Ruin Me, Alpha-Chapter 53: Hate Me, Then Stay

DEVON

I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe.

Irene stood in the center of my dining hall, a vibrant, bleeding wound of a woman against the cold mahogany and stone. The red dress was a statement—a scream of defiance against the white lace Voltage undoubtedly had waiting for her. Her amber eyes were rimmed with red, her chest heaving, her scent a chaotic storm of vanilla and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

I let the silence stretch. I let the clock on the wall tick once, twice, three times. I was the Alpha. I was the man who had lived through many deaths . I wasn’t going to let her see the way my heart was currently trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

I set the bourbon bottle down with a slow, deliberate click.

"You’re late for breakfast," I said, my voice as smooth as the silk of her dress.

Irene didn’t flinch. She marched forward, her heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor. She stopped right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her hatred was a physical thing, a wall of static electricity between us.

"You’re a monster, Devon," she spat. The words were a caress and a curse all at once. "You’ve ruined everything. You’ve broken the world."

"I’ve fixed the world, Irene," I countered. I stood up slowly, looming over her. I didn’t touch her yet. I just let my shadow swallow her. "The world where you marry that spineless King is a broken one. This? This is reality."

"This is a nightmare," she whispered, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned into my space, her eyes searching mine for a flicker of the man she wanted to kill—or the man she wanted to claim.

I reached out, my fingers grazing the side of her neck. I felt her pulse jumping under her skin, erratic and wild. I didn’t grab her. I didn’t force her. I simply traced the line of her jaw, drawing her toward me with the gravity of my own obsession. My hand slid into her hair, my thumb tilting her chin up.

"Then wake up, Irene," I murmured.

I lowered my head, moving at a graceful pace. I wanted her to feel every second of the approach. I wanted her to have a thousand chances to turn away, to spit in my face, to run back to her King. She did none of those things. She gripped the lapels of my coat, her knuckles turning white, her breath hitching as our lips finally met.

It wasn’t the kiss of a conqueror. It was tender. It was a slow, agonizingly soft brush of lips that tasted like the twenty-three days of hell I’d just endured. I tasted her desperation, her conflict, and the fire that had always existed between us, no matter how much she tried to douse it with her loathing.

I broke the kiss just enough to whisper against her mouth, my voice a jagged rasp. "What changed your mind? Why are you here, Irene?"

She let out a shuddering breath, her forehead resting against mine. "The memory," she choked out, her voice breaking. "The memory of your lips on mine that morning... I couldn’t get it out of my head. I stood there, looking at that white dress, looking at Voltage, and I realized..."

She looked up at me then, her amber eyes swimming with a mixture of desire and absolute, pure hatred for the fact that she was even saying the words.

"I realized that if I married him, I’d spend my entire life wishing and hoping it was you fucking me instead of him. I’d be in his bed, imagining your hands, your mouth, your soul tearing mine apart. I couldn’t do it, Devon. I couldn’t live a lie when the truth is right here, being a fucking monster in front of me."

I didn’t give her a chance to say another word.

I swept my arm across the long mahogany table, sending the porcelain plates, the silver cutlery, and my half-eaten steak crashing to the floor. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the hall, but I didn’t care. I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up onto the polished wood.

She wrapped her legs around my waist instantly, her boots digging into my back. I hiked the red dress up, the fabric bunching around her hips, and I didn’t waste time with fumbling. I needed her. I needed to anchor myself to her before the loop reset, before the clock struck midnight and I was forced to do this all over again.

I entered her in one swift, punishing motion.

Irene let out a sharp, jagged cry, her head falling back as she arched her spine. My hands were everywhere—on her thighs, her waist, gripping the edge of the table until the wood groaned. I moved with a ruthless efficiency, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her shoulder.

"Say it," I growled into her ear, my pace increasing, the friction building until the air in the room felt like it was on fire. "Say you’re mine."

"I hate you," she gasped, her fingers clawing at my shoulders, drawing blood. "I hate you so much, Devon."

"Good," I said, driving into her harder, feeling the way she clamped around me, her body betraying every word of protest she’d ever uttered. "Hate me. Burn with me. Just don’t ever look at another man again."

The first round was a collision of stars. It was violent, messy, and fueled by the frustration of a man who had entered a loop just to see her smile. When she peaked, she screamed my name like a prayer and a death threat. I followed her shortly after, my entire body locking up as I poured every ounce of my obsession into her.

I didn’t let her down. I stayed buried inside her, my forehead pressed against hers as we both fought for air. The clock on the wall was still ticking.

10:15 AM.

"Again," I whispered.

I didn’t wait for an answer. I shifted her on the table, turning her around so she was clutching the edge, her back to me. I took her again right there, surrounded by the wreckage of my breakfast and the remnants of my father’s legacy. This time was slower, more deliberate. I wanted her to feel every inch of the power I held over her. I wanted her to understand that Voltage was a footnote in her history, and I was the entire book.

She was sobbing by the time we finished the second round, the sounds a mix of pleasure and exhaustion. I pulled her back against my chest, my arms wrapping around her as I kissed the back of her neck.

"Bedroom," I commanded.

I carried her. I didn’t care who saw us. I didn’t care about Zane or the council or the funeral. I carried her up the grand staircase and into my chambers, kicking the door shut with a finality that felt like the closing of a tomb.

The third round was different.

In the bedroom, under the heavy velvet canopy of my bed, the ruthlessness gave way to something far more dangerous: intimacy. I stripped the rest of her clothes off, and she did the same for me, her movements frantic. We tangled in the sheets, a mess of limbs and sweat. This time, I watched her face. I watched the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her lips parted, the way she whispered my name in a moan, lips parted, the way she looked when she forgot, for just a second, that she was supposed to despise me.

I took my time. I worshipped the body I had dreamt of in the frozen world. I memorized the curve of her hip, the scar on her thigh, the way she tasted like rain and moonlight. When we finally broke, when the third wave of release washed over us, we were both spent, hollowed out by the sheer force of what we were.

Later, the room was silent save for the sound of our breathing. We were naked, tangled in the expensive silk sheets, the morning sun beginning to slant through the high windows. Irene was pillowed against my chest, her fingers tracing the scars on my ribs, scars she had given me in other lives, other loops.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Then, her voice small and rough, she asked the question that had been hanging between us since I let her walk out of my house.

"Why did you let me go, Devon?" She shifted, looking up at me, her amber eyes searching. "You knew you couldn’t live without me. Why did you let me walk toward him?"

I looked at the ceiling, my hand smoothing the red hair across her shoulder. I thought about the centuries of repetition. I thought about the blood on my hands and the ice in my soul.

"Because, Irene," I said, my voice low and steady. "No matter how strong the hatred is, one glimpse of love or affection conquers the hatred no matter how much you try to prevent it. Hate is strong, but love is stronger."

I turned my head, meeting her gaze. For the first time, the icy grey of my eyes felt warm. I reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, my heart finally finding a rhythm that didn’t feel like a war drum.

"Thank you," I whispered, leaning in to press one final, lingering kiss to her brow. "Thank you for making me understand the power of love more."

The clock chimed in the distance, but for the first time in an eternity, I wasn’t afraid of the reset. I had her. And in this loop, or the next, or the one a thousand years from now, that was the only thing that would ever matter.