Ruth’s POV
I sat in the middle of the studio, still wearing the same clothes from the night before. The light filtering through the windows had gone dull and gray, casting long shadows across the floor.
My hands were stained with dried paint, though I hadn’t picked up a brush since the museum. I hadn’t slept either. After I ran out, I drove straight home without thinking. I locked the doors, shut every window, and sat in silence, trying to slow down the chaos in my head.
No matter how many times I tried to push the memory aside, it came back clearer. The man’s silver tooth. His voice. The way his eyes locked on mine like he knew something I didn’t. I kept telling myself maybe I was wrong. I was a child when it happened. Memories get warped, especially when they’re built on fear. Maybe I’d imagined the details. But the more I tried to doubt myself, the sharper they became. I remembered the exact way he whispered in my ear, how his breath had felt hot and sour against my skin. I remembered the pressure of his fingers gripping my wrist. That wasn’t something I could confuse.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sat there, staring at the floor, listening to my own breathing, waiting for something to make it make sense. A part of me still wanted to believe there had been a mistake. That it was all a coincidence. But the part of me that still tensed up every time a man stood too close knew better. And if Emmett had known who he was, if he had brought him into my life on purpose, then I didn’t know what any of this meant anymore. I didn’t know who I had been sleeping next to. Who I had trusted. Who I had given all of me to.
By the time afternoon rolled in, I heard tires crunching on gravel outside. I stopped breathing. The studio was still and quiet, but the engine shut off, and I knew they were here. I walked to the window and moved the curtain just enough to see. Emmett was there. So was the man. The same one I thought I’d never have to see again. The same one I saw in my nightmares. The same one who had taken something from me I could never get back.
They walked toward the house like it was any other day. Like nothing about this was wrong. I didn’t hide. I didn’t run. I stood in the living room and waited. My chest felt tight, and my heart thudded so loud I was sure they’d hear it when they stepped inside. Emmett opened the door without hesitation and stepped in like he always had, like this was still his place too.
"Hey," he said, as if we hadn’t gone a full day without speaking. As if I hadn’t fled from him.
I didn’t answer. My eyes were locked on the man behind him. The older man followed him in with a casual ease, looking around like he was admiring the space. When his eyes landed on me, he smiled. It was small, polite, and wrong.
"You must be Ruth," he said, stepping forward.
Emmett shut the door behind them. "This is Marcus. He’s... family."
Marcus extended his hand. I stared at it for a second longer than I should’ve. Everything in me wanted to back away, to disappear into the walls, but I forced my arm to move. My hand met his, and in that second, everything I had tried to reason away snapped into place.
His grip wasn’t firm, but it didn’t need to be. My body recognized it instantly. The shape of his hand. The weight of it. The cold calm that rolled off him like smoke. My chest tightened. My stomach turned. That was all I needed.
"It’s good to finally meet you," he said. I pulled my hand back quickly and prayed it looked casual, but my fingers were already twitching. Emmett was watching me.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just surprised," I said. The words came out too fast, too flat.
He stepped toward me, a hint of concern in his voice. "I wanted you to meet him. He’s important to me."
Marcus didn’t say a word. He stood there, still smiling faintly, watching me like I was something he could measure and predict. I took one small step back, just enough to feel like I had air.
Emmett’s eyes didn’t leave mine. His tone was careful, quiet, like he thought I might crack under the weight of his presence. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t force myself to lie, not this time. I looked at him, really looked, and the man in front of me wasn’t the one I had let in.
He wasn’t the man I had bled for, burned for, begged for. He was someone else now. Someone who had brought that man into my home, into my world, and acted like it didn’t matter. I didn’t speak or explain, I just stepped back.