Beautiful In Ruin

CHAPTER ONE

WYNTER

I dig deep into my pocket and pull out a ten-pence piece, holding it up triumphantly. The guy behind the counter rolls his eyes.

“I knew I had it,” I say smugly, handing it over.

In exchange, he gives me my hot chocolate to go.

I step out onto the busy London street, the cold air biting at my cheeks as I glance around. Six months ago, I arrived here, full of dreams and ambition.

That lasted all of five minutes . . . right up until someone snatched my bag the second I stepped out of the underground.

Since then? Nothing but bad luck.

My phone shrills in my pocket. I pull it out, take a steadying breath, and answer.

“Lucy, hi,” I say brightly.

“Wynter, how’s it going?” she asks.

Aunt Lucy. My dad’s sister. They’re close, and she’s been like a mother to me since mine died two years ago.

“Great. How’s Dad?”

“Being a pain in my arse,” she says with a laugh, and I hear him grumble in the background.

Moments like this make my chest ache. I miss them more than I’ll ever admit.

“I can cook,” she fires back at him. “Your tastebuds have gone to crap since you hit sixty. Anyway, Wynter, we were wondering if you’re coming home anytime soon? We miss you.”

I’ve only been back to Stamford once since I left six months ago. I’d give anything to go again, but my bank account is empty, and I just spent my last two pounds twenty on this hot chocolate.

“I’ll try. I’m so busy at work right now,” I lie.

“You always say that. You need time off. It’s not good working all these hours. What about weekends?”

“Ignore her, Winnie,” Dad calls in the background. I smile at the nickname he’s used since the day I was born. “She forgets what it’s like to be young and single. You enjoy your weekends. Get out there, make friends. Come home when you need a break.”

“Thanks, Dad. And, Lucy, I’ll try to get home soon, I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll call tomorrow. We love you.”

“I love you both too.”

I hang up and groan, guilt twisting in my stomach.

I hate lying to them.

The truth is, I never got the job as a junior literary agent. They gave me a month’s trial, then hired the other girl. Said she had more experience. Personally, I think she was fucking the boss.

So, now, I’m living off the money Mum left me. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t go back home and tell Dad the truth. He was so proud when I left.

I’ve applied for hundreds of jobs since, but every publisher gives me the same bullshit answer.

Apparently, the best grades in my class mean nothing. They want experience.

My phone rings again. This time, it’s Kate, my best friend from back home.

The second I answer, I’m already smiling.

“Tell me you’ve met a millionaire so I can quit my job and move in next door,” she says.

“You think if I had, I’d have time to talk to you?” I tease.

“Filip says hi,” she adds. Filip is our other best friend.

“Tell him I said hi back.”

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I glance down at my drink, watching the last of the cream melt into the chocolate.

“I just spent my final bit of loose change on a hot chocolate.”

There’s a pause.

“I know you hate the idea,” she says gently, “but you’re going to have to get a cleaning job. Or bar work. Or . . . . . . anything.”

“I know,” I mumble.

It’s not that I think those jobs are beneath me—Mum spent years cleaning for wealthy families—but if I take something full-time, it feels like I’m giving up. Like I’m letting go of the dream before I’ve even really had a chance.

I slow as I pass a small bar. A handwritten sign in the window catches my eye, and I stop.

“What about a live-in carer?” I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“It solves the rent problem,” Kate replies.

My grip tightens slightly around my phone.

“How hard can it be?” I murmur. “I helped look after Mum . . . right?”

RAY

“I hate liars,” I say.

“But—”

I lift a hand, and he shuts his mouth instantly.

“It’s the one thing I won’t tolerate.” My voice stays calm, measured. “I’m honest with you, aren’t I?”

He nods quickly, not daring to interrupt me again.

“I expect the same courtesy. You knew that when you signed the agreement.”

“Yes, boss.”

I turn my back on him and look out the office window. London hums below, busy and indifferent. From up here, the people look like ants—small, insignificant, rushing from one place to the next.

“Tell me, Azeem,” I say quietly, “how will you deal cards without a hand?”

I close my eyes. Dale moves first, efficient, almost silent. There’s a struggle, a groan escaping as he fights off my men. It’s followed by his scream cutting through the room, raw and desperate. A second later, it’s muffled. Jack, no doubt, has forced something into his mouth.

I don’t turn around. I let it play out, minutes passing before I finally open my eyes and face them.

Azeem lies slumped in the chair, unconscious.

Dale drops the man’s severed hand into the waste bin like it’s nothing more than rubbish.

“Get rid of him before I return,” I say, straightening my cuffs. “And clean this place up.”

I take the private elevator up to the floor above. The top floor of the casino I own. The floor I live on.

My staff move quietly around me as I walk through, their heads down, busy with their tasks.

Anika is in her bedroom, watching television. Her eyes flick to me the second I step inside, and she smiles. “Hello, handsome.”

I lean down and kiss her cheek. “What was so important it couldn’t wait?”

“Someone called about the job. I thought you’d want to be here when they came over.”

I frown. “What kind of person is free to come over straight after calling?”

“A person who needs work,” she says dryly, rolling her eyes. “Don’t scare this one away, Ray. Catherine is retiring. We need someone.”

“I told you, I’ll hire the best of the best. You need a proper nurse, not some inexperienced wannabe.”

“We already have a stream of nurses for my medical needs,” she replies. “But nurses belong in hospitals, with people who are actually sick. I’m not sick. I just need someone to help me wash and keep me company . . . and I don’t want to waste a qualified nurse on that.”

I fall silent, guilt settling heavy in my chest. I should be here for that.

Catherine knocks softly on the door. “Ray, there’s a girl here about the position.”

I push to my feet, already planning to dismiss her before Anika gets a chance to meet her.

“That’s not fair,” Anika says immediately, reading me too easily. “Sit down and let Catherine bring her in.”

I groan under my breath but nod to Catherine. “Send her in.”

I move to the window, turning my back to the door, watching the city stretch out below me.

“Hi, you must be Wynter. Come in,” Anika says warmly.

Wynter. What kind of name is that?

I turn, and my breath catches. She’s petite. Brunette. Smiling brightly at Anika like she’s just walked into the safest place in the world. Her blue eyes sparkle, her cheeks flushed pink, and those damn dimples cut deep.

She’s too soft. Too fucking sweet.

I force my expression to harden, narrowing my eyes into a glare. She notices and her smile falters.

“This is Ray,” Anika says lightly. “Ignore the scowl. He won’t bite.”

God, what I wouldn’t give for just one.

Wynter steps forward and holds out her hand. I take it, firm and brief, already pulling away.

Then she turns to Anika and does the same, hand out, waiting.

Anika glances at me, a silent warning. “Actually,” she says gently, “I’m quadriplegic.”

Wynter freezes, her eyes wide with panic.

“That means she can’t shake your fucking hand,” I snap, unable to hold back.

Silence drops like a weight. Wynter’s face burns red, mortification flooding her features. Good. She should be embarrassed.

“Ray,” Anika growls, her frustration clear.

“I am so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry,” Wynter rushes out, her words tumbling over each other. “It didn’t say in the ad . . . I didn’t—”

“This isn’t going to work,” I cut in coldly. “I’ll show you out.”

“Ray.” Anika’s voice sharpens. I grit my teeth and turn to her. “Just stop,” she says, low and firm. Then, softer, “Wynter, please don’t apologise. It’s fine. I’m not offended at all. Let’s start again.”

“If she can’t even tell by looking at you, what’s the point?” I bite out. “She clearly has no experience.”

“I’m lying in a bed, Ray,” Anika shoots back. “How is she supposed to know? Or are you saying I look disabled?”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“Catherine will show her everything she needs to know.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Wynter murmurs.

We both look at her. Her gaze is fixed on the floor, fingers twisting together, shoulders curling in on themselves like she’s trying to disappear.

Christ. She needs to go. I can’t have her here. Not when my first instinct was to taste her, and now, now I just want to hold her and apologise for being an arse.

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, “she’s going to cry in a minute.”

Like I’ve summoned it, she covers her face, her shoulders starting to shake. I roll my eyes.

“Now, look what you’ve done,” Anika hisses. “Go and get her a drink.”

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair before turning away. “Fine.” I stomp out of the room.

Catherine arches a brow the moment I step into the kitchen, tension still rolling off me.

“She’s a timid little mouse,” I mutter. “I need someone who’ll actually push back.”

Catherine doesn’t even flinch. “You seem to think this is about you,” she says calmly.

I grit my teeth, bracing for the lecture disguised as kind words.

“Anika needs someone she feels comfortable with,” she continues. “This person will be handling her most personal care. She needs to feel safe. She needs to trust them.” Her gaze sharpens slightly. “And right now, Ray, you’re scaring them off because they don’t stand up to you.”

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

“You’ve already chased away ten candidates,” she adds. “And you’re running out of time.”

“Why do you have to retire?” I snap.