Queen of Ruin

“It felt like gravity. 

It felt like a punch.

It felt like an earthquake.

It felt like a volcanic eruption.

This was what power felt like—a rush through my system, pulsing through my veins. It was hot. Was I burning up? I glanced at the window, using the dark glass as a mirror. My reflection stared back; my hair was in a messy bun, yet I looked somehow polished. My makeup was still intact: black mascara, a touch of blush, and my deep purple lips—always there, always the same. The dark tint of my lips created a striking contrast against my brown, highlighted hair.

I couldn’t handle the swarm of my own thoughts. A rush surged through my entire body. What was I drinking? Was I drunk? Did I know him? Of course not; I was certain I hadn’t seen him here before. Or maybe he did frequent the place, but tonight was my first night. I had come with Electra, but she’d gotten tied up with something—she was likely in the office on the first floor. So here I was: alone, not drunk—not yet, anyway—but I intended to attend to that matter soon.

And then there was him, and those eyes. Black as Erebus. His gaze pierced through my soul. I shouldn’t have looked, but I didn’t hide; I was staring at him—unfiltered and unprohibited. I tried to memorize his face. But those eyes… and the way he spoke to the man and woman standing opposite him. It wasn’t just me; the woman seemed just as hypnotized. His eyes, his smile, the sharp line of his jaw—perfection. He was like a statue, all hard lines and mischief. A masterpiece. He was the kind of man who made women drool—and for fuck’s sake, I was drooling, and not just from my mouth.

I had to get close to him. My heart rate was hitting a new universal record. I took another look at my reflection. I was wearing slim-fit pants and a white shirt with a black tie. I was curvy—not fat, not thin, but firm. My nails were done in a French manicure, always French. The final touch was a pair of high heels that shouldn’t have existed, yet I navigated the world in them. From five to nine, just like the song says.”

“Do you see something you like, Olive?” Electra’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I didn’t want to be woken up, though. I was playing a hunting game—but by then, I didn’t even know if I was the prey or the hunter.

“You know me, I’m just resting my eyes,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “But now you have my full attention. So, tell me—was there an actual emergency, or did you just want to help Antonio stir the pot?”

“You and your mouth, Olive!” Electra laughed with a mischievous smile. “I am a lady—specifically his lady. I can stir the pot whenever, however, and wherever I want.” Her voice softened into an easy lilt. “Do you want something else to drink? By the way, what are you drinking?”

Just then, a waiter approached our high-top table. He placed a martini glass with two olives in front of me. In the calmest voice I’d ever heard, he spoke:

“This drink is from the gentleman in the booth. He said that if you’d like, you should join them. If not, that’s perfectly fine.” And with that, he disappeared.

Electra and I stared at the glass, then at each other. She glanced over at him—not for long, but long enough to see Antonio sitting there too.

“Olive, what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I just... rested my gaze.”

“On him? Do you even know who he is?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before. But I see Antonio is with him.”

“Of course he is. He’s his colleague. Between the two of them, Antonio is the saint.”

“What do you mean, ‘Antonio is the saint’? Electra, what is going on?”

“Olivia, come on. Connect the dots. You’re a smart woman—you can handle a whole department’s workload in an hour. Antonio always tells me that if he ever had to leave, you’d run the entire firm without even needing to sit in his chair. You’re his right hand.”

“Electra, stop speaking in riddles. Just tell me.”

“It’s not my place to say,” Electra said, leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek before she started toward their table. “But I’ll tell you one thing: if you choose to go over there, you’ve just given the devil the deed and the keys to your house.”

“Electra, wait! What about you, then? You’re going there too.”

She paused and looked back at me with a wink. “Honey, I said hello to the devil, I took his keys, and then I threw him out.”

I sat there alone, my gaze locked onto the glass. I was a shark; I lived like one. I always got what I wanted, whether I had to crawl, bend, or run for it. I did what had to be done—always. I didn’t use excuses, and I certainly didn’t tolerate them.

I didn’t look at their table, but I could hear Electra’s laughter echoing through the room. I worked on composing myself. Choice one: I go there. Choice two: I finish my drink and head home. I wasn’t afraid.

Something told me that the chase thrilled him. Something told me he always got what he wanted, likely because he had never heard the word ‘no’.

Was I going to say no?

I lifted the olives and ate them with a calculated, remarkable laziness. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and focused. A droplet of the drink lingered on my lips. My phone screen lit up.

Unread Messages:

Electra: “You look irresistible, yet confused. Antonio says hi.” Me: “I’m heading home. Say hi back; I’ll see him tomorrow.” Electra: “I put my money on you. You did well, my friend.”

I didn’t answer. I simply finished my drink in one go and left enough money on the table. I corrected my posture, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the building. I wasn’t afraid; I was planning. Conquering. Mastering my craft.

At that moment, I decided exactly what I was, and I was most definitely not the prey. If the devil comes knocking at my door, he’ll have to accept me for what I am: the goddamn queen of everything.