All Chapters of RUIN ME TENDER : Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

ISLAFlames devour everything. They rise higher and higher, a monstrous inferno consuming not just our home but the very foundation of my life. The heat bites at my skin even from a distance, its wicked tendrils taunting me to flee, to give in, to abandon all hope. But I can't.I stand frozen outside the house, my chest heaving with sobs that refuse to calm, no matter how many times Jasper, my loyal butler, tries to console me. "Miss Isla," he pleads, his hands firm on my shoulders, his voice trembling with desperation. But nothing he says registers.All I can think about is Mathieu—my brother, my heartbeat, my everything—trapped in there. I clutch at the firefighters as they rush past, begging, screaming at them to bring him to me. "Please," I cry, my voice breaking into shards. "He's in there! He's in there!"One of them pauses, his soot-covered face grim as he looks down at me. "We're doing everything we can," he says, but his words sound hollow.It happened so quickly. Barely half

People. Desperate, power-hungry creatures. Always watching, always waiting for their chance to crawl their way up—grasping at anything that smells like an opportunity. It's laughable, really, the way their eyes widen in barely concealed hunger when they spot someone useful. Someone who could hand them power on a silver platter.Fucking leeches.Women are no different. With their sultry gazes, calculated touches, and honeyed words, they play their roles well—too well. Some make it a game, twirling their fingers through their hair as they whisper flirtations that mean nothing, trying to act delicate. Feminine. Damsels in distress. It's nauseating.A manicured hand brushes against my arm."Ciaran."The voice is smooth, polished. A woman in red lipstick—a deep, rich shade that matches the dress clinging to her like a second skin. She looks at me like she knows me, like she's confident I'll humor her for at least a moment.I don't.I don't fucking know her, and I don't care to. Just anothe

It's everywhere.The tabloids, the magazines, the news—every goddamn place I look.With an annoyed sigh, I toss the newspaper onto the glass table in front of me, the pages fluttering in the soft morning breeze. My fingers reach up, pushing my sunglasses into my hair as I lean back against the lounge chair. The sun is warm, bright but not too bright for my liking. I should be enjoying this moment. But, of course, peace is a luxury I rarely afford.A shadow shifts near the terrace entrance. The servant. She waits, poised at a respectful distance, hands clasped in front of her."Bring me a glass of lemonade," I say, my voice laced with tired indifference.She nods. "Sí, Miss Moreau. I will bring it in five minutes." And then she disappears back inside the house, leaving me to my thoughts.Eight hours. That's all it's been since the gala, yet the news has spread like wildfire. As if people had nothing better to talk about than the mere fact that I—Isla Moreau—stood mere inches apart from