Masquerade of Desire: Ruin (BOOK 2)

Emric's POV

My eyes widened for the briefest moment as a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around me.

Soft. Familiar. Unexpected.

Even Aris froze behind me.

The scent of jasmine and faint rain clung to the woman's skin as she pressed against me, and for a moment, even I couldn't move.

When I looked down, a smirk began tugging at my lips. Slowly, deliberately, I let my hand rise - resting lightly against her back as I returned the hug. My gaze, however, flicked past her.

Straight to Aris.

Her expression was unreadable at first. Then I caught it - that quick flicker in her eyes.

Upset? Why?

"Evelyn," I murmured, my tone calm, smooth, but edged with surprise. "When did you get here?"

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, feigning a frown. "Been waiting for so long for you. You disappeared all night, Emric. Where were you?"

Her words came out half-scolding, half-concerned. But I wasn't really listening.

Not fully.

Because I could still feel Aris's stare - that silent tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

"Just busy with some work," I replied, eyes drifting back toward Aris before she quickly lowered hers to the ground.

"Work?" Evelyn scoffed, crossing her arms. "Then you must be tired. You should rest first - we'll talk later."

I gave a small nod. "Of course. We'll catch up when I've freshened up."

She smiled faintly but then noticed where my gaze had gone. Her curiosity sharpened the moment she spotted Aris standing quietly behind me.

Her tone softened, curious. "You got a new servant?"

Aris's head lifted instantly, startled by the sudden attention.

"Yeah," I said before she could answer. "I had to."

Evelyn tilted her head. "But I thought you hated everyone besides Maverick Uncle?"

"And who said I like him?" I muttered, locking eyes with Aris.

The words were casual - sharp - but they hit harder than I meant them to.

Her expression shifted. Something fragile flickered there before she looked away again, gripping the edge of her sleeve.

"At the end of the day," I added, voice low, "he's just here to serve me."

Evelyn's brow furrowed slightly at my tone, but she didn't comment. Instead, she smiled warmly at Aris, stepping forward and extending a hand.

"Hey," she said brightly. "I'm Evelyn."

I rolled my eyes at her usual friendliness - she'd never been one to care about titles or hierarchy.

Aris hesitated, looking at me before replying softly, "I'm Aris."

Her voice was quiet—almost trembling—and something about it made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t understand.

“I’m going,” I said abruptly, cutting her off before she could say anything else. “Aris, get my bath ready.”

I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned on my heel and walked away, the sound of my boots echoing down the marble corridor, sharp and angry.

The air behind me felt heavy. Tense. Almost suffocating.

I didn’t know why I was angry.

Maybe it was her words from the morning still clawing at the back of my mind—her voice shaking, calling me a monster.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The way she looked at me.

And the way it mattered—too much—that she did.

I stepped inside the palace, barely noticing the guards bowing as I passed. My thoughts were too loud, too tangled. I went straight for the private elevator at the end of the hall, the one that led directly to my quarters.

The doors had just begun to close when I heard rapid footsteps behind me.

“Wait—!”

I turned just as Aris slipped inside, panting softly, her cheeks flushed from running. A faint sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, and I frowned despite myself.

Was she still sick?

Her breathing was uneven, her lips slightly parted, and for a moment, guilt tugged at my chest. But I pushed it away.

Why should I care?

Without a word, I pressed the button for the forty-fifth floor.

At the exact same moment, her hand reached forward—

Our fingers brushed.

Just for a second.

The contact was brief, accidental… yet it sent a strange jolt through me.

Her skin was still warm—too warm. Feverish, maybe. Or maybe it was me who was burning.

Aris instantly pulled her hand back as if my touch had scalded her.

I looked down at her, jaw tightening.

Did she hate me that much?

That even a single touch was unbearable?

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing us inside. The sound of our breathing filled the silence.

She stood rigid beside me, clutching the hem of her shirt like it was armor.

And I… couldn’t stop glancing at her reflection in the mirrored wall.

“One minute together.

And yet, it felt like every unspoken thing between us was pressing against the walls, thick and unrelenting.”

“Prince…” Aris’s whisper broke the silence—soft, uncertain.

My head snapped toward her instantly.

She stood beside me, eyes lowered, hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her uniform. The word had barely left her lips, but it hung in the air like a fragile thread between us.

I waited for her to continue.

But she didn’t.

Her mouth opened… then closed again.

As if the rest of her words had gotten lost somewhere between hesitation and fear.

The elevator chimed softly and the doors slid open.

Without another glance, I stepped out.

My chest felt tight. Annoyed. Frustrated. Confused.

Whatever she wanted to say—it didn’t matter.

If it was another apology, I didn’t want to hear it.

If it was something else… I didn’t know if I could handle it.

I walked straight to my chambers, my steps sharp and heavy against the polished floor. The faint scent of smoke and rain still lingered from last night.

“Get the bath ready,” I said, voice clipped.

“Yes, Prince,” she answered quickly, lowering her head before hurrying toward the adjoining bathroom.

I exhaled slowly, fingers brushing through my hair. My jaw clenched. I didn’t know what was wrong with me lately—why everything she did seemed to get under my skin.

My shirt felt suffocating, so I pulled it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair as I followed her inside.

Steam was already rising from the bath. Aris was crouched beside the tub, adjusting the temperature, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Strands of hair clung to her damp neck.

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, silently watching her.

She moved carefully, focused—completely unaware of me.

And for the briefest moment… I forgot to breathe.

She was pretty.

I blinked, shaking the thought away immediately.

What the hell was that?

This wasn’t me. I didn’t think like that. Not about her.

Especially not about her.

She stood, wiping her hands against her uniform, and finally turned toward me. The moment her eyes landed on my bare chest, she froze.

A flicker of surprise—then panic—crossed her face. She quickly looked away, the tips of her ears turning red.

My lips curved into a smirk before I could stop it.

That reaction… she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.

Aris coughed softly, trying to collect herself, then walked toward me. Her gaze stayed fixed on the ground as she spoke quietly.

“Prince, it’s… done. I’ll leave now.”

I didn’t move.

I stayed right where I was—leaning lazily against the doorframe.

“Prince, can you please step aside?” she asked again, this time a little firmer, though her voice still trembled faintly.

I raised a brow, amused.

Then shook my head.

Her head snapped up in disbelief. “Prince, please move,” she repeated, irritation creeping into her tone.

“And what if I don’t?” I asked, my voice dropping lower, testing her.

Her eyes narrowed, just slightly. “What else do you want now?”

That tone—sharp, defiant—lit something in me.

I straightened slowly, closing the distance between us in a single stride.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, what else you want—”

Before she could finish, my hand shot out, gripping her arm. In one swift motion, I pushed her back—firmly but not harshly—until her spine met the wall beside the door.

The sound of the impact was soft, but the air that rushed between us was anything but.

Her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat as I leaned in—close enough to see the tremor in her lashes, to feel the uneven rhythm of her pulse against the fragile skin of her throat. The air between us thickened, heavy with something unnamed. The world outside—its noise, its order—ceased to exist. There was only her. Her sharp, quiet breaths. The flicker of defiance and fear that danced together in her eyes.

“Don’t forget your place, Aris,” I murmured, voice low but cutting through the silence like the edge of a blade.

She looked away, jaw tightening. A muscle ticked in her neck. I noticed that small, telling detail—the way she was fighting to keep her composure. She wasn’t trembling out of fear. No, it was something else. Something she was trying desperately to bury beneath that fragile façade of obedience.

“Leave me, Prince,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the faint tremor I could feel in her arm beneath my hand.

I tilted my head slightly. “Are you ordering me now?” My tone was dangerous—quiet, but heavy enough to make her breath falter. I leaned closer until my breath brushed her cheek.

“I am not,” she said, meeting my gaze for a fleeting second before looking away again. “I am just asking you to move. To put some space between us. Because this is… inappropriate.”

The word made me smirk. Inappropriate. That’s what she called this—whatever it was between us.

“Oh, really? Inappropriate?” I repeated, the faintest trace of mockery lacing my tone. “Did you forget who held you all night when you were on the verge of dying?”

Her eyes flashed up at me, wide and raw. “I didn’t forget anything,” she said, and this time her voice cracked. “And I am really grateful too. But that was different. And this is different.”

I arched a brow, intrigued despite myself. “Different? How exactly?”

Her lips parted as if to speak, then pressed shut again. She hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek before finally blurting out, “Before, I didn’t know you had any fiancée.”

The words hit me like a stone—though not because they hurt. No. It was because of how ridiculous they sounded. My eyes narrowed slightly. “Fiancée?” I echoed, more to myself than to her.

She nodded stiffly, her voice gaining a hint of bitterness. “Miss Evelyn. Your fiancée.”

For a heartbeat, I just stared at her. Then, slowly, a laugh threatened to rise in my throat. I held it back, though a smirk curved my lips despite my effort. So that’s what this was.

She thought I was engaged.

And she was jealous.

I leaned in again, close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to keep from looking away. The scent of her blood—warm, faintly sweet—lingered in the air, teasing the part of me I fought to keep restrained.

“So…” I whispered, my voice low enough that she shivered, “…if you didn’t know I had a fiancée…” I let the words linger, drawing out the pause between them, “…would you have let me touch you?”