Mine to Ruin: A Billionaire Romance (Be Mine Duet Book 1), page 1
Be Mine Duet Book One
Bianca Borell
Mine to Ruin
Be Mine Duet Book One
Bianca Borell
Copyright 2022 Bianca Borell
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
ISBN: 978-3-9823494-7-3
Editing by LMO Editing and Belle Manuel Editorial Services
Proofreading by Michele Ficht
Book design by The Cover Fling
Cover design by The Cover Fling
Cover Image Copyright 2022
First Edition Published 2022
All Rights Reserved
To those who give in to temptation. Enjoy the fireworks. The burn will eventually fade, the passionate memories won’t.
“Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.”
~ Joan Crawford ~
Dedication
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Connect with me online
Acknowledgments
Note from the Author
About the Author
Ellia
A prodigy, an exceptional talent. The labels the art industry put on me before I had even turned fourteen swirl in my head as I wait for my turn. I plaster a smile on my face because today is about celebration, not recalling the past.
I climb on the stage and receive my art degree, overflowing with relief as my legs carry me to the rhythm of stormy applause. My dad jumps from his seat, eyes filled with pride. He claps, and next to him, my mom pats a tissue at the corner of her baby blue eyes, her lips curled into a bright smile. Her eyes shine with love, and my heart threatens to burst with warmth.
A sigh escapes my mouth at the sight of the empty chair next to my parents. It shouldn’t surprise me. For years, my aunt has been living in self-imposed seclusion. Still… I wish she would have made an exception and be here today. With the mix of fulfillment and pride thick in my chest, I rush to my parents and they open their arms in an embrace.
“We are so proud of you,” my mom says, holding back tears.
Our moment is interrupted when my friends, Tara and Aubrey, run toward me, waving their own degree holders in the air. We crash together and laugh so hard I hold my stomach. One pic turns to endless, and both Tara and I whine while Aubrey promises it’s the last one. It never is.
After she’s happy with finding a few good ones, I raise my eyes to the cloudless, infinite blue sky. Birds stretch their wings and contentment washes over me. Surrounded by my favorite people in the world, I want to hold onto the moment before it disappears. The Nevada sun sears my skin and I wipe a tissue on my forehead. Nostalgia seeps through.
We have one more weekend together before Tara starts her internship at the Louvre in Paris as an art restorer, and Aubrey starts her internship as a photographer for Vogue.
“Where have you gone again? I swear you live mostly in your head.” Aubrey snaps her pink manicured fingers in my face, her green eyes seeking mine.
“Let her be. It’s normal to be a little nostalgic. Aren’t you?” Tara asks, putting her black hair into a bun and fanning herself.
“No, all I can think about is New York. I am on my way. Imagine all the people I will meet… and the clothes!”
I loop my hands around their elbows and whisper, “I’ll miss you both so much.”
“No, no crying. I spent two hours on my makeup,” Aubrey says, throwing her head back and blinking.
“It feels strange,” Tara says, and we nod, emotions stark in the air.
“See you back home.” With a smile, I backtrack and catch up with my parents.
My dad drives to the Italian restaurant we always go to when they’re visiting me, and my stomach growls a little in anticipation. The waiter greets us, asking if we want the usual. The smell of homemade, fresh-out-of-the-oven dough envelops me, and my father orders a bottle of wine. After the server pours us all a glass, my dad raises his for a toast.
“To many more achievements. I am proud of the young woman you have become.”
We clink and I take a sip of my wine. The fruity bouquet explodes on my tongue.
“My baby girl graduated. It feels like yesterday I held you in my arms,” my mom says, her eyes swimming in memories.
“If it were up to your mother, you would still live with us and paint in the attic.” My dad winks and nudges me as I muffle a laugh.
“Hey, you two. You always gang up on me.” She pats her heart in faux indignation.
Both Dad and I grin. The server places our plates on the table, and my dad says, “Nervous about Monday?”
“Just a little, but I am excited to get a better understanding of what they are looking for.” I couldn’t believe my luck when a job offer came from the Reyes hotel chain to fill their new hotel with my paintings.
“If they picked you, it has to be because of your abstract style. They obviously know who you are and saw your portfolio.”
“Your paintings are too valuable to hang up in a hotel…” my mom complains, poking at the celebratory bubble.
“Mom…” One word to warn her not to go there.
My dad pats my hand with his. “It will be a great opportunity to display your talent. You will enhance the life of every guest. No one will ever leave untouched by your ethereal, signature style.”
I nod at my dad. All I want is to bring forms to life, to entrap viewers for a moment so that nothing else is on their minds, but what the painting is all about.
“Mom, this way I can still do what I love.” A chill rolls through me, the abhorrent memory of what happened to me on my last gallery opening still living in my head rent free. I can’t give that man any more space. I’ve moved on.
She places a hand over mine, her eyes darkening no doubt because of the man responsible for me stepping away from the art world for years until I couldn’t ignore my calling and went to art school.
“Of course, baby. They are lucky to have you.”
“I am happy for the opportunity they offered me.”
“You and your modesty, just like your father...” She shakes her head at both of us, love stretching the corners of her eyes.
If it wasn’t for my art professor, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance, but he pushed me to send my portfolio. The quick response, accompanied by a contract attached with a sum that made me take a second look, baffled me.
Through bites, my eyes roam around, and my heart constricts. Why isn’t she here? My aunt has to know how important this is to me. A sigh leaves my mouth and my mom notices. Disappointment laces her words.
“I am sorry Esther is not here. I wish I could say my sister has a valid reason.”
“Elaine, please,” my dad interjects, and my mom huffs.
“You always take her side.”
I have to tread carefully, as I say, “It’s all right, Mom.” I hide my disappointment behind a small smile. While I bond with Mom over everything, my aunt and I bond specifically over our art.
“She should have been her
“I am. Happy?”
My eyes bulge out and I jump to my feet and right into my aunt’s arms. Her floral smell envelops me and when she lets go of me, the flecks of paint on her hands awaken fond memories. Images of my holidays spent with her pops up. At her cabin, deep in a forgotten, but idyllic village, we painted to our hearts content. No pressure, just creative madness.
“I wouldn’t miss my favorite niece’s graduation.”
“I am your only niece.” I roll my eyes in a playful gesture and Aunt Esther tugs me to her.
“I didn’t see you in the crowd.”
A shudder rolls down her spine. “Crowds, can there be anything more awful? Besides, I don’t believe you getting a degree remotely says anything about your knowledge or talent.”
It never ceases to amaze me how she bathed in crowds years ago, when she was one of the most successful artists of her time, and now she avoids them like it’s her life’s mission. We sit down, joining my parents at the table.
“Esther, not everyone is a free spirit like yourself,” my mother says, crossing her hands, while my father tenses.
“How long are you going to play this card, hmm? It’s been years.” My aunt sighs and I eye the silent battle between the two most important women in my life. I feel like I’m missing something.
My aunt fills her glass with wine, the tension stretching like a guest overstaying his welcome. I could never understand the slight tension between them, and how my father perks up his ears at everything they say, preparing in case he has to play the moderator.
“How’s Jake?” I ask and realize my slip too late.
“You’re still with him?” My mom looks appalled. “For God’s sake, he could be your son.”
My aunt snorts, flicking a strand of her auburn hair, and my mom takes a bigger gulp of wine. “Yes, if I had him when I was fifteen.”
“He could be.” Their eyes lock in another fiery, silent battle.
“This is not about either of you––it’s about Ellia.” My father pins each of them with an intent stare.
“Sorry,” both of them say as my father massages his temple, and we finish eating.
After dinner, I walk my parents to their car, and they choke me in their embrace. I wave goodbye and walk toward my aunt who’s leaning on my car. She’s wearing a denim skirt and a floral shirt, her magnetic blue eyes roaming around the carpark. A sad smile appears in the corner of her mouth when I reach her and she sighs.
“I wish you never were drawn to painting.”
“Why?” I’m pretty sure my soul is made of colors. Without painting there is no me. It’s above calling, it’s infused in every breath of mine. She above anyone else should know that. Aunt Esther must read the confusion on my face.
“The harder you try to stay away, the harder it pulls you in, until it swallows you whole. But you’re not me, Ellie, you’re stronger.”
“Will you ever tell me what happened to you?”
Her eyes lose focus for a second.
“Maybe, but let me give you some advice.” My aunt’s eyes bore into mine. “Stay away from the Reyes.”
“What does my new job have to do with this?” I ask, eyebrows drawing in confusion.
She hugs me and whispers, “Temptation costs us everything in the end.”
Ellia
Inside my apartment, a few remaining boxes lay scattered on the floor. The white walls are empty without the shelves full of books, pictures, and art deco pieces, foretelling our impending move. The end of this chapter of my life is evident in every step, the echoes of my movement reverberating around the empty space.
I close the door to my room and drop in my chair, the white canvas calling to me from across my bedroom. I mix colors and layer them until the canvas thickens. My hand moves sharply right, left, up, and down, and I hide human forms behind the splash of acrylics.
“You’re still painting? It’s late.” Aubrey peeks her head inside my room, and I pick up my phone to check the time.
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
I put the phone in her face, and she rolls her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. But I booked a table reservation for eleven o’clock.” She turns on her heels and her eyes gleam with mischief.
“Wait, what?”
She sighs dramatically as if I should have known about this already. “For the opening of the new club, R.”
I follow her to her room. Clothes are draped everywhere, and a pile of laundry lays discarded in the corner. The only clean space is in the other corner where her camera sits on the tripod.
“You realize we are talking about the club in the hotel where I start work soon?”
She waves me off and goes back to straightening her hair while I plop on the edge of the bed, putting my face in my hands.
“It’s not as if you’ll do something that might call attention to yourself. Let’s be serious.”
I open and then clamp my mouth shut. Aubrey has a valid argument.
“Come on, it’s our last night together.” You’d think we’re never going to see each other again. She is an expert guilt tripper.
“I hate it when you do that.”
“If I didn’t do that, we’d barely go out.” She raises her hands in exasperation and that’s when Tara appears, leaning against the doorframe.
“Aubrey, we’re going. You can stop already.”
Both Tara and I eye each other, but if it weren’t for Aubrey, I am pretty sure we would have ended up with no partying college experience at all.
“I don’t want you to miss out,” she says, dragging her teeth across her lower lip.
“I know—we know—but accept that while you try to check out every experience life throws at you, I am more cautious,” Tara adds.
Aubrey sighs. “You mean weird.”
These two couldn’t be more different than a hammer and a pillow.
“Let’s not argue tonight. We’re going out, so do your magic.”
I give in, Aubrey beaming at the prospect. Tara and I exchange another look, and her eyes fill with commiseration. She turns around, leaving me with our fashion monster. Aubrey rummages through clothes, and picks a pair of white shorts and a ruffled red top.
“Your ass looks amazing, girl.”
“It’s the donuts.”
We giggle and she moves to my honey brown hair. She curls it, letting it fall over my back. She ends my transformation for tonight by applying eyeliner, a dash of highlighter, and red lipstick. I feel sexy, but sophisticated, as I twirl around in front of the mirror.
“You like it?” she asks, excitement filling her eyes.
“I love it!” I answer.
Aubrey wipes invisible sweat from her brow dramatically.
Tara enters and, pointing straight at me, she says, “I want what she has.”
We all giggle, and Aubrey goes to dress and undress Tara until they decide on a black jumpsuit. I put my sandals on, and my curls tickle my arms. With the sway of my hips, I feel my confidence boost. Aubrey looks glamorous in a pink pencil skirt and a tight top.
Our mouths stretch into bright smiles as I snatch a picture of us and close the door behind me. Nerves take residence in my belly, the apprehension and excitement raising the hairs on my body.
We step out of the Uber and, at the club entrance, cameras flash. I duck my head and rush inside to an opulent black decor, packed with people. Large crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Bottles sparkle along on the wall behind the long bar, and behind it, bartenders spin drinks in a loop. Couches and tables sit high over the polished floor. Gray flashing lights, and electronic beats ripple across my skin.
Aubrey smacks a kiss on a waiter’s cheek when he informs us, we would’ve lost our reserved table had we arrived five minutes later.
“What’s so special about this one? We’re in Las Vegas, there’s constantly an opening,” Tara bemoans, echoing my thoughts.
Aubrey adds, “But not when Kian Reyes opens a club. He’s going to be your boss. I so envy you.”
“He’s way up the totem pole, so I doubt I’ll even meet him.”
She has a fascination with anyone even remotely famous. When I told her about my childhood and teenage years, as I frequented one gallery after the other and everyone wanted to take a photo of me and my art, she threw her fists into the air and said, “It’s like the less you want to be known, the more attention you get. So unfair!”
