From Ruin, He found me.

Chapter4.

Darian’s POV

Shit!

The fake laughter from these people gathered around me was beginning to make my skin crawl.

I was standing at the edge of the exhibition hall, twirling a glass of scotch I had no intention of drinking in my hand when Jayden, the CEO of McMahon Enterprises, trotted towards me.

He lingered around me for at least forty minutes like flies to a dead body, bragging about his “unshakable corporate empire" in a bid to secure a partnership deal with Visconti Global.

That alone increased my irritation because I don't do business with men who begged and as far as I'm concerned, this was still a small man trying to play the big men’s game.

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the stuffy banquet hall, I needed to get fresh air and a little bit of quiet, away from all the noisy chattering.

I was about to slip through the glass door when a flash of brilliant, emerald silk turned sharply into the corner, before I could step aside, a body slammed hard into my chest.

She looked frantic and was about to fall against the hard marble when my instincts took over. In one swift move, I wrapped an arm around her waist, my other hand catching her forearm to anchor her against me.

She felt fragile, but as she clumsily pushed against my chest, I could feel the intense rage, radiating off her.

"S-sorry..." she mumbled. Her voice was a breathless, exhausted whisper.

She didn't bother to look me in the eye, try to use my name or even bat her eyelashes at me like every other woman in that ballroom.

No. None of that.

Instead, she quickly ripped herself out of my grip and stormed down the concrete steps into the rain with her torn dress trailing behind her like a battle flag.

With narrowing eyes I watched her go, her makeup was smudged, the dress she was wearing was torn at the shoulder, and her knuckles were bruised like someone had just broken her or she had just broken someone else.

I watched as her dress snagged on the iron planter, leaving a sash behind as she threw herself into a taxi and vanished into the night.

I took slow, deliberate steps towards it and untangled the silk from the metal prong, I lifted it into the dim glow of the streetlights and there, sewed into the fabric with delicate silver threads was a flawless pearl crest… it didn't look like something from any of these commercial brands.

The thrill of discovering it's origin and it's owner sent a tremor of excitement down my spine.

I folded the silk, the fabric was still holding the faint, elegant scent of vanilla that filled my senses when I held her some minutes ago, had now mixed with the rain as I slid it into the breast pocket of my tuxedo.

I will find you, I promised the empty street.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

It was almost 1:00 AM when my driver pulled into the secure underground garage of the Visconti Estate.

I took off my jacket as I rode the private elevator up to the penthouse, its mahogany veneers opening to the silent foyer. I walked past the sweeping views of the city skyline, tugging my bow tie loose as I headed straight for the bedroom at the end of the hall.

I pushed the door open gently.

Sleeping soundly under a pile of blankets was Ronar. At just four years old, my son was the only person in the entire world who could make the cold, ruthless Darian Visconti soften. His dark curls were messy against the pillow and his favorite toy stallion was still clutched tightly in his small fist.

I leaned down, looking intently at his face as I gently brushed a stray curl from his forehead.

He didn't know, but every contract I signed and every empire I tore down, was to make sure nobody in the world ever lay their hands on him again.

Not even his drug-addict mother, Mallory.

Stepping back out into the hallway, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed my chief investigator, Morrigan, through a secure line.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Sir?" Morrigan’s alert voice cracked through the receiver.

I pulled the silk sash from my pocket, running my thumb over the silver embroidery of the pearl crest.

"I'm sending you a digital scan of something I found," I commanded, my voice dropping to its cold, unyielding baritone.

"I want you to find out who owns it. Give me a name, an address, and a full file on her by sunrise."