Page 62 of The Art of Ruin

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” I ask, my voice quieter than I expect, my grip tightening around Letty’s hand without thinking.

His mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile, but close enough to make something in my chest twist uncomfortably. It’s his ‘aw shucks’ smile, and it used to work on me every time. Now I just find it childish.

“You stopped answering me. You wouldn’t listen, so I had a friend of mine find you,” he says, as though that explains everything.

The thought that he has people looking for me makes me want to be sick. Beside me, Letty shifts closer, her shoulder brushing against my side, and I feel the small movement immediately, grounding and urgent all at once. She’s picking up on the tension in the air, and I hate that he’s forcing her to feel it. No matter my feelings, my only job here is to keep her safe.

“This isn’t the place,” I tell him, already stepping back and angling my body so she’s slightly behind me without making it obvious.

His gaze drops anyway, drawn inevitably to her, and something changes in his expression when he really sees her for the first time. “Right,” he says slowly, his tone shifting in a way that makes my stomach tighten. “So, this is what you’re doing. Looking after another man’s kid again.”

I notice the bodyguards around me, one on his phone, the other moving closer so he’s ready to intervene if he needs to. Most would have already done so, but I know Adriano doesn’t want Letty exposed to unnecessary confrontation, which is why, because things are calm, they’re holding off and allowing me to handle it for now. Knowing they’re close gives me the courage I need to stand up to Jasper.

Heat rises under my skin, sharp and furious. How dare he come here and criticize my choices. “Don’t,” I say, keeping my voice low and controlled, though it takes more effort than I want to admit.

“You disappear. You ignore me for weeks, and I’m supposed to what—just accept that?” he continues, his voice still quiet enough not to draw attention, but now edged with something harder. “I’ve been trying to talk to you.”

“And I’ve been ignoring you on purpose,” I reply, meeting his gaze fully. “That should have been clear. We said everything we needed to say. It’s over.”

His jaw tightens; the shift in him subtle but unmistakable. “That’s not how this ends, Casey.”

“It already has.” Letty’s hand tightens in mine, and that’s enough to push me past any lingering hesitation. “We’re leaving,” I say, turning before he can respond, guiding her with me. I turn away from him, safe in the knowledge I have people watching my back.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop us.

But I can feel his attention following us as we move, heavy and insistent in a way that makes it impossible to fully relax.

We walk quickly, Letty matching my pace without complaint, her earlier excitement replaced by quiet curiosity.

“Casey?” she asks softly, glancing up at me.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, squeezing her hand gently. “We’re just getting hot chocolate and then we’ll skate, okay?”

She nods immediately, trusting me without question. “Okay.”

We step into one of the covered stalls near the rink, the warmth wrapping around us as the scent of chocolate and cinnamon cuts through the cold air. I position her in front of me while we wait, my hand resting lightly on her shoulder, grounding both of us as I keep my attention angled toward the entrance.

I smile as I order us both a hot chocolate and pretend like my heart isn’t hammering in my chest. Letty wraps her gloved hands around the child’s to-go cup, her eyes bright on the whipped cream. I guide her toward the Rockefeller Centre and the skating rink, but I can still feel eyes on me.

When I look back, he’s followed us, standing just far enough away not to draw attention, but close enough that there’s no mistaking what he’s doing.

Watching.

This time, though, something shifts in the space around him.

Two more of Adriano’s guards move into position behind him, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice, their attention outward, scanning rather than settling. The change is quiet but unmistakable, the kind of controlled presence that doesn’t interrupt anything, yet alters the atmosphere of the entire space.

I notice.

Jasper does too, his eyes pinching at the corners.

I see his posture tighten, his gaze flicking briefly toward them before returning to me, something more calculated settling into his expression where frustration had been moments before.

For a second, neither of us moves, the space between us holding steady in a way that feels more like a standoff than a conversation.

Then something shifts in his focus, his attention flicking past me toward the entrance of the stall, and I see the exact moment he registers it—the change in his posture subtle but immediate, his shoulders tightening as his gaze sharpens.

He’s not looking at me anymore.