Between Sin and Ruin (Ruinous Duet #1)
Prelude
Nikolai's tiny fists pounded against my chest as I passed him to Angel, his teething wails piercing my heart. The ghost of his warmth lingered on my arms while his cries echoed down the hallway, following me like an accusation.
Angel swayed with him, her expression gentle as she settled him against her hip. "He'll be fine. Go fix what needs fixing before you shatter completely."
"I'm holding it together," I replied, my voice betraying me.
I wasn't close to being fine.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized Alaric had vanished from our life, leaving a ghost of himself in our home.
His dinner chair was perpetually empty, his side of the bed untouched. I found myself longing even for our ridiculous fights about which way the toilet paper should hang.
The wall of silence he'd built was devouring us whole.
Somewhere, someone wise once said a closed mouth doesn’t get fed, so I was going to confront my husband, ask what was wrong.
I had never been one to bite my tongue anymore.
If there was a problem, I wanted to know up front.
It wasn't like him to not be direct in the first place, which only gave me even bigger reason for concern.
Santos drove me through the rain-slicked streets.
Every few minutes, his dark eyes would flick to mine in the rearview mirror—concerned, disapproving—before returning to the road.
I knew he was just against this idea as he’d been earlier, and had been told to keep me away, but his loyalty to me ultimately outweighed his reluctance.
The Orpheum stood like obsidian against the skyline, his largest masterpiece.
Santos pulled right up to the valet and wasted no time putting the SUV in park, opening my door before the young guy working had a chance to.
I flashed him a smile and ignored the line of people waiting to be let inside. Security on shift averted their eyes as I passed, making no move to stop me. Santos kept pace at my side, his whispered protests brushing my ear.
"Mrs. Kostas," he murmured, tension threading his voice. "At least let me inform—."
"Selene, Sans. You call me, Selene or El. I don't care if we're in public."
He fell silent, now trailing me like a reluctant shadow reflected in the glass doors as I pushed my way into the club. The music slammed into me, overwhelming in its intensity. Crimson and amber lights pulsed over writhing bodies.
I took the long way and through the crowd, I caught Cassian's gaze of all people.
He lurked in the shadows near the west bar, amber liquid swirling in his glass as our eyes locked across the room.
His expression hardened into a protective scowl I knew too well. He muttered something to whoever stood beside him and cut through the crowd in my direction, but the sea of bodies between us swallowed his progress.
Thank God. If anyone could derail my mission with a well-placed hand on my shoulder and reasonable words, it would be him.
In record timing, I bypassed the elevators and slipped into the restricted corridor, heading to the door at the end.
With quick, efficient movements, I used the keypad for the stairwell access.
The numbers glowed blue beneath my touch.
Behind me, Santos swore under his breath but trailed after me when I shoved through the heavy steel door.
At the top landing, another security panel surrendered to my familiar code.
The door clicked open like it recognized me. The executive level greeted me with silence—the bass from below reduced to a distant heartbeat, the soft carpet swallowing my footsteps.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights blurred against darkened glass. I moved down the corridor toward the obsidian door at its end that led to a suite of sorts, my own pulse drowning out the tap of my heels.
As I drew closer, the music below became fainter, and I could pick up my husband’s voice. That same voice that had made countless promises, my favorite midnight whisper, was speaking to another woman.
"Wait.Fuck." Came before an exaggerated moan that floated through the door and had my body turning to stone.
Santos' hand touched my arm. "Selene," he murmured quietly, "let's go. Please. Whatever that is you don’t need to see it."
That’s where he was wrong, because even as my feet remained rooted to the carpet, and a small voice in my head was telling me to run back down the stairs, out of the club, and go home to my baby boy’s innocent warmth, I knew I wouldn’t be running away from this.
Ironically, I could thank my husband for making me believe I no longer had to cower or hide from anything.
I gently removed Santo’s hand, the large stone on my wedding ring catching the dim light as my hand trembled. I pushed toward the door, my heart splitting in two with each step as the sounds within the room became clearer.