42. Her Ruin
Chapter forty-two
Her Ruin
I knew she’d be here tonight because like a good fucking stalker, I have her phone tapped and cameras up in her office and cabin. I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t just fucking ignore my reason for living.
Obsession? Obviously.
But the second she walked out of the bar with her friend, my patience snapped. I could feel the edges of my control unraveling as I sat there, staring at the asshole who thought it was okay to touch her.
My drink sat untouched, my knuckles whitening around the bottle until Luca leaned over and muttered something about calming down.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because her voice, her fucking voice , kept echoing in my head.
Dominic, stop.
She didn’t yell it. Didn’t scream it like she’s done before in her moments of defiance. No, she whispered it, her voice broke when she said it, trembling with something I never thought I’d hear from her: finality.
She wasn’t just mad. She was done. And all because I pushed too hard.
I knew how she felt about herself and used it. It was fucking wrong of me to do it, but if she can move on, why shouldn’t I at least try? Why should I keep waiting for nothing to happen, like a good little fucking dog?
My hand tightens around the bottle, the glass threatening to crack. Luca gives me a pointed look, his brow arched like he’s waiting for me to say something. Matteo’s leaned back in his chair, watching me like he’s just waiting for me to snap.
They don’t get it. They don’t fucking understand what it’s like to have someone under your skin, in your blood, in your fucking bones. Aria didn’t just walk into my life—she dismantled it piece by piece and left me standing in the wreckage.
And now, after everything, she thinks she can just walk away? Say stop like it’s that simple?
The guy stumbles toward the door, his buddies laughing and clapping him on the back. I recognized him immediately—the one who slapped her ass like she was nothing but a piece of meat. My blood boils at the memory, and my vision tunnels as I watch him stagger out into the night.
“Time to go,” I mutter under my breath, sliding out of the booth.
Luca raises an eyebrow, his tone low and knowing. “Dom, don’t be stupid.”
I shoot him a look, my jaw tightening. “I’m not in the mood, Luca.”
“Doesn’t look like that guy’s worth the trouble,” Matteo chimes in, leaning back casually, though his eyes are sharp as they track me. “This about him or about her?”
I ignore him, shoving my hands in my pockets as I head toward the exit, the anger boiling in my chest like lava threatening to spill over. The fresh air hits me as I step outside, but it does nothing to cool the fire raging inside me.
My eyes lock on the man ahead, his swagger, his laughter, the way he carries himself like the world owes him something.
He doesn’t see me coming.
By the time I’m close enough, his friend’s already ducked inside a gas station, leaving him alone in the alley. I grab him by the back of his jacket and slam him against the brick wall, the impact knocking the wind out of him.
“What the—” he gasps, his eyes wide with fear as he stares at me.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, my voice low as I pin him there.
“Man, I don’t know what your problem is—”
“My problem?” I cut him off, slamming my fist into his gut, the air leaving his lungs with a painful wheeze. “My problem is that you don’t know how to keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
He groans, clutching at his stomach, but I’m not done. I grab him by the collar, pulling him upright, my face inches from his.
“See,” I say, my voice almost conversational as I drive my fist into his gut again, making him double over, “you decided to lay your hands on something you had no right to touch. That woman whose ass you slapped?” Another punch, this time to his jaw, feeling the crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. “She’s mine.”
He stumbles, hitting the wall, and I grab him again, slamming him against the bricks.
“That punch,” I snarl, my voice shaking with rage, “that was for thinking you could get away with treating her like she’s just some girl you can grab and walk away.”
I throw him to the ground, and he stumbles, barely catching himself before I’m on him again. My fist connects with his nose this time, the crack of bone echoing in the narrow alley.
“And this,” I growl, my chest heaving as I land another punch, “this is for me. For every fucking thing she’s put in my head.”
His face is a mess now, blood dripping from his nose, but I don’t care. I grab his shirt, dragging him closer, my voice a venomous hiss.
“She started this,” I spit, my eyes blazing with fury. “She came into my fucking life, into my head, and now I’m the one who’s unhinged? I’m the stalker? But who the fuck chased who, huh? Who ran, and who stayed?”
He tries to speak, his words garbled, but I slam him back against the wall while purging myself of these fucked up feelings. The guy is barely conscious now, his head lolling to the side, but I’m too far gone to care. My fists ache, my knuckles split and bleeding, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“She says stop,” I hiss, my voice breaking. “Like I’m the one who’s out of control. Like I didn’t try to give her everything. Like I didn’t fucking wait for her to figure it out.”
My breath comes in ragged gasps as I let him go, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded rag. I step back, my chest heaving, and for a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing.
I glance down at him one last time, his pathetic form slumped against the wall, and shake my head. “Next time, think twice before you lay a hand on someone who doesn’t fucking belong to you.”
I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair, feeling the adrenaline start to fade, leaving only the twisted satisfaction of what I’ve done. She looked hurt tonight, vulnerable, and yeah, maybe it tore at me in a way I didn’t expect, but it’s not enough.
She made her choice. And if she wants to live this fantasy of a clean, safe life, then fine. But I’ll be damned if I let her forget what it feels like to have me in her life, to be wrapped up in everything dark and raw that she brings out in me.
I turn away, not bothering to look back at the mess I’ve left behind. My jaw is clenched so tight it feels like it might snap, and my mind is racing, Aria’s voice still echoing in my head.
Dominic, stop.
I grit my teeth, shoving my hands into my pockets as I stride down the street, the cool night air biting at my skin. She wanted me to stop. She wanted me to walk away, to let her go. But how the fuck am I supposed to do that when everything in me screams that she’s mine?
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, the word sharp and bitter as it leaves my lips.
I don’t stop walking until I reach my bike, the city blurring around me as my anger simmers just below the surface. I’ve always known I was fucked up, but she makes it worse. She makes me lose control in ways I didn’t even think were possible. And the worst part? I don’t want it to stop.
I don’t want her to stop.