Ruined: A Dark Bully Reverse Harem Romance (Beautiful Tyrants Book 1) Read online

  Ruined

  a Dark College Bully Romance - Beautiful Tyrants Book One

  Vanessa Winters

  Contents

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  Ruined

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Book 2: Coming Soon!

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  Ruthless Saints

  Copyright © 2020 by Vanessa Winters

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America.

  Disclaimer: This book is intended for adult readers 18+. THIS book contains dark themes of bullying, suicide, abuse and detailed sexual situations, and may not be suitable for all readers.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Ruined

  Contains Dark themes and the first book in a series!*

  Ruined

  That’s what people call me.

  Ever since it happened to my mom, I’ve only had one goal.

  Discover the truth—no matter the cost.

  But to find the answers I seek, I’ll have to dive into the dark underbelly that took her from me. Beneath the pristine surfaces of two elite rival colleges in Charleston, lies a world of wealth, power, and sickening corruption, that runs deeper than anyone could imagine.

  And I intend to destroy it.

  Problem is, I can’t do it alone.

  I need help, and I’m willing to sacrifice my soul to get it.

  That’s where they come in; Julian, Adam and Michael.

  A friend, a stranger, an enemy—and the only ones who can help me.

  But each of their help comes at a price, and by the time I’m done, I’ll have gone passed every moral and rational boundary I’ve ever known.

  But I don’t care, because there is no coming back from where I intend to go.

  You see, the danger in surrounding yourself with monsters, is that there’s a good chance you’ll eventually become one…

  This is a dark bully romance intended for readers 18+. This book contains dark themes, including abuse, violence, suicide and sexual relationships that some readers might be uncomfortable with.

  1

  There were some dreams that I didn’t care if I forgot, and then there were others that I would have given anything to hold onto.

  In my dreams, my mother was brushing my dirty-blonde hair until it was as soft as silk. She always had so much patience. Never getting angry when I yelled at her about pulling too hard on the knots and tangles that always found their way to the bottom of long, straight hair.

  Even when I was in high school, I would still ask her to do it sometimes. She always managed to get a sheen from my hair that I could never seem to replicate. That was the thing about moms. They always knew ways to make things . . . better.

  As much as I wanted these moments to be real again, I could always tell they weren’t.

  My mom never smiled that much in real life. She tried, especially whenever I was around to notice her mood, but much of the time, her smile masked a pain no one knew about.

  Not even me.

  But in my dreams, whatever worries weighed her down in the real world didn’t exist here. In my dreams, she smiled constantly. I listened to her hum a soft melody, one she probably overheard from my iTunes playlist again and found pretty. Once she’d finished combing my hair, she braided it, and then whispered into my ear about how strong I was. How smart I was. How I would do great things now that I was in college.

  God, I miss that.

  I tried to hold on to the sound of her voice. Even when I felt myself waking up, I pressed my eyes closed to linger in the dream for just a moment longer. But no matter how desperately I tried, I could never hold on for long enough.

  And then came the worst part—the waking up. It was as if my brain had to realize all over again that my mother was dead. On the nights I dreamt of my mom, I always woke in an anxious, cold sweat, terror clawing at my stomach as if she were being freshly murdered each and every time.

  And murder is what happened to her—regardless of what anyone else claimed.

  I swallowed down my pain, just as I had done every day since, and got out of bed.

  I stumbled over to the bathroom, tying my hair into a messy bun that rested on the crown of my head and wobbled with each step. Day three hair always ended up in a bun, but even pulled back, I could tell that with my next shampoo, I’d have to spend time working out the knots before the whole thing became a giant tangle.

  I hated when that day came.

  Until you’ve lost someone, you can never understand how the small things you lose are the biggest things you miss. And I didn’t care about grooming my hair anymore after Mom died.

  I leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on my face as I rubbed my eyes before glancing in the mirror. No amount of makeup could hide the wide, dark rings that outlined my overly-dilated brown eyes. People used to ask me if I was on some sort of drugs after her death because of my giant pupils. But nope, that was just how my eyes looked.

  I wish I had been on some drug; maybe then things wouldn’t have hurt as much. Or maybe then, they would have made some sort of sense.

  Not that death ever makes sense. Especially when someone dies before their time.

  I stepped out of the bathroom and glanced around my dorm. Since it was one of the most elite colleges in Charleston, South Carolina, the dorms at Goldshire were nicer than most. They resembled small, private lofts more so than they did dormitories. I had heard that the dorms at our rival school, Lineage, were even more upscale than they were here, but I’d never seen them for myself. Entry into the rival college was strictly forbidden. Even recreational tours weren’t allowed.

  The feud between our schools went far beyond any normal standards. When people think of rivals, they imagine UCLA and USC, or Yale and Harvard. But those are nothing compared to Lineage versus Goldshire. And my hate for Lineage ran even deeper after everything fell apart in my life.

  I dressed and covered my face with just enough makeup to hide the fact that I couldn’t sleep anymore. I only had one more year to get through, and the constant hovering by faculty asking me if I was okay was becoming intolerable. I didn’t care about school anymore. I only cared about one thing.

  Finding out who killed my mother.

  “Hey, Lisette,” one of the girls from my building called cheerily in my direction.

  I
locked my door and headed down the hallway toward campus, not bothering to answer her. Why should I? Most of the people whispered behind my back as they smiled to my face. None of them were genuine enough to deserve my acknowledgment—or my trust.

  No one except, Julian.

  We had known each other since we were kids. He graduated last year, but since his parents were high-ranking board members of G.A., they let him continue to live at one of the sleek, unattached, on-campus apartments. I didn’t understand why he’d want to stick around here when he didn’t have to. I sure as hell wouldn’t. But then again, we’d promised each other as kids to always stick together.

  I guess he really took that promise to heart.

  Julian planned to live on campus and take some master’s classes until I had graduated too. Sometimes he even snuck into a class or two with me, just to keep me from skipping or being bored out of my mind.

  As I walked across the sprawling campus, I sucked in a deep breath of the crisp, chilly air. The breeze blew black strands of hair from my bun. They whirled around my face, tickling my nose. It had just turned to autumn, and the canopy of leaves that hung over the outdoor walkway looked like a brilliant dome of fire above my head. A few people passed on my right, but I kept my gaze on the path.

  I tried to navigate through my days without drawing attention to myself. The task had grown increasingly difficult. It was bad enough that the tarnished reputation on my family that my father left behind followed me everywhere. But it became worse when they found that I had lost both of my parents. I could stand the questions. The whispers. Even the lies. But it was the pathetic pity people offered that bothered me the most. I would be able to cope much better if they would just say that shit to my face or leave me alone.

  I still remembered the time one chick had the audacity to ask me if I had murdered my own mother. Apparently, it was a relatively popular rumor since I was the one to find her. I could still see her when I closed my eyes, even if I didn’t want to. See her lying there in the back of the storage room, suicide note in hand.

  A bullshit suicide note.

  Julian wanted to punch the girl in the face for being an insensitive asshole, but I just grabbed his arm and burst out laughing.

  Of course, my behavior only fueled more ‘insanity’ rumors. But I didn’t care.

  It was refreshing to have someone speak to me as if I were ‘normal’ again, instead of some orphaned adult from a fucked-up family whose parents either killed themselves, or ran off. At least my mom’s death wasn’t tainted by accusations of embezzlement.

  Or maybe I just hadn’t heard them yet.

  I didn't remember much about my dad. I was only four when he left my mom and me. But I did remember the night my mom told me he had died in a car accident. I also remembered that I didn’t care, and neither did she.

  I walked right past my morning lecture, ready to veer down the hall and focus on more pressing issues when an arm wrapped around my shoulder and turned me back toward the doorway.

  “Julian.” I rolled my eyes at my best friend. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on post-graduate work or hydroponic gardening? Or literally anything else besides being my babysitter?”

  “Babysitters get paid,” he said with a big smirk on his face. “I’m doing this out of pure love.”

  “Love, huh?”

  “You know I love you.”

  I snickered. “Me . . . and every other coed within a ten-mile radius.”

  “Nope, just you,” he said.

  I scoffed. “Mhmm, sure.”

  “It’s the truth, Lisette.”

  “You know, sometimes you’re just too handsome to argue with,” I teased, but the smile on my face was cut off by Julian’s expression. The intensity in his gaze caused a deep warmth to grow in the pit of my stomach . . . and lower.

  “Come on, let’s go.” I quickly grabbed his arm, turning him toward the door and making sure that whatever had just passed between us was over before it ended up ruining our friendship. I’d lost so much already. I couldn’t bear losing Julian.

  He followed close behind me as we entered the enormous lecture hall. He ducked his thick, broad shoulders and dipped his head in a futile attempt to make himself appear less obvious. But a guy like Julian was hard to ignore.

  “I don’t know how you do that,” I said, once we found seats in the back of the room.

  “Do what?”

  “Sneak in here like a ninja without getting caught,” I answered.

  He shrugged. “Eh, I do get caught. They just don’t care.”

  “Helps to have powerful parents, huh?” I said sarcastically.

  Julian chuckled, and the lecture started.

  “So, how are you holding up?” he whispered as he leaned over and rested his chin on my shoulder.

  Julian and I had always been so close. Sometimes, there wasn’t even a space between where his body ended and mine began. He was there for me the entirety of my childhood, and anytime someone tried to bring up my father in front of me, Julian would tell them what an asshole my dad was and threaten to knock their teeth out. Granted, that was probably a bit dramatic on his part, but his heart was always in the right place.

  As we got older, I started to notice how handsome he was becoming. He had the kind of classically stunning good looks that made most of the girls at school fawn all over him. It always seemed awkward for me to think of him in that way, though. I mean, we were best friends long before I had boobs, or he had his growth spurt. All I saw whenever I ran my hand through his messy brown hair were the bright, green eyes of the one guy who had never left me. I didn’t know his parents very well, which was odd considering our moms were friends. But it didn’t seem to matter to either of us.

  “I’m fine,” I answered as I leaned my head into his.

  He sighed. “You are such a liar. I can always tell when you’re lying, you know.”

  “I know.”

  He was right; I wasn’t fine. But then again, I hadn’t been fine for months.

  “You have to give up on this quest you’re on, Lisette.”

  I blinked. “What quest?”

  “Come on, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Your need to find your mom’s killer. There may not even be a killer.”

  “Don’t say that.” I lifted my head up and shoved my shoulder over to push him off. “You know that there is. You know that suicide note was a fake. It was on Lineage Academy letterhead, and it barely resembled mom’s handwriting.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Julian looked about as sad as I felt. “But it’s going to run you into the ground, and there may not even be an answer there for you to find. Even if there is, it might not be one that you want to hear.”

  “I have to try,” I said.

  2

  The rest of class was uneventful as we both sat quietly and pretended to listen to the lecture. My mind was never quiet, though. It was always trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  Lineage Academy was riddled with corruption, I was sure of it. After my father left us, my mom had a brief period of drowning her sorrows in a bottle of wine. But I never blamed her for it; she always did the best she could to stay strong for the both of us.

  Most of the nights, I was too young to remember clearly, but one of them had always stuck with me. I think I had been about thirteen at the time—so nearly a decade ago—when she had gone off on some rampage about how my absentee father had abused his powerful alumni status at Goldshire.

  The rumors mostly centered on a scandal about inappropriate handling of school funds that had cast a shadow over our family ever since his disappearance. She wasn’t mad at him for leaving, though. She was mad at him for being with us at all. It wasn’t my mother’s rant that had stuck with me that night, though. It was the countless drafts of letters that she was writing to him in her drunken stupor to “give him a piece of her mind,” as she had said. I remembered watching her start one letter after another, crumpling them up and tossing them
across the room when she thought of something else that she wanted to write to him instead.

  After mom had fallen asleep on the couch, I had gone around and collected all the crumbled up papers to put in the trash so that she didn’t have to see them scattered all over the floor in the morning. Each and every one of those papers was a piece of Lineage letterhead, which I remembered thinking was odd even then. I had asked her about it the following day after she had nursed her headache a bit, and she had told me that it was just a stack of stationery she had found in my father’s old desk.

  Funny how certain pieces of memories stayed with you while others didn't. I never forgot how strange it was that my father, a powerful alumnus from Goldshire, had drawers full of Lineage stationery in his desk. By that evening, when I went back to look, the desk had been completely cleared out.

  Definitely not a coincidence.

  Pay attention, or you’ll miss it.

  An hour or so later, my lecture finally ended. Julian agreed to leave me to my own devices, but only once I promised not to skip out on my other two classes for the day. I was kind of surprised that he took me at my word, though. To be honest, he knew me better than that.

  I walked all the way to the edge of the campus and then crossed the stone street that led onto the far edges of Lineage Academy’s property. Charleston was an old city, full of cobblestone paths and trees that hung low with draping Spanish moss. There was a musty feeling of old money that lingered within most of the culture there, including the culture between our two schools.