THE RUIN HE CHOSE

WOLF AND SILENCE

AURELIA

I was up the next morning out of habit. I ached for training but sadly I wasn't back at Vincenzo's, so I just stood up and walked around the house. I couldn't find anything to do, but I came across a treadmill. It was something. I got on it and started jogging steadily.

My feet pounded a steady rhythm on the treadmill belt, the mechanical whir filling the silence. Sweat trickled down my spine, soaking the back of my tank top, but I barely noticed.I increased the speed, and my ponytail whipped around like a live wire, stinging my shoulders.

I missed the locket. That familiar slap against my chest used to ground me. My parents drifted into my head again. I hadn’t seen them in months. Not properly, anyway. I didn't knock on the door anymore and waited for them to come open it because they weren't ever around to start with, except for the once in a while visit they make.

I was the type of shadow that sneaked into the very house I grew up in when they were out, using the same spare key openthey’d hidden under the flowerpot for twenty years.

I always drop a thick envelope of cash on the worn couch and leave immediately before nostalgia hits me. They eventually figured out that it was me.

Neatly folded started appearing on the table as if waiting for me to open it.

‘Come home, Aurelia. We miss you. We can be better.’

I’d read them every time, fingers trembling, throat tight. But better never came. Camila’s death, my running away hadn’t stopped them from choosing their jobs over us. I still loved them. God, that ache never left. But loving them up close meant drowning with them, and I’d fought too hard to breathe again.

The treadmill beeped as I cranked it higher. My lungs burned, legs protesting, but the pain oddly calmed me down.

I've stayed clean for six years now. Sometimes it still shocks me.

Vincenzo, the man who’d introduced me to that world, whose wing man pressed that first line of cocaine into my hand when I was desperate and stupid and grieving, had been the same one who forced me to stop doing drugs.

“Can’t have my best girl managing deals if you’re dipping into the product,” he’d said. He’d monitored me, tested me, threatened me. And somehow, in that twisted hell, I managed to stay sober.

I remembered when I always dreaded going on errands. I would walk into dimly lit rooms reeking of alcohol, cash, and desperation. The powder would be right there in my hands begging me to take a sniff out of it.

I slammed the stop button. The belt slowed beneath me, and I doubled over, hands on my knees, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from my nose and I wiped it away with the back of my palm.

My legs felt like jelly as I stepped off. Water. I needed water.

I crossed to the mini-fridge in the corner, legs wobbly, and grabbed a cold bottle. The condensation felt good against my hot palm. I twisted the cap, took a long gulp, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

I turned and saw him.

Zayn stood at the back of the room, leaning against the doorframe like he’d been there a while. A simple gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.

….and he was shirtless.

My eyes trailed down his body. For someone who was a notorious mafia heir I thought he would equally have as many tattoos as I had. But I was wrong. He did have tattoos not just as much as mine.

The drawing of a wolf head, howling upwards, vines curling around it as if trying to strangle it lay on the right side of his chest.

I couldn't stop staring.

He stood there, shirtless under the warm light, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat. Everything about him was sculpted like someone had taken the ideal male form and brought it to life.

My eyes went straight to his arms first. His biceps were perfect, rounded peaks that flexed subtly even when he wasn’t trying, the kind of muscle that spoke of real strength without looking artificial. Veins traced lightly along the surface, especially when he shifted his weight or reached for something, and the way they curved into his triceps and forearms made my gaze linger. I imagined how those arms would feel—solid, warm, powerful. There wasn’t a single inch of excess; just smooth, tanned skin stretched tight over hard-earned definition.

I tried to look away, really, I did. But I was fixed in a trance.

He suddenly cut into my train of thoughts. Walking towards the table to set the cup of coffee down.

“You heard what I said right?” He asked.

I snapped out of my daze.

“uhmm… what?” I asked.

“Get f*****g dressed… I have someone important to be in an hrs time,” he snapped and walked away, leaving his steaming cup of coffee behind. He walked back again.

“Something feminine by the way…” he picked up the cup of coffee and walked off again. I glared at his delicious looking back as he disappeared and I gulped down the remaining water in my hands before heading back to the room for a shower.

I stepped into the glass bathroom, turning on the heat as the water cascaded down my back. I was done in minutes. I headed towards the wardrobe and flung it open. I sighed at it, staring longingly at the white suit I wore yesterday, lying on the floor.

I began shuffling through the clothes, trying to pick one I felt could be the most comfortable. I smiled in satisfaction when I found a red dress that piqued my interest.

Whatever we're going to do today, I really hope it's worth me wearing this outfit.