RUINED by YOU

Chapter 3 -Just Another Face in the Crowd-

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Germaine’s phone suddenly rang, cutting through the quiet. She glanced toward her desk, let out a long, resigned sigh, and walked over to pick it up.

Her mom was calling from Denver. She swiped to answer and forced a smile into her voice. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Her mother didn’t waste time. “I thought you said you would come back after a few months, Germaine. It's been six. We miss you so much, sweetheart. And your dad... well, he’s hoping you’ll start getting involved in the family business.”

Germaine exhaled heavily, dragging her fingers through her damp hair. “I know, Mom. I will. But about the business... I don’t know. I’m not ready yet. Just... give me a little more time to think about it, okay?”

There was a pause. She could hear her mother sigh on the other end.

“I love you, Mom,” Germaine added softly. “And I promise... when I’m ready, I’ll be the one knocking at your front door. But right now, I just need to live my life. Without the weight of the company, without all the pressure. Just... let me breathe.”

Another beat of silence passed before her mom finally replied, her voice gentler. “Okay, honey. We love you too. Always.”

The call ended, and for a moment, Germaine just stood there, the phone still in her hand, her chest tight with guilt... and something heavier. Freedom always came with a cost.

She walked out into the living room, needing a distraction. Xanthia turned from the couch, looked at her, and smiled. “Mom giving you the ‘come home, take over the empire’ talk again?”

Germaine let out a half-laugh, shaking her head as she walked straight to the kitchen. “Like clockwork.”

Germaine leaned against the kitchen counter, peering into the fridge like something magical might appear if she stared long enough. Spoiler alert... it didn’t. Just one lonely bottle of sparkling water, an almost-expired yogurt, and a half-eaten pack of cheese that had definitely seen better days.

She shut the door with a dramatic sigh and turned to Xanthia, who was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone like she wasn’t two seconds away from starving.

“Okay, emergency situation,” Germaine declared, arms crossed under her chest. “Do you want to go grocery shopping with me? Because babe... our fridge is basically a hollow shell of sadness right now. Unless you plan on making dinner out of air and expired dairy, we need to fix this.”

Xanthia raised an eyebrow. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“I’m being accurate,” Germaine shot back. “There’s no wine, no snacks, no chocolate, what are we even doing with our lives? We’re not just hungry. We’re under attack.”

Xanthia laughed, tossing her phone onto the cushion. “Alright, alright. Let’s hit Solaire Plaza. Might as well go boujee if we’re doing this.”

Germaine grinned. “Now that’s the spirit. High-end mall it is.”

An hour later, the two of them were strutting through the glossy, air-conditioned corridors of Solaire Plaza... a mall so upscale it practically judged your outfit at the door. Germaine was dressed for war... tight jeans, heels that clicked confidently against marble, and a top that flirted with every curve she had.

Not because she was dressing for groceries. No. She was dressing for him. Because there was always that chance, however small... that Knox Andrew Montenegro might show up. And today? Her gut told her he would. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking soaked in obsession. Either way, she wasn’t about to be caught looking basic.

As they walked past a high-end watch boutique, Xanthia nudged her sharply. “Three o’clock. Look casual."

Germaine didn’t have to ask. She turned her head slowly, heart lurching in her chest like a damn drumline was playing inside her ribs.

There he was. Knox. In a perfectly tailored navy suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and sunglasses perched like he owned the damn universe. He walked like a man who’d never heard the word “no.” Two other men flanked him... one laughing, the other clearly kissing up... but he? He was calm. Quiet. Commanding.

She stopped walking. Her throat went dry. Her palms itched. Her body knew him even if he didn’t know her yet.

This is it, she told herself. Now or never.

She straightened her spine, adjusted her top just enough to show a little more skin, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear with a slow, practiced move. She angled herself just right, letting the light hit her face, pretending to browse perfume like she wasn’t trying to seduce him with her aura alone.

He walked right past. Not a glance. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even the slightest tilt of his head. Just... air.

Germaine stood frozen for a beat, her heart dropping straight to the soles of her designer heels. Knox and his friends vanished into the crowd like they hadn’t just crushed her ego under an $800 shoe.

Xanthia gave her a pitying look. “Ouch.”

Germaine forced a laugh that came out hollow. “Maybe he needs glasses.”

“Maybe he needs therapy for ignoring all this,” Xanthia said, gesturing to her. “You look like you stepped off a runway.”

Germaine tried to play it cool, flipping her hair and adjusting her bag. “It’s fine. I wasn’t trying to get his attention anyway.”

“Liar.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I hate how much I want him.”

And hate how much it hurts when he doesn’t even see her.

Xanthia looked at her best friend with soft concern in her eyes as they exited the luxury department store. “Are you okay?” she asked gently. “Do you want to go home instead? We can do the food shopping tomorrow. You just took a major emotional hit back there.”

Germaine let out a quiet chuckle, the kind that sounded more tired than amused, and turned to glance at Xanthia. Her eyes sparkled, but not with joy... more like frustration wrapped in fake confidence.

“I’m fine,” she lied with a half-hearted grin. “Seriously. Let’s go food shopping now. I don’t want to be that dramatic girl crying over a guy who doesn’t even know her name.”

Xanthia raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“But,” Germaine added, placing a hand on her growling stomach, “before we do that, let’s find a nice place to eat. I’m starving. Emotionally drained and low blood sugar? That’s a dangerous combo.”

Xanthia smiled. “Now that’s the Germaine I know. Let’s find a restaurant where the waiters look like they model on the side.”

Germaine laughed, and for a second, she fooled even herself into thinking she was okay.

They picked a gorgeous, upscale spot on the third floor of the plaza... dim lighting, velvet booths, jazz humming low through the speakers. The kind of restaurant where even the water is overpriced but tastes like melted glacier. They slid into their seat by the window, menus in hand, ready to pretend today wasn’t a total emotional ambush.

As they waited for their orders, Germaine tried to relax. She sipped on her cocktail, legs crossed, mentally drafting a new story scene... something where Gemma makes the man fall to his knees. Something where she wins. But fate, the cruel little drama queen it is, wasn’t done with her.

The front doors opened, and in walked Knox.

Her body went still. Breath caught. There he was. Again. Same suit. Same powerful stride. Same “I own this f*****g city” energy that made every woman in the room take notice without even trying.

And this time... he wasn’t alone. A woman clung to his arm, her laughter bright and flirty, echoing too loud in the intimate atmosphere. She was stunning, of course... long legs, pouty lips, perfect hair that looked effortless. Her hand slid over his bicep like she belonged there. Germaine's heart dropped. Knox didn’t even glance her way. Not once.

He walked past their table like she didn’t exist. Like she wasn’t sitting right there, close enough to smell his cologne, to hear that other woman whisper something in his ear that made him smirk. That smirk... the one Germaine had imagined a hundred times while touching herself in the dark.

It wasn’t hers. It never was.

Germaine forced a smile, her jaw tightening, eyes fixed on her cocktail like it held the answers to her sudden, aching silence.

Xanthia noticed immediately. “Germaine...”

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

“You’re not.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

She hated how her chest felt tight. How her eyes burned. How that stupid pang of jealousy twisted deep in her stomach like a blade forged from every moment he’d never notice her.

How it always started in her ribs... tight, unforgiving, then crawled up her throat, threatening to burst into something messy, something vulnerable, something she didn’t have the luxury of showing in public.

But really... what could she do?

They didn’t have a relationship.

They didn’t share anything but air.

He didn’t know her. Not her name. Not her face. Not her voice.

To him, she was just a blur in his peripheral vision. Just a stranger in a sea of women who wanted him. But to her? To her, he was everything. Obsession. Desire.

The thunder in her veins and the ache in her fingertips. He was the reason she stared at her ceiling at night, the ghost in every climax she wrote, the man who unknowingly stole every inch of her sanity with just one look... and tonight, not even that.

She had stitched him into every orgasm, every fantasy, every sultry page of her novels.

He lived in her stories, in the heat between sentences, in the lust that poured from her fingertips like confession. He was the fantasy that ruined real men for her.

And now he was here, so close she could smell his cologne, but with someone else. Touching someone else. Staring at someone else like they mattered.

She took a breath. One of those long, shaky ones that scraped her lungs and barely held her together. Then another.

And then, as if she'd rehearsed it, she sat up straighter. Pulled her shoulders back. Tilted her chin up like pride alone could keep her from unraveling.

She turned to Xanthia with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes... the kind of smile women wear when they’ve mastered the art of looking unbothered while bleeding inside.

“Let’s just eat,” she said quietly. “I’m starving, remember?”

Xanthia nodded, but her gaze stayed glued to Germaine’s face... studying every micro-expression, every fracture behind the facade.

“Okay,” she said gently. “But we’re getting ice cream after this. And you’re allowed to cry if you need to. I brought the good tissues.”

Germaine laughed, but her voice cracked somewhere between the syllables. A broken sound. Like the echo of something once whole.

“Deal,” she whispered.

And then she smiled. Not because she was okay. Not even close. But because pretending was easier than admitting she was breaking in half. Because admitting it out loud would make it real. And if it became real, then she would have to feel it. All of it.

And the worst part? Not the public rejection. Not the jealousy. Not the aching silence between them. The worst part was knowing that tomorrow, she’d still want him. That even after this, her heart would still betray her. That despite all the pain, all the unanswered longing....

She would still wake up aching for a man who didn’t even know she existed. And that kind of ache? That kind of ache didn’t just fade. It lived in you. It claimed you. And if you weren’t careful... it ruined you.