Ruin Me Slowly

Chapter 2

“Buy you a drink, or are you more of a ‘break hearts and walk away’ kind of girl?”

That was the first thing Carter King ever said to me.

His voice was low and smooth, like velvet with a side of danger. The kind of voice that wraps around your spine and whispers, trouble’s coming.

I didn’t answer right away. Just stared into his eyes—steel gray with a glint of heat—and smirked. Because for a second, I forgot why I came here. For a second, it wasn’t about the plan or the revenge or the cameras.

It was just… him.

Carter freaking King.

He looked exactly like he did in the magazines—tall, broad shoulders, tousled dark hair, jaw sharp enough to slice me open. But up close? He was worse. Better. More intense. The way his eyes scanned me, like I was both a puzzle and a prize.

And maybe I looked like one tonight.

My dress was deep red and clingy, the kind that made men forget what they were saying. My black curls framed my face, full and wild like my mother’s used to be. I wore her lipstick shade too—berry red. The one I used to sneak from her vanity before she left.

My mother, Sofia Alvarez, was once the most beautiful woman in New York high society. Colombian model turned businesswoman. Graceful. Fierce. Stunning. She had a laugh that made people turn their heads and a temper that could burn through steel.

But she disappeared when I was eleven.

No warning. No goodbye.

One morning, she was in the kitchen making arepas. The next, gone. Like she’d walked off the planet. Left her marriage. Left me. And never came back.

My father said nothing for years. Just replaced her with a rotating door of strict, emotionless nannies. I grew up in a mansion, but I was always alone. No warmth. No hugs. Just rules.

So I learned to be my own fire.

And tonight? I was going to use that fire to blow up everything he cared about.

I was going to be seen with Carter King—the son of Elijah King, my father’s blood enemy. One photo of us together would be enough to send my father into a tailspin.

And I made sure there’d be a photo. I called the paparazzi myself. Paid extra. Sent them tips. Told them what time I’d arrive. I was supposed to be the scandal.

But now, as I stood inches away from Carter’s perfectly dangerous face, I glanced past him, toward the club’s entrance.

No flashes.

No cameras.

Where the hell were they?

“You always look over a man’s shoulder when he’s flirting with you?” Carter asked, amused.

I turned back to him quickly. “Just making sure your fan club doesn’t get jealous.”

He laughed. “Cute. Are you always this charming, or is it the dress?”

I leaned closer. “You think it’s the dress?”

“I think,” he said, eyes dropping to my lips, “you walked in here looking like a storm, and now I’m trying to figure out if I want to run or get drenched.”

That line would’ve sounded cheesy coming from anyone else. But from him? It made my pulse skip.

“Is that your best line?” I teased, trying to stay cool, even as my heart hammered.

“No,” he said, voice dropping. “But it’s the only one I remember when you look at me like that.”

I laughed. Too loudly. Too nervously. I was slipping. This was supposed to be a game . My game .

Focus, Jane.

I twirled a strand of my hair, leaning my elbow on the bar. “So what brings the city’s most eligible bachelor to his own club tonight? Slumming it with the rest of us?”

“Looking for something interesting.” He smirked. “Didn’t know what until now.”

My eyes flicked toward the entrance again. Still nothing. I scanned every corner, every possible camera angle. Where were they?

I had texted the guy twice. Paid him upfront. This was supposed to be a tabloid explosion.

But now? Nothing. No photos. No clicks.

Carter leaned in. “You’re distracted.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You keep looking around like you’re expecting someone.”

I gave him a slow smile. “Maybe I am.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Ex?”

“Worse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Now I’m intrigued.”

I turned my full attention back to him. If the cameras weren’t here yet, I needed to make this count. I touched his arm—lightly, casually. His muscles flexed under my fingers.

“You’re not usually this chatty with girls, are you?”

Never chatty. He always went straight to fucking.

That’s what the gossip pages say.

“Not usually. Besides,” he added, “you are in my club. The playground for hunters and preys.”

My lips curved. “Maybe I’m the one hunting tonight.”

“You hunting me?” He tilted his head, amused. “That’s dangerous.”

“I like dangerous.”

His smile widened, but there was something sharper in his eyes now. Curious. Calculating.

“Well then,” he said, stepping closer, “ if you want danger, sweetheart, I’ve got plenty.”