything. You stalked me.”
“I vetted you.”
“No. You chose me.”
“Correction,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I accepted you.”
That shut me up.
He stepped closer.
I backed into the desk.
“Tell me,” he said. “What exactly did you think you’d find?”
“Proof you’re insane,” I muttered.
He laughed—but it was humorless.
“Lena,” he said slowly, “you have no idea how close you are to that truth.”
His hand came up suddenly—too fast—and I flinched.
But he didn’t hit me.
He cupped the back of my neck, his palm warm, strong, fingers curling just enough to warn.
Not hurt.
“I don’t like being tested,” he said.
“Then stop being a mystery.”
His grip tightened. My breath hitched.
We were too close.
Too charged.
Everything in the air between us felt like the second before lightning.
“You came in here for answers,” he said. “Fine. I’ll give you one.”
He leaned in, mouth inches from mine.
“I think about you constantly. Not romantically. Not sweetly. I think about what your skin tastes like when you tremble. I think about how many ways I could ruin you in this room.”
My knees almost gave out.
“You want honesty?” he whispered. “I want to make you forget your name.”
His lips brushed mine—just barely.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t push him away.
I should’ve.
But I didn’t.
Because I wanted him to.
God, I wanted him to.
He kissed me.
Rough. Desperate. Like something snapped in him.
And something did in me, too.
I kissed him back.
I wanted to forget everything. Why was I here? What he was. What I wasn’t supposed to feel.
His hands were everywhere. My waist. My back. Tangling in my hair. Lifting me onto the desk in one fluid motion like I weighed nothing.
His mouth devoured mine.
Our breaths were loud in the quiet room. My fingers were gripping his shirt. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it would explode.
He pulled away just long enough to drag his thumb across my bottom lip.
“You taste like defiance,” he growled.
“And you taste like control,” I gasped.
He kissed me again.
Harder this time.
And I let him.
I let him press his body between my legs.
I let him take my breath away, over and over, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
But then—
He stopped.
Just like that.
Ripped himself away like he’d touched fire.
His chest heaved. His eyes were wild.
“I can’t,” he muttered.
I sat there, dazed, lips swollen, skin burning.
“Why not?” I whispered.
He stared at me like I was the one who’d hurt him.
“Because I don’t f**k what I can’t own.”
Then he turned.
And walked out.
I stayed at the desk.
Alone.
Still trembling.
Still hungry.
Still hollow.
And so damn ashamed of the part of me that wanted to chase after him.
I didn’t see him for the rest of the day.
Not in the halls. Not at dinner. The staff brought me food, left it outside my room, and vanished.
The castle felt colder again.
Like it was punishing me for wanting him.
I thought maybe that was the worst of it.
Until I walked past the library around midnight and saw him.
Not reading.
Not sitting.
Not waiting.
But with a girl.
A pretty one.
A stranger.
Blonde. Tall. Red lips. Laughing.
Laughing with him.
Her hand was on his arm.
His hand… not moving.
I froze.
Not in front of them.
From the doorway. In the dark.
Just watching.
Something snapped inside me. Not jealousy. Not quite.
Something darker.
Something like: You brought me here, touched me like you needed air, and now you’re pretending I’m invisible?
Fine.
Two can play broken.
I went back to my room.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even scream into my pillow like I wanted.
I just lay there.
Staring at the ceiling.
Wondering how long it would take before he ruined me.
And knowing, deep down—
I was already halfway there.
- Writer
