CHAPTER 75: RUIN ME

Nicholas didn’t usually do mornings like this.

Usually, he was already dressed, cufflinks in place, cologne subtle and sharp, barking something about meetings or reading something dense on his phone with that effortless confidence he wore like a custom suit.

But now?

Now he was curled on the couch with Ella curled up against his chest, his hand absently tracing shapes along her spine, as if the motion alone could settle the tension brewing just beneath his cool exterior.

The city stretched outside those floor-to-ceiling windows, glass towers piercing the sky, yet Nicholas... wasn’t moving.

No suit. No laptop. Just sweatpants and his bare chest, warm against Ella’s cheek.

Ella shifted slightly, peeking up at him. His jaw was tense, even though his touch was gentle, his thumb brushing the curve of her shoulder.

He was here—with her. Fully present.

But also somewhere else entirely.

Something wasn’t right.

"Nick?" she said softly, pressing her hand lightly to his chest.

"Mm?" His eyes flicked down to her, his lips twitching like he was trying to form a smile but couldn’t quite pull it off.

"Aren’t you supposed to be at work by now?" she asked carefully, studying him, reading the tightness around his eyes.

"I called off," he said simply, like it was no big deal.

Ella blinked, surprised. "Called off?"

Nicholas Carter did not call off

work. The Nicholas was usually at war with his schedule by 7 a.m., commanding meetings like a general at war.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, voice gentle but searching.

"I’m fine."

It was too quick. Too easy.

She frowned slightly. "You’re never home on a weekday unless someone’s bleeding or your building’s on fire."

"I’m spending the day with you."

That was supposed to be sweet, she knew it. He said it like it should make her melt—and honestly, it did—but it was also unlike him. It wasn’t lazy affection; it felt deliberate. Like a shield. Like he needed her here, now, grounding him.

"You’re really okay?" she asked again, shifting to sit up, but his arm immediately curled tighter around her waist, keeping her in place.

"Stay."

That one word. Quiet. Uncharacteristically vulnerable, like she might slip through his fingers if he let her move too far.

Something was wrong.

Ella tilted her head, searching his face. His lashes were lowered, jaw clenched tight, lips pressed together like he was fighting something internal, something heavy and sharp.

And suddenly—suddenly—she got it.

This wasn’t about work.

"Nick..." she whispered, voice softening. "Was that phone call about me?"

His body tensed just enough to confirm it before his lips pressed into her hair.

Ella exhaled softly, a weight pressing against her ribs. "Someone said something, didn’t they?"

His silence was its own answer.

"Family?"

Nothing.

But she felt it. The way his hand flattened against her back like he was holding her there, anchoring himself, like letting her go was not an option.

Ella shifted enough to look at him properly, her palm resting lightly on his chest where his heart beat strong and steady beneath her touch.

"You don’t have to protect me from it," she said quietly. "If people are going to talk, they’re going to talk."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "It’s not people," he muttered. "It’s family."

The word was spoken like a curse.

She swallowed. "Your father?"

His nostrils flared slightly in acknowledgment. That alone told her enough. Ella didn’t need the details to fill in the blanks. She knew his family was rich, powerful, brutal with expectations. And whatever that call had been... it had shaken something loose in him.

But instead of lashing out, like she might have expected, he was clinging. To her. Keeping her pressed against his chest like if he let go, she’d vanish, or worse, he’d break in half.

He finally spoke, voice low and almost strained. "He said you’d ruin me."

Ella blinked, heart thudding. That... hurt, more than she wanted it to. "Nice," she managed, aiming for humor but landing somewhere closer to small.

Nicholas’s fingers caught her chin before she could pull away. "No. No." His eyes pinned her there. "I’m the one who ruins things, Ella. Not you."

The conviction in his tone took her breath for a second.

"Then why are you looking at me like I might break?" she whispered.

Something flickered in his gaze, raw and unguarded. "Because if they take you away from me... I won’t recover."

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t poetic. It was real. Bone-deep, like something he hadn’t admitted to himself until just now.

Ella’s throat worked as she tried to process the weight of that confession.

"I’m not going anywhere," she said softly.

"You say that now..."

She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. "Are you seriously doubting me?"

His mouth opened, closed. No excuses. Just fear flashing behind his sharp, carefully constructed mask.

Without another word, she pressed her hand to his cheek, guiding his face down until their foreheads touched. "You have me," she said, firm this time. "You already have me. And I don’t scare easy, Nick."

He huffed a broken, almost laugh, but it sounded more like relief leaking out of his chest.

"Besides," she added with a small smile, "you’re annoyingly clingy. Who else is gonna put up with that?"

That pulled an actual, real laugh from him this time. Soft. Genuine. God, she wanted to bottle that sound and keep it on her nightstand.

Nicholas leaned back just enough to look at her, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I am clingy," he admitted softly, the edges of a smile finally warming his usually sharp features. "But only with you."

A beat of silence hung between them before she added quietly, "You don’t have to skip work for me."

"I know," he murmured. "But today... I need to."

"Why?"

He hesitated for a second, then admitted, softer than she’d ever heard from him: "Because right now, I can’t think of a single thing I want more than this."

Her heart squeezed.

Him, shirtless, slightly messy, hair curling at the ends, clinging to her like she was the only steady thing in the whole f***ing city—that was the Nicholas she knew, beneath the headlines, beneath the reputation, beneath the family name.

So she simply nodded and let herself sink back into his chest, his heartbeat steadying hers like they were synced to the same storm.

And neither of them moved for a long time.

Not because they couldn’t.

But because they didn’t want to.