Page 172 of The Art of Ruin

I know something is wrong almost immediately.

The kind of instinct that starts low in your stomach before your brain catches up properly. My mom always said you had a gut feeling for a reason, and you should never ignore it.

By the time I pull Letty’s car seat straps loose outside the preschool, that feeling has settled heavily between my shoulders.

“You’ll pick me up after later?” Letty asks seriously as I help straighten her coat.

“I always pick you up at 3pm and today is no different.”

“I know.” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “I was just checking.”

I laugh softly despite the knot sitting in my chest. “Very wise.”

She beams immediately before throwing her arms around my waist hard enough to nearly knock me backward.

The affection still catches me off guard sometimes. I’ve always cared for all my charges as a nanny, but this little girl owns my heart in every way.

“Go have fun,” I tell Letty, smoothing her curls back from her face.

She grins before racing toward the school doors with the rest of the children, her little backpack bouncing against her shoulders.

I stay there for a second watching until she disappears inside safely.

The cold bites sharply at my cheeks as I pull my coat tighter and turn back toward the street.

And that’s when I hear him.

“Casey.”

Every muscle in my body locks instantly.

No. No. No.

Slowly, I turn.

Jasper stands two feet from me on the sidewalk beside a dark sedan, shoulders tense beneath an expensive coat that no longer fits him quite right.

His eyes look worse than before; wild, bloodshot, and moving around desperately with dark circles under pale skin.

Fear crawls sharply down my spine. “Jasper,” I say carefully, taking a step back.

“You need to come with me.”

Ice floods instantly through my veins. Yeah, that’s not happening. “No.”

His jaw tightens hard enough to pulse. “Don’t make this difficult.”

My own pulse begins hammering violently now as he points a gun at me that’s half hidden by his body.

People move around us on the street.

Parents, teachers, and innocent children.

Normal life continues completely unaware of the fact that my ex-boyfriend is pointing a gun at me like something has finally snapped inside him.

“You need help,” I say quietly, backing up one step instinctively.

His gaze sharpens immediately. “You think this is a game?” he hisses, spittle flying from his mouth.