Page 113 of The Art of Ruin

“You don’t look at her again,” I say, quieter this time. “You don’t speak to her. And you don’t come near her again.”

He exhales sharply, something like frustration cutting through his composure before he steps back. This man isn’t used to conceding. He’s used to getting his own way. How he ever had a woman like Casey show him even a moment of interest is beyond me.

“You have this wrong. She’s stalking me. Casey followed us here.”

I smirk. “You’re delusional. Now fuck off, before I lose my temper and beat you to death in front of your child.” I wouldn’t but he doesn’t need to know that.

I don’t watch him go.

He’s no longer the priority.

I turn back to her instead, my attention shifting immediately, the edge of everything else dropping away just enough to focus on what matters.

“She shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

Nico grasps my shoulder. “She won’t have to again.”

“No, she won’t.”

And this time—it’s not a statement.

It’s a promise.

18.Casey

New Year’sEve has never felt quieter. Not outside, obviously. Outside, Aspen is doing what Aspen does best—glittering snow, expensive coats, flushed cheeks, laughter spilling from cars and lodge doors as people move from one celebration to the next like the whole world has agreed to be beautiful for one night. Even from inside the house, I can hear it occasionally, the distant cheer of people somewhere down the mountain, the muffled thump of music carried strangely through the cold.

But inside the lodge, everything feels softened. Safe.

Dim lamps. Firelight. The smell of pine and woodsmoke clings to the high-beamed room. The kind of quiet that makes you lower your voice without meaning to. It’s what I need right now, more than parties or company. I just want to see this year out and move on to the next. I even have twelve grapes in my room to eat at midnight in the hope that it improves my luck.

I’ve told Isabella I’m still tired, and it isn’t a lie, exactly.

My body is better but better doesn’t mean brand new. There’s still heaviness in my limbs if I stand too long, still a dull reminder low in my abdomen that keeps me aware of myself ina way I resent. I’m not in pain the way I was before, but the flare has left its fingerprints everywhere.

That’s the reason I give her. It’s not the only reason.

The other reason is Jasper.

Even though Adriano told me his security team confirmed Jasper and his little family are back in Los Angeles, even though Isabella promised me he won’t get anywhere near me here. Even though I know, logically, that avoiding a New Year’s Eve party because of a man I left is giving him more power than he deserves, I can’t make myself put on a dress and walk into a room full of strangers tonight.

I don’t want to scan faces.

I don’t want to wonder if he’s somehow there.

I don’t want to brace for impact every second of the night. I want peace.

Staying here in this beautiful lodge is no hardship; watching the lights glitter below is calming.

Isabella doesn’t push, though she watches me for a second too long while Nico helps her into her coat, her dark hair swept back, lipstick perfect, eyes sharp enough to see through every excuse I’ve ever made. She knows me too well, but my wonderful friend cares enough to not push me and I love her for it.

“You’ll call if you need anything?” she says, smoothing a hand over my arm.

“I’m not dying,” I tell her.

“No, but you’re stubborn and too independent for your own good.”

“I learned from you.”