Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             They really are part of the British aristocracy.

                             There aren’t many pictures of Aaron, though. The ones that exist are a documentation of aristocratic families. Others are professional takes of him in dashing suits. I linger on one of them, my pulse thumping loud.

                             Ever since I left the estate, my heart was dormant, this the first time it leaps back to life. As if looking at Aaron through a motionless photo will make him real.

                             Although with effort, I stop reminiscing about Aaron and dig out information about Arthur and Eva’s death and the massacre Tristan talked about.

                             An article states that Arthur and Eva Rhodes died in a car accident. They even mention that their son will be adopted by his uncle Alexander.

                             The family’s massacre isn’t mentioned in any paper. Instead, there’s an article about a fire that killed most of The Rhodes’ estate nobles as well as their attendants. The Harts were there too. Only Tristan, Aaron, and Dylan survived. They were sent to a boarding school financed by the noble community their families belong to.

                             I huff. Boarding school for killing.

                             I read all information available on Aaron, which isn’t much. He and Tristan don’t seem to like the media. The journalists keep harassing them nonetheless. It must be tiring to live such a life.

                             The available images about the Rhodes’ estate are impressive, but not as beautiful as in real life. And I’ve only lived in one wing out of four.

                             With a heartfelt sigh, I close the laptop. There’s no information about how Aaron is doing these days. Only stupid speculations by gossipping reporters who didn’t get an interview with him.

                             What am I doing? It’s like the constant ache in my heart is spreading and infecting my brain. I can’t function straight anymore. Pretending to be all right is only delaying my imminent breakdown.

                             I need to do something about this.



                             . . . . .



                             Looking up at the imposing architecture, my heart almost drops to my feet.

                             I did it. I came back.

                             I whirl to my car. No, I won’t do this. What sane person comes back to their prison willingly?

                             Perhaps I’m not sane anymore.

                             My feet turn towards the huge gate, my heels clink against the asphalt, heightening my erratic pulse. How long am I going to delay the inevitable? I wanted to see Aaron ever since I woke up in the hospital. His letter was all I read every night before I cried myself to sleep.

                             I can do this.

                             The clinks of my heels falter, and I spin to my car again. I have nothing to say. I won’t beg him to keep me. He already rejected me when I did that. He clearly didn’t want me in his life anymore. God, I’m such an idiot.

                             “Miss Wilson?”

                             I freeze, slowly turning to Kane. He stands in front of the gate, a spotless black suit in check.