Ruin me: Falling for my Fiance's best friend.

Alessandra's POV "Did you enjoy dinner?" Kol’s voice was smooth as we turned the corner, his presence warm beside me in the cool night air. "Yes, I did," I replied, clutching his arm a little tighter. Two years together. He went all out tonight reservations at a restaurant he always claimed was overrated but mysteriously booked anyway. Usually, he'd just cook something special at home. But tonight was different. I had hoped no— expected, a proposal. The way he recently talked about children, about our future, it only made sense. I chewed every bite slowly, just in case a ring was hidden in the food. I sipped my wine deliberately, checking for anything clinking against the glass. Nothing. Dinner ended, and still—nothing. Now we were walking home. Maybe he wanted to do it under the streetlights, something grand and romantic, a moment I’d remember forever. He wasn’t the type for spontaneous gestures, at least not with me, but maybe tonight was different. "Thank you for tonight," I murmured, pressing into his side, willing my disappointment away. "You're welcome," he said, then glanced at my death grip on his arm. "But I’d appreciate it if blood circulation was restored." I quickly let go. "Sorry, I—" "So, babe," he interrupted, his tone suddenly shifting, "when are you going to talk to your uncle about the deal? It’s been three weeks now. Doesn’t he want to sign?" My stomach sank. This is what he was thinking about? I hesitated. How was I supposed to tell him my uncle thought his proposal was terrible? That he had laughed, actually laughed, and called Kol an overreaching i***t? "You know, he’s um—" A sharp click cut through the night. "Hands in the air. Turn around. Try to run, and I’ll blow your brains out." The voice was low, controlled. Kol and I froze. My breath hitched. The gun was aimed at me. The man stood a few feet away, masked, his eyes the only visible part of his face. Cold, unreadable. "Pl—please," I stammered, my hands trembling. "We’ll give you everything." His gaze locked onto mine. I fumbled through my bag, hands shaking as I grabbed my watch. A Patek Philippe. Expensive. Valuable. Something. Before I could hold it out, he cursed. "Fuck." I stilled. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. His eyes were fixed on something past my shoulder. I turned instinctively—only to see Kol. Running. Full sprint. Not even a glance back. "What the—" "Wow," the man holding the gun muttered, amused. "Isn’t that your boyfriend?" I blinked, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. "He hasn’t even turned back once… Damn, he runs fast." I turned back to the masked man. The gun—the same one that had me frozen moments ago—was now hanging loosely at his side. His posture had changed. Less threatening, more… entertained. "Excuse me?" I choked out. "I'm sorry about that," he said, almost casually. "Four years, right? I overheard you talking about it while I followed." "What?" His eyes met mine. There was something odd about his expression, something that made my chest tighten in a way I couldn’t quite explain. "You’re feeling bad for me ?," I asked, I was genuinely confused "Yes. I am. That’s just… sad," he admitted, still staring at the empty street where Kol had disappeared. The man shook his head, like this was the most absurd thing he’d witnessed all night. "You should lock yourself in a room for two days and cry it out." I blinked at him. "You just tried to rob me!." "No, I didn’t." He sounded almost offended. "I tried to rob him. He owed me. I was just trying to scare him. That’s the only reason I pointed the gun at you." "But I wasn’t expecting that," he added, nodding toward the street. Then, as if this entire situation wasn’t insane enough, he reached up and pulled off his mask. I don’t know what I expected—a hardened criminal, maybe someone rough-looking, with scars or tattoos. But he looked… normal. Good-looking, even. The kind of guy you’d see at a café reading a book, not holding people at gunpoint. "Well," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Sorry about your evening. And the scare." Then he shrugged. "Plus, the gun was plastic. See?" He tossed it onto the ground. I gaped at it. A cheap, fake thing. He took a step back, flashing a half-smile. "And I solely believe you can do better." Then he turned and walked away, disappearing down the street. As if the last five minutes of my life hadn’t just happened. I stood there, heart still pounding, watching the place where he vanished. Kol had left me. Without hesitation. And a robber had consoled me. What the hell just happened? ~~~~ I've lived in Mexico for six years, and tonight was the first time someone held a gun to my face—even if it was fake. My hands were still a little unsteady as I reached my building. The street was quiet, the kind settled in the bones I climbed the stairs, pressing a hand against my chest to steady my heartbeat... Today couldn't get any worse... I always knew Kol didn’t love me—not really. But I think… I convinced myself he cared, in his own way. Maybe not about me, but about what he thought he could get from my uncle. Still, he stayed. He tried. And that was more than anyone ever had. Even if it wasn’t real… he stayed. For a while. And maybe that was enough for someone like me. Because trying? That was a luxury I’d never been given. Not even by family. I reached my door, fumbled for my keys, and— It’s open. A sharp breath left me. Not again. I stared at the slightly ajar door, every muscle in my body locking into place. I cannot handle another criminal incident tonight. I hesitated before pushing the door open, slow and cautious. My gaze swept the room, landing on the figure sprawled across my couch, one leg lazily crossed over the other, a half-empty glass of my wine in her hand. I let out a long, exhausted sigh, my heart settling back into place. Of course. I shut the door behind me, shaking my head. "You do know there’s something called texting?" She didn’t move. Just swirled the wine in her glass like she had all the time in the world. I walked toward her, stopping just in front of the couch— And found myself staring at my own face. No ..Her face… The only difference was the eyes. Mine were green—our mother’s eyes. Hers were blue. After God knows who. Certainly not our father. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then, her lips curled slightly, a ghost of a smile that never reached her eyes. The same eyes that met mine, cool and unreadable. Six years. I hadn’t seen her in six years. Hadn’t heard from her in six years. And yet here she was, drinking my wine like she owned the place. I wanted to hug her. But I knew better. "Hello, sister," she finally said, tilting her head. "Pack your bags. It’s time to go home." I exhaled sharply, crossing my arms. "This is my home. You and Dad exiled me here, remember?" She didn’t blink. "Alessandra." Her voice was as smooth as ever, as if she were stating something obvious, something inevitable. "Dad wants you back home," she said, setting her glass down. Her gaze pinned me in place. "In Italy." Scratch what I said. Getting dumped and fake-robbed? Cute. Being summoned by the family that erased me? Now that’s hell.