Page 175 of Ruin My Life

I don’t want to beThe Black Rose—not tonight.

Not the hacker-turned-vigilante who seduces, manipulates, and strikes like a viper. She was built by pain. Armoured in vengeance.

And I’ll never be Brianna Rosenberg again either—not the soft girl who left for MIT, full of dreams and logic and untouched hope. She died in that house beside her parents. With Amie.

What I am now is a careful mix of the two.

A woman scorned and betrayed—but notlost.

One who’s healing, while also embracing that pain that once threatened to destroy her.

She still wants revenge.

But she also wants care. Affection. Warmth.

She remembers what it’s like to wish for things likelove.

“Damon…”

I breathe his name like it’s my anchor.

My hands find his where they rest on my hips.

He stands frozen, though his eyes burn my skin with their intensity.

I curl my fingers over his, letting his fingertips press against my sides before I slip both our fingers into the waistband of my leggings.

“Please,” I murmur. “Help me.”

The sound that leaves his chest isn’t human—it’s a guttural, low growl that vibrates through his entire body and into mine, making my thighs clench as heat blooms deep in my core.

I slide off the counter in front of him until my feet are flat on the tile.

He helps me peel down my leggings and underwear, slow and steady, kneeling in front of me like he’s worshipping, not undressing.

His gaze never leaves my skin as he trails his hands down my legs, over the curve of my calves, and then off my ankles and feet, taking my socks with them.

His hands run all the way back up as the same slow pace, taking the time to trace every inch of my legs, every little birthmark and freckle, every tiny forgotten scar from my childhood.

My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of the worst one, still concealed by my oversized T-shirt.

That scar.

Thescar.

Jagged and stark, carved into the soft skin of my chest like a permanent reminder that I lived while they died.

Dahlia’s cream helped fade it some. But I see it every time I look in the mirror. Every time I take off my clothes.

And now, so will he.

Suddenly, I want to run.

I want to shove past him, wrap myself in something safe, and disappear into the cold night air until the sea swallows me whole.

“Do you want me to stop?” Damon asks, his voice ragged but careful. He doesn’t move unless I ask him to, and his restraint makes my chest ache.

I shake my head. “No. I just…”