Ruin

Nine years ago...

Raileigh Palma

"You fucking whore!"

I shielded myself from Deo's wife's hands. She managed to land a few harsh slaps and scratches before Deo shoved my body behind his. My skin was burning, but I didn't care.

I felt like I deserved worse, because Deo had a fucking wife I knew absolutely nothing about. I swear to God. I felt like a cheap mistress cowering behind a man I had blindly trusted.

"That's enough—"

"You son of a bitch, Deo!" she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at him while I sobbed in regret and disgust. Mascara ran down her porcelain cheeks. "You're a liar and a cheat! A twenty-three-year-old mistress?! Twenty-three! You sicken me!"

"I know this sounds like complete bullshit, but I didn't know he was married," I choked out through my sobs.

All I knew was that Deo had brought me to this famous hotel resort in Tagaytay. He had told me he thought I needed a break from the rigors of my career, and I had agreed. We had just arrived at the room and were about to head out to explore when I saw a middle-aged woman in an expensive designer dress standing furiously in the doorway.

She killed me with her stare.

"Shut up, you bitch. I'm going to drag you to hell. I know who you are, Raileigh."

My heart sank.

"You can kiss your career goodbye," she said through gritted teeth. "Let's go, Brandon," she ordered the boy standing behind her.

Dropping my gaze, I noticed a little boy with dark, ruffled hair. I couldn't see him clearly through my tears, but I knew he had to be Deo's son; they had the exact same hair and eyes.

His eyes weren't as blue as his father's, though—this boy had a striking mix of storm-gray blending into the blue. It was peculiar, and the way he glared at me made it abundantly clear that he hated me.

It was more than hate, and I couldn't even blame the poor boy. I deserved it. Even though I hadn't known, I had ruined his family. I was the reason his father wouldn't be coming home.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I knew he wouldn't understand.

He wouldn't understand that I never meant to ruin his family, because I hadn't even known he and his mother existed to begin with.

The boy's glare lingered heavily on me until his mother dragged him away.

"You lied to me!" I yelled at Deo, my voice breaking. "God. I was so fucking stupid and naive—"

"Rai, look at me. I won't let that happ—"

Disgusted, I violently slapped his hands away, my legs giving out as I weakly slumped onto the edge of the bed.

"You have a son." I felt like I was going to be sick. "A wife at home." A cold shudder ran through my entire body.

He flinched as he stood before me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I sobbed. I had the overwhelming urge to trash the entire expensive hotel room and hurl everything at this lying, conniving man.

Professor Raileigh Palma, PhD

Students greeted me as I passed them on my way to the lecture hall. I still had twenty minutes before class began, so I took my time, striding gracefully in my white slacks and black turtleneck. My black two-inch heels clicked against the solid floor. The Philippine January air didn't feel chilly at all; I had only decided to wear something thick because I knew my classroom would be freezing.

Pushing past the heavy double doors of the hall, I saw a few students already seated in the tiered rows. I quickly made my way down to the center where my desk awaited. I felt no rush, knowing I still had fifteen minutes before my lecture started.

Over the past few years, I had mastered the art of organization. If I wasn't on time, I was early, just like today. I set up my laptop, double-checking my syllabus for any errors before projecting it onto the screen.

This was my first month back after spending nine years in the U.S.

After the debacle of that day, I abandoned my journalism career because the media was eating me alive.

After Deo's wife exposed me to the public and cried in front of the cameras, I started receiving death threats. I became the laughingstock of national television, all because I supposedly had an "affair" with a famous Philippine prosecutor.

At one point, the scandal blew up so badly that I was dubbed the Monica Lewinsky of the Philippines, even though Deo and I had never even slept together.

I had been drawn to that pathological liar because of our shared intellect and his warm company.

My aunt had to file a restraining order against him when he started harassing me after I ended things between us. The massive bad publicity eventually unraveled a deep web of his dirty secrets, ultimately landing him in prison.

I wasn't around to witness the final fallout, as my aunt had quickly sent me back to the States where I had grown up.

I left journalism behind entirely and decided to pursue a different degree. Since I loved writing, I settled on English and Creative Literature. Instead of crying and spiraling into a depression, I poured all my energy into my education. Over those nine years, I earned a second bachelor's, a master's, and eventually a doctorate in my chosen field, which was how I managed to secure this teaching position at a prestigious, private international college.

Five minutes before class, more students started swarming in, and the sheer volume felt overwhelming. I had been terribly nervous when I was first hired, terrified that these kids might recognize my face from the tabloid headlines they'd seen back when they were in elementary school. However, looking around the room now, no one seemed to have a clue, allowing me a quiet sigh of relief.

It had been nine years, after all. Besides, these kids had better things to care about, like social media and their peers. They wouldn't bother gossiping about their thirty-one-year-old professor.

Glancing at my wristwatch, I realized it was time to begin. I cleared my throat, and the chatter instantly died down as their attention fixated on me.

"Good morning, everyone," I said, my red-painted lips stretching into a warm smile. "My name is Professor Raileigh Palma, but please, just call me Ms. Raileigh. I feel like I'm fifty years old whenever someone calls me 'Professor.'"

I addressed the hall of about one hundred and fifty students, earning a light ripple of laughter.

"Welcome to your first creative writing class. Some of you might be taking this as an elective, or maybe your counselor just told you that you needed the credits. Either way, welcome." I smiled again. "We'll begin with the syllabus, which should already be uploaded to your virtual class portal..."

I pulled the syllabus up on the projector and began discussing my expectations, ranging from attendance to assignment formatting. Just as I was explaining the valid excuses I accept for late submissions, a notification popped up on my laptop screen.

It looked like the counselor had just added another student to my roster.

Villanco

My mouth ran dry the second I read that last name.

There was no way. It had to be a coincidence. It couldn't be Deo; he was rotting in prison. Aside from lying to me, the man in the perfect suit had turned out to be a full-fledged criminal.

I forced the thought away and continued my lecture. Time flew by, and the next thing I knew, I was dismissing the class.

I didn't have to tell them twice. I had quickly learned there were only two things college students truly loved: canceled quizzes, and being told they were free to leave.

I was busy packing my laptop into my bag when I noticed one student who hadn't gotten up from his seat in the very back. Unlike his classmates who practically sprinted for the doors, this guy was just lounging in the very top row. He had a thick mop of hair that was bleached whiter than his t-shirt. He leaned back lazily in his chair, with no backpack, notebook, or laptop anywhere in sight.

My heart began to beat erratically the moment our eyes met.

Gray-blue.

My trembling hand dropped the pen I had just picked up. I only knew one person in the world with those exact eyes.

Brandon Villanco

Oh my God. Karma was a cruel, twisted joke. The last-minute addition to my roster happened to be Deo's son.

I swallowed hard and looked away, desperately trying to hide my shaking hands and the sheer panic urging me to run out the door. I quickly rounded my desk to retrieve my fallen pen, but a sharp gasp escaped my lips when I suddenly sensed a massive presence right behind me.

My eyes widened as his towering figure cast a dark, suffocating shadow over me.

"Hello, Ms. Raileigh." His deep voice rumbled like thunder, mockingly using my preferred title.

Pen clutched in my hand, I slowly turned to face him. He was so incredibly tall that I had to crane my neck all the way back just to meet his gaze, the low bun of my hair brushing against my nape.

Dressed in a plain white t-shirt and washed-out jeans, he easily stood over six feet tall. He looked absolutely nothing like his father anymore. His once-dark hair was bleached icy white. Between his tanned complexion, the dark tattoos snaking up his neck and down his arms, and the silver piercing through his eyebrow, there was no trace of the little boy I had seen nine years ago. This was an entirely different, dangerous man.

His eyes silently tormented me from beneath thick, dark lashes. His naturally dark eyebrows sharply contrasted with his bleached hair.

I tried to keep my cool and act normal. I had to be overthinking this. He was here, sure, but there was no way he would actually remember me. He was only about ten when the scandal broke; he couldn't be older than nineteen now.

"I-Is there anything I can help you with?" I asked softly, forcing my professional tone. I was gripping the plastic pen so tightly it felt like it was going to shatter in my palm.

He smirked darkly, those peculiar, piercing eyes burning into mine.

"Oh, I'm going to make you do a lot of things for me." A heavy, dark innuendo coated his tone.

Oh, God. This was so wrong. Warning bells were blaring loudly in my head, but I was completely paralyzed. I gasped out loud when his large hand suddenly clamped around my waist.

"...but that won't save you from me, Ms. Raileigh," he murmured darkly.

I let out a breathless squeak as his fingers firmly dug into my flesh, a silent but violent warning. The blistering heat of his palm seared straight through my clothes to my skin.

"P-Please let me go," I stammered, my heart racing wildly as raw terror settled deep in my chest.

"We haven't even started yet, and you're already begging," he whispered, leaning down directly beside my ear. My spine locked up in pure tension. "Say my name, Ms. Raileigh." His hot, mint-scented breath fanned the shell of my ear. "I know you know exactly who I am."

"B-Brandon," my lips trembled.

When he pulled back, he was smirking like a predatory wolf.

"Remember the name of the man who is going to make your life a living hell," he promised softly, before turning his back and strolling out of my classroom like absolutely nothing had happened.