REBORN TO RUIN YOU novel Chapter 4

Hunting Me

The Metropolitan Hotel's grand ballroom pulses with the kind of energy that only comes from concentrating Manhattan's most powerful people in one space.

I pause at the entrance, letting my eyes adjust to the room, and I feel it immediately, the weight of attention turning toward me like flowers following the sun. Conversations falter mid-sentence as heads turn, and I catch fragments of whispered speculation.

"Is that Vivienne Lancaster?"

"I heard she destroyed her wedding dress this morning..."

"My God, she looks..."

Dangerous.

That's the word they're searching for but don't dare speak aloud. Because that's exactly what I've become.

I move into the crowd with predatory grace, I wore a black silk dress with a low cut back and a slit that reached up my thigh.

I called it, my revenge dress.

The other guests part before me instinctively, the way prey animals scatter when they sense something lethal approaching. But I'm not here for them tonight.

I'm here for him.

Kieran Hayes stands near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, a tumbler of what looks like expensive whiskey in his hand. Even from across the crowded room, he commands attention—tall, dark-haired, wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that probably costs more than most people's cars. But it's not his wealth or his looks that make my pulse quicken.

It's the way he's already watching me.

Our eyes meet across fifty feet of Manhattan's elite, and the world stops.

Electric shock doesn't begin to describe what happens in that moment. It's like lightning striking twice in the same place, like every nerve ending in my body suddenly coming alive for the first time.

His whiskey glass trembles in his hand, amber liquid sloshing against crystal. Even at this distance, I can see his lips form a single word, "Impossible."

I frowned. What does he mean by that?

We move toward each other like magnets drawing together, the crowd parting around us as if they can sense the electricity crackling between us. Other conversations fade to white noise. The glittering ballroom shrinks until there's nothing but the space between us, growing smaller with each step.

"Miss Lancaster." His voice is exactly what I expected, deep, controlled, with just a hint of an accent I can't quite place. "You're even more beautiful than your photographs suggest."

"Mr. Hayes." I stop just close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his storm-gray eyes. "You're exactly what I expected you to be."

"And what's that?"

"Dangerous."

His smile is sharp enough to cut glass. "Pot, meet kettle."

"Are you suggesting I'm dangerous, Mr. Hayes?"

"I'm suggesting you're hunting me, Miss Lancaster. I don't think I had invited a Lancaster to my reception. Yet you walked in here, eyes searching for me. The question is why."

I take a step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark that makes me think of midnight and secrets. "Maybe I'm the prey, Mr. Hayes. Maybe you're walking into my trap."

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or recognition. Around us, the party continues, but I can feel other guests stealing glances, sensing the dangerous tension crackling between us without understanding what they're witnessing.

"You know," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur that somehow carries perfectly despite the noise around us, "most people lie to me constantly. Politicians, business partners, socialites—they all wear masks, speak in careful half-truths, hide their real intentions behind pretty words."

"And?"

"And your lies makes me…curious.”

The admission hangs between us like a loaded gun.

"That's interesting," I say carefully. "Most people find me to be quite…honest."

"I'm not most people."

"No. You're not."

A waiter approaches with champagne, but Kieran waves him away without breaking eye contact. "Tell me, Miss Lancaster, what brings you to my reception?”

"I'm here on personal business."

"What kind of personal business requires crashing exclusive industry events?"

I let my smile turn predatory. "The kind that ends with me getting exactly what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"Vivienne!" she calls out, but the doors seal shut, cutting off her voice.

The elevator climbs smoothly toward the presidential suite, floor numbers lighting up one by one. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Through the glass, I can see Juliette frantically pushing buttons at another elevator, her face tilted up toward the display showing my ascent.

She's watching the numbers climb, and the horror on her face suggests she knows exactly where I'm going.

Is she scared that I would steal her fiancé?

I scoffed. She should be.

The elevator stops with barely a whisper, and the doors open onto a private foyer decorated in cream marble and gold accents. There's only one door—heavy wood with brass fixtures that probably cost more than most people's annual salaries.

I didn't knock. I use the keycard and step inside.

The presidential suite is exactly what I expected—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, furniture that belongs in a museum, art that probably is museum-quality. But I barely notice the opulent surroundings because Kieran Hayes is standing at the window, still in his tuxedo, silhouetted against the city lights like something out of a dream.

Or a nightmare.

"Twenty minutes exactly," he says without turning around. "I like punctuality."

"I like getting what I want."

He turns then, and the expression on his face makes my breath catch. There's something almost vulnerable in his storm-gray eyes, like seeing me here has confirmed something he wasn't sure he believed.

"What are you, Vivienne Lancaster?"

The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications I'm not ready to explore. Instead of answering, I walk deeper into the suite, letting my heels click against the marble floor like a countdown timer.

"What are you, Kieran Hayes?"

"Touché." He moves away from the window, closing the distance between us with predatory intent. "Shall we trade secrets? I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"That's not why I'm here."

"No? Then enlighten me. What brings Vivienne Lancaster to my hotel suite at midnight?"

I stop in the center of the room, directly under a chandelier that catches the light in my hair and makes my dress shimmer like liquid shadow. When I speak, my voice is steady, clear, and completely certain.

"I want you to marry me, Kieran Hayes.”