Ruined By The Two

Calla’s POV

"Put that box in the hallway," I said, pointing.

The mover looked at me, then at the giant staircase behind us. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “I’ll move it later.”

He gave me a shrug and dropped the box beside my feet. I hated the sound. Everything in that box still smelled like my mom.

Behind me, the door creaked open again. More footsteps. Another box.

I looked up.

The Volkov estate was too big. Too quiet. Too cold.

I hated it already.

"You didn’t have to send people,” I said flatly.

He stood at the top of the stairs. Dark suit. Cold eyes. Same man from the wedding photos. Damien Volkov. My stepfather.

He didn’t come down. Didn’t open his arms. Just said, “You should’ve come sooner.”

“My mother just died.”

“She made poor choices.”

I blinked. “Wow. And you’re still as warm as a freezer.”

Damien didn’t reply. He just turned and walked away.

A new voice came from the side. “Well, well. Look who’s home.”

I turned fast.

Jace. My stepbrother.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed. One leg bent. Messy hair. Sharp jaw. The same smug face I remembered from pictures. But taller now. Meaner.

“Didn’t think he’d actually make you come,” he said.

“I didn’t come for him.”

He smirked. “Charity case looks different in black.”

I rolled my eyes. “Still a dick, I see.”

Jace chuckled. “Still got a mouth on you, princess.”

“Still got a punch waiting for you.”

He walked toward me, slow. “Try it. I wanna see if you’re still weak.”

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”

He grinned wider. “I like you better in person.”

I shoved past him, ignoring the heat in my neck.

This was hell. I already knew.

One of the maids came over. She was pale, nervous.

“This way, miss.”

I followed her up the stairs. The movers didn’t come. I had to carry one box myself.

The hallway was long. Too long. Too quiet. Everything smelled of leather, glass, and cologne.

The maid opened a heavy wooden door.

“This is your room.”

I stepped inside.

The windows were there, but they were locked shut. The curtains were thick and stiff. A red camera blinked slowly in the corner.

“What’s with the camera?” I asked.

“Security,” she said quickly. “For your protection.”

“Right.”

I dropped the box on the bed and faced her.

“Why is it so cold in here?”

“It’s the master’s order. All guest rooms are kept locked and cooled.”

“Guest?” I raised an eyebrow. “I live here now.”

She gave a tight smile. “Dinner is at seven.”

Then she rushed out.

I sat down slowly, staring at the walls.

I hated it here.

Later that evening, I stepped into the dining room.

Damien. And Jace.

Jace didn’t stand when I walked in. Just stared at my dress.

“Sit,” Damien said.

“Good to see you too,” I mumbled.

I sat across from them, far down the table.

A maid placed soup in front of me. I didn’t touch it.

Jace leaned back in his chair, watching me like a movie. “So, what did you do back in the city? Model? Dance? Lie to rich men?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He chuckled. “Nah, I like when you say it with more feeling.”

“Enough,” Damien said, voice sharp.

Jace shut up—but not before winking at me.

I gripped the spoon tighter.

Damien’s eyes landed on me. “You’ll follow the rules here. No leaving the house without telling me. No locked doors. No short skirts.”

My head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“I’m responsible for you now. I won’t have you drawing attention.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fifteen.”

“Not anymore.”

I pushed the bowl away. “You don’t own me.”

“No,” Damien said, sipping his wine, “but I’m the only thing standing between you and the men who do.”

My stomach dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer.

I looked at Jace.

He licked his spoon slowly. “He means this place isn’t just a house. You’ll figure it out.”

That night, I tried to sleep.

I couldn’t.

I lay in bed staring at the red light blinking in the corner.

What was this place?

I got up. Walked barefoot through the hallway. Every room looked locked. I passed a dark hallway and paused.

A light was on in Damien’s study.

I crept closer.

He was watching a screen.

I squinted.

It was me. In my room.

I stepped back. Hit the wall.

He turned.

We locked eyes.

I froze.

“You’re not allowed down here,” he said.

“You’re watching me.”

“For your safety.”

“You’re sick.”

He stood up slowly.

I turned to run—but Jace was suddenly there, behind me.

“How cute,” he said. “She found daddy spying.”

“Fuck off.”

Jace leaned close. Whispered in my ear, “We see everything, princess. Might wanna start behaving.”

I shoved him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You act like one.”

I turned just in time to catch him dragging his eyes down my body.

He gave a little whistle. “Didn’t know you had thighs like that.”

My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

He grinned like a wolf. “What? I’m just saying. Thick. Real thick.”

I stepped toward him. “Say that again.”

He raised his hands like he was innocent. “Relax, princess. It’s a compliment.”

“Don’t fucking talk about my body.”

He leaned in. “Then maybe don’t walk around with it bouncing in my face.”

I slapped him.

Or at least I tried.

He caught my wrist mid-air. Tight.

“You really think you scare me?” I hissed.

“No,” he said, eyes dark, voice calm. “But I think you’re starting to like being noticed.”

“Let me go.”

He did. Instantly. Like it was nothing.

I pushed past him and stormed off.

No one had hugged me at the funeral.

No one asked if I was okay.

Now I was locked in a mansion with two men who looked at me like I was meat.

I reached my room and slammed the door.

What the hell was going on in this house?.