It's been a month now—thirty long days since Ruth began delivering the files to Marcus. Each piece of information, each carefully crafted report, has been feeding Dustin's insatiable appetite for control. He's playing his cards well, making moves that I didn't anticipate. A slight slip-up on my part, and he managed to get his hands on my foreign assets. For a moment, I felt the sting of panic, a tightening in my chest, but I know I can retrieve them. I always can. For now, I'll let him bask in the illusion of power. Let him think he's won. The bigger they feel, the harder they fall.
I'm sitting here, looking over Ruth's file. It's frustratingly thin and sparse with the kind of details I crave. Her parents—nothing much is mentioned except that they're dead. Burnt alive in their own home, no less. And yet, the neighbors didn't notice the fire until hours later. Hours! It's almost too cruel to be a coincidence. It feels like a sick joke. How could no one see the flames, hear the crackling, or smell the smoke? Maybe they just pretended not to. I wonder if it's guilt that silenced them or something more sinister.
Then the details hit me like a punch to the gut. The reason no one talked was that—they all had money stuffed in their mouths. I can't even process that without feeling a mix of revulsion and rage. Marcus did this—money, the twisted, sick symbol of control and power, shoved into the mouths of those who should've spoken up. It's like he's mocking them even in death.
I dig deeper, forcing myself to sift through the growing sense of unease. And then I find it: the missing piece. Ruth's parents, Abby and John Danan. Small business owners, struggling but proud. They took a loan—one far too large for them to handle—from Marcus. And when they couldn't pay it back on time, he came for them. Not with warnings, not with threats, but with fire and death. He wiped them out without a second thought, like they were nothing more than an inconvenience.
I sit back, feeling the weight of it all settling on my shoulders. Marcus didn't just destroy Ruth's parents; he shattered her entire life. And now, here she is, tangled in this web, delivering files that she probably doesn't even understand the full weight of. I wonder if she knows the depth of his cruelty. Does she remember her parents, or has she buried those memories like a wound too painful to touch?
It's no surprise that the neighbors refuse to speak. They were coerced, bribed, or scared into silence. And it makes me wonder: how much of this world is constructed on the silence of those too afraid to scream? How many voices have been silenced, smothered beneath the weight of fear or greed? It's terrible to consider how quickly the truth can be buried and how easy it is to obliterate someone's existence with a little authority and a lot of money. Marcus knew this. He counted on it.
As I read through the texts detailing what had happened to Ruth, the words hit me harder than I expected. TAKEN AWAY. IN A BROTHEL. TORTURED. A 17-YEAR-OLD GIRL. GOT TRAINED TO BECAME AN ASSASSIN.
Those words are imprinted in my head now, and they won't ever leave. How could they? They carry the weight of Ruth's entire existence. Everything that shaped her, everything that broke her, is condensed into those few clinical sentences, but the pain they carry is unbearable. I can almost feel it—the loneliness, the fear, the desperation of that girl who had her world ripped apart.
I recall seeing her in the hallways, her smile lighting up the room as she laughed with the other girls. How could I have known then what she had been through? We had our petty squabbling battles, the type of trivial disagreements that seemed so important at the time. It was merely banter, a game between us. But now... it feels like we're living in two different worlds. I thought I knew her, but I actually knew nothing.
I close the file, my fingers trembling slightly as I try to process everything. Ruth's story—it's more than just tragedy. It's a testament to her strength. She didn't just survive; she became something more, something powerful. But even with all that strength, there's something she doesn't know. Something I now have to carry—the location of her parents' graves.
I've found the graveyard where Ruth's parents are buried. However, she has no idea. She doesn't even know where they are because their names were removed from hospital records. They were wiped clean, as if they had never existed. When the ambulance arrived, all signs of them had been removed, leaving Ruth in the dark about her family's location. It's almost unbearably awful that they were stolen from her even in death.
I sit there for a moment, feeling the weight of the knowledge pressing down on me. Ruth deserves to know the truth. How do I tell her the information she's been deprived of for so long?
I stepped out of my office and spotted her just as she was entering the house. Her posture was composed, as always, but there was something more in her eyes—a faint glimmer of relief that told me the job was done. Yet it wasn't just the relief I noticed. She looked stunning, her blackish-brown hair catching the light as it fell in sleek waves down her shoulders. The simple white off-shoulder top she wore revealed just enough of her skin to make my heart race, and the way her jeans hugged her waist perfectly, accentuating her figure in a way that was both effortless and captivating.
She wasn't trying to impress, but that's what made it all the more irresistible. Simple yet beautiful—she had this way of pulling me in without even realizing it. That's what I was beginning to adore about her. The more time Ruth spent in my home, working for me, the more those long-buried feelings stirred within me, tugging at the walls I'd built around my heart.
Once, I had been consumed by my emotions for her—feelings so intense they threatened to overtake me. But I had suppressed them, buried them deep beneath layers of anger and resentment, convinced that it was better to hate her than to love her. Yet now, standing here, watching her in this quiet, unguarded moment, I felt those same emotions rising again, this time impossible to ignore.
There was a tenderness in the way she moved, a quiet strength that lingered in every step she took. And despite everything—despite the hatred I once clung to—I couldn't help but feel drawn to her again, as though those suppressed passions had never truly faded. They had simply waited, patiently, for the right moment to resurface.
And now, here they were. Again.
I looked at her and didn't bother with words, simply offering a small nod of acknowledgment. A silence stretched between us as the weight of the day settled in, but after a beat, I broke it.
"Meet me outside in five minutes. We need to be somewhere," I said, my voice low but commanding, laced with the seriousness of the matter at hand.
I can't let out any signs of attraction yet.
Her brow furrowed in confusion, her eyes searching mine as she questioned, "Do I need to change? And where exactly are we going? I didn't see anything like this on your schedule."
For a moment, I said nothing, just holding her gaze. Her meticulous nature was something I had come to rely on—she knew my every move before I did. But this was different. It wasn't planned. It wasn't something she could foresee. I felt the intensity of my stare as it bore into hers, silently communicating what my words would soon confirm.
"It came up suddenly. I'll tell you in the car," I replied, my tone edged with a sense of urgency that made her straighten slightly. "And no, you don't need to change. Just be outside in ten minutes. I'll be waiting."
Her uncertainty lingered, but there was no time to explain. I turned on my heel without waiting for a response, my footsteps purposeful as I made my way to the driveway. The cool air hit my face the moment I stepped outside, but it did little to temper the growing tension gnawing at me.
I stood there, the weight of the upcoming confrontation settling like a heavy cloak over my shoulders. This was unplanned—necessary, but unplanned. Glancing back at the door, I knew she'd follow. She always did. But this time, there was something thick in the air.
She came out moments later, slipping into the passenger seat beside me. As she settled in, she glanced over, tucking her phone into her pocket before asking, "So, where are we going?"
I kept my eyes forward, trying to maintain focus. "Put on your seatbelt," I said, the words coming out a little firmer than intended. "You'll find out soon enough. It's not far, just a small piece of land I need to check out."
I could feel her presence beside me, too close for comfort, and it was taking every ounce of restraint not to reach for her hand. The closeness—the heat radiating from her—it was driving me mad, and I fought the rising urge to close the distance between us. My hand rested on the gear shift, and as I shifted, our pinky fingers brushed, the lightest touch.
But it might as well have been a bolt of lightning.
A jolt of electricity shot through me, igniting something deep inside. My breath hitched as I felt her pull her hand away, slow and hesitant, as if she had felt it too. The moment lingered in the air between us, thick with unspoken tension, and I found myself gripping the wheel tighter, trying to shake off the sensation.
It was just a touch—barely anything at all—but it had stirred something so powerful, it was impossible to ignore. And for a second, just a second, I wondered if she felt it too.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I drove on and followed the directions that led us to the cemetery. Ruth sat quietly beside me, staring out the window, unaware of where we were really going. I held on to the silence that seemed to be a secret between us as I looked down the road ahead. Every now and again I glanced at her and saw the calm confidence in her face. I felt a mix of anticipation and dread as we drew closer by the mile. I relished holding on to this surprise, which allowed us to spend more time together.
When we eventually arrived at the cemetery after a few more twists, I let the engine go silent and pulled over. Ruth's brows knitted together as she turned to face me, her gaze flashing with uneasiness. "Why—why are we in a cemetery? Is everything in order? She spoke in a quiet, almost hesitant tone, as though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the response.
I offered a gentle smile, hoping to ease her worries. "Yeah, it's okay," I replied, my voice calm. "There's something here you deserve to see." She hesitated, and I saw the nervousness settle deeper into her expression, the way her hands curled around her seatbelt as she took a slow breath.
As we got out of the car, the fresh breeze carried the graveyard's peaceful silence. As we moved side by side along the weathered gravel road, every step seemed heavy and reverberated in the quiet. Ruth's expression was a mix of wonder and nervousness as she looked around, looking at the names engraved on the stones as though they could hold a clue.
Finally, after passing rows of faded gravestones, we stopped before two graves set close together. I glanced over at Ruth, watching as her gaze fell on the names etched into the headstones: Elleanor Danan and Bill Danan. Her parents.
She seemed momentarily immobilized, her eyes widening as the realization hung over her like a heavy fog. She remained silent, but I could see the turmoil of emotions swirling within her, a whirlpool of confusion and sorrow that strained her face.
With hesitation, she reached out and traced the letters with her fingers on the cold stone, as if trying to comprehend the reality of what she was seeing. The images of that tragic day—the violence, the screaming—flashed behind her eyelids, haunting her with a deep pain. She had seen them die, but she didn't know where they were buried. But now that she was standing in front of their graves, the harsh reality hit her hard.
I saw her blink away the tears that started to form in her eyes, reluctant to let them fall. She could feel the calm heaviness in the air as her heart broke in silence. I could see the misery engraved into every line of her face as she struggled to control the grief that threatened to overflow.
She knelt on the ground, shoulders slumping as if the world had collapsed around her. The only sounds we heard were the faint whispers of the wind and the weight of unspoken words. Ruth stood there, immersed in the moment, her heart heavy with memories of a love she could never regain.
I stepped away from her, giving her some space to take in this moment. We weren't exactly on the best terms of friendship, and I felt the tension in the air, but I couldn't help but feel a pull toward her. As I watched her kneel before her parents' graves, my heart ached at the sight of her tears glistening in the dim light.
I wanted nothing more than to wrap her in my arms, to let her know she was safe with me, that I understood her pain, even if I couldn't fully grasp it. I longed to tell her that it would all be okay, that the weight of this moment would eventually lighten, but the words caught in my throat.
Instead, I stood there, with a strange combination of helplessness and profound, increasing fondness. Each tear that dropped from her eyes tugged at something deep inside me, evoking feelings I hadn't allowed myself to accept. It felt like I was torn between wanting to console her and needing to maintain some space, a balance I struggled to achieve.
Watching her struggle made me understand how vulnerable and lost she was at the time. I battled the impulse to reach out, knowing that this was her time to grieve and face the grief she had carried for so long. However, seeing her grief triggered something inside me—a protective instinct that compelled me to reduce the gap between us. But I knew I had to contain myself and give her the space she needed, even though my heart ached to bridge that gap.
As the silence stretched between us, I took a big breath and stepped closer, kneeling next to her. "Ruth," I whispered softly, hoping to get through the wall she'd created around herself. She glanced at me, her countenance a mix of despair and determination, the tears in her eyes revealing the strength she frequently carried like armor.
"I can't imagine how heavy this must feel," I said, my voice soft. "It is alright to feel broken right now. "You don't have to act strong all the time."
She remained still for a minute, her gaze riveted on the graves, the weight of her thoughts apparent in the air. I could feel the stiffness in her jaw, the way she struggled against vulnerability as if opening out would ruin her well-crafted veneer.
Finally, she spoke, her tone firm but just above a whisper. "I don't want to feel weak," she replied, her gaze still avoiding mine. "I've spent so much time preparing my life to be self-sufficient. "This feels very different."
I wanted to reach out to offer comfort, but I could see she wasn't ready for that. "You don't have to have all the answers right now," I said gently. "It's okay to not be okay. You don't have to carry this burden alone. I'm here for you, no matter what."
She eventually glanced at me, and I could sense the fight within her, a glimmer of doubt coupled with a great determination to be strong. "I know I've kept everyone at a distance," she said slowly, her voice tinged with remorse. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this."
"That doesn't mean you have to face it alone," I replied, my tone earnest. "It's okay to let someone in, even just a little. You can talk to me when you're ready. I just want you to know that I'm here, and I care."
Ruth's gaze returned to the ground, and I could sense the internal conflict she was experiencing. The moment felt heavy with unspoken emotions, and I knew she was torn between the want to open up and the instinct to be cautious.
As we sat in silence, I gave her space to process, hoping that she would eventually find the strength to share more of herself with me.
After a moment of silence, Ruth turned to me, her expression a mix of curiosity and confusion. "How did you know their graves were here?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.
I gazed at her, my lips twitching slightly in a knowing smile. "Well, these are the benefits of being involved in a large business and having numerous strong connections," I said nonchalantly, attempting to keep the mood light despite the gravity of the situation.
She raised an eyebrow, a touch of suspicion in her expression. "So you used your connections to find this out?"
"Exactly," I replied, my tone firm. "I had a lead and pursued it. I wanted to help you find this place."
Ruth gave me a slow nod, her face changing as she took in what I had said. With a tone that was almost reflective, she answered, "You didn't have to go out of your way for me."
I looked back to the graves and shrugged. Perhaps not, but it seemed significant. You should have a spot to remember them and know where they are.
My voice was one of direct honesty that lingered between us, devoid of any pity. I wanted her to know that this was just a decision I made because I thought it was important, and it had nothing to do with duty or sympathy.
I could see the barriers she had put up around herself start to move, if only a little, as she took in what I had to say. I hoped it would bring her one step closer to overcoming the anguish on her own.
Something changed inside of me the moment I looked at her. I felt the harshness in my approach towards her soften as I saw her deal with the weight of the graves in front of us. There was a glimpse of warmth I hadn't expected to feel, as if the fences I'd built to keep myself apart were collapsing.
"Ruth, you didn't have to go through this alone," I said, my voice steady but quieter than before. I desired this opportunity for you.
She glanced up at me, surprise dancing in her eyes as if she hadn't expected me to care, to offer anything more than a detached observation. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I paused for a second, noticing how vulnerable I was getting. "Because it matters," I honestly answered, sensing a change in our dynamic. "It's important to know where they are and to have a place to remember them."
As I talked, a genuine yearning to connect replaced the ice that had developed around my heart. Something more vulnerable was replacing the armor of coolness I'd worn. I could see she was experiencing emotional challenges, and it resonated with me on a deep level.
Ruth gave a long nod, her face softening as she took in what I had said. We were on the brink of a deeper understanding at that precise moment, and even though it seemed uncertain, I knew I was prepared to welcome it. It felt more like a bridge that needed to be crossed than a gap separating us.
I kneeled down, sat next to her, and gently placed my hand on her arm. A small smile crossed her face, and I couldn't help but be amazed at how beautiful she looked despite the tears in her eyes. It was a bit of a surprise to me.
As a soft tear rolled down her cheek, I reached over and wiped it away with my thumb. It felt natural and almost automatic, and I was surprised by how much I wanted to ease her pain. As she rested his head on my shoulder, I felt a strong sense of protection over me. I didn't want to protect this person in my life.
"Ruth," I whispered, my voice barely breaking the silence around us. I could feel the warmth coming from him and almost a barrier to the outside world.
It hit me then that I never thought I'd fall in love with her, even though she dominated my thoughts and worked her way into my mind and heart for the past three months. Every day I lose my resolve, and now that I'm here with her, I feel a very scary and exciting connection.
I moved slightly, put my hand on her shoulders, and pulled her closer. I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay and that I would be there for her, but the words weren't right. Instead, I hugged her, thinking that my posture expressed what I was trying to say.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by the peace of the grave, I knew it wasn't just about her parents. For the both of us, it's about removing the boundaries we've created and allowing ourselves to be heard. For the first time I realized the weakness of the situation, and my heart softened as I rested in this new connection.