Page 13 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“Where’s the fun in killing you, pawn? I need you alive, well, content and willing for the things I want to do to you.” Cast shrugs.

My hands shake as I take the pen, my gaze darting to Vincent and Cast. Neither of them speaks, but their stares bore into me, leaving no room for doubt about what they expect.

I glance down at the document already open to the final page with the signatures, the words blurring together as my visionswims only to focus on the three signatures next to the empty spot for me. Vincent Beaumont. Juan Castillo. Damien Sterling.

Damien, silent until now, finally speaks. “We want you to understand the rules,” he says quietly, his voice steady but chilling.

“Rules?” I repeat, my stomach twisting. “I just signed my fucking life away.”

“Language, pawn.” Cast clicks his tongue, leaning against the whiteboard behind Damien, but I don’t move my gaze from the fucker who wants to give me rules on top of me signing my life for the next four months.

Damien’s eyes pin me in place, a storm brewing in their depths that I can’t seem to look away from. They’re cold, calculating, and yet there’s something magnetic about the way they burn into mine, as if he’s daring me to defy him just so he can relish tearing me down. My breathing falters, the weight of his gaze pressing down on me like an invisible force. I should be angry, Iamangry, but the intensity of his focus sends the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy through me I can’t quite explain.

“You eat with us every day for lunch,” Damien says, his voice deliberate and clipped, breaking through the haze he’s wrapped me in.

Before I can react, Vincent’s fingers brush against my neck, sweeping my curls aside with an infuriating tenderness. His touch is light, almost reverent, and yet it sets my skin ablaze, a stark contrast to Damien’s icy demeanor. “Wear the clothes, or lack thereof, that I pick every day,” Vincent murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

I tilt my head instinctively, exposing more of my neck to him without even thinking, though my eyes remain locked on Damien. His expression sharpens as if he’s noticed the subtle movement, a flicker of triumph flashing in his cold stare.

“Monday through Friday only,” I manage to say, my voice steadier than I expect despite the wildfire raging under my skin.

“Monday through Saturday,” Damien counters smoothly, never breaking eye contact.

“Deal.” The word escapes before I’ve fully thought it through, my focus so consumed by Damien’s gaze that I don’t notice Vincent’s hand sliding along my body until I feel the heat of his palm on my hip. His fingers glide over the curve of my waist and trace up to my ribs, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. The sensations are so overwhelming, so consuming, that my knees threaten to buckle, and I slump back against Vincent’s chest, my breath hitching.

“What else?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears. My body feels like it’s caught in a tug-of-war between the fiery touch of Vincent and the icy command of Damien, and it’s taking everything in me to stay upright, to stay composed.

“You come when we call, and you cum when we let you.” Cast adds, and my eyes flash to the deep moss of his eyes.

“And if I don’t agree with all of your rules?” I challenge, my voice sharper than I intended, though my hands betray me by trembling at my sides.

Cast’s smirk deepens, and he pushes off the desk with a languid grace, stalking toward me like a predator cornering its prey. He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough that I can feel theheat radiating off him. “Lesson one, pawn,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “There is always a consequence for your actions.”

With a casual flick of his wrist, he flips to the third page of the contract and points to a line buried in dense legalese. “Page three, section B,” he drawls. “You break the contract, you pay every penny back—with interest, of course.”

The blood drains from my face. My chest tightens, and panic wells up inside me like a tidal wave. Without thinking, I rip myself out of Vincent’s embrace, his hands falling away as I stagger backward, putting as much space between them and me as the small classroom will allow.

“What happens ifyoubreak the contract?” I demand, my voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury. My eyes dart between them, looking for any hint of weakness, any crack in their armor that I can exploit.

Vincent’s gaze softens slightly, but there’s a resolve in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. He steps toward me, measured and calm, as though he’s trying not to spook me. “That won’t happen,” he says, his tone almost soothing.

“That’s not an answer!” I snap, my voice rising. “What happens ifyouscrew up? If you go back on your word? What happens to me then?”

Vincent stops a few feet away, his hands loosely at his sides, non-threatening but still in control. “If we break the contract,” he says carefully, “a trust has been set up in your name. Enough money to set your family up for generations. It’s untouchable, guaranteed.”

I blink, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. My heart pounds as my mind races, trying to process the weight of what he just said. “You… you’re serious?”

“Yes,” Vincent replies, his voice steady. “This isn’t just about us, Willow. We’re not here to ruin you. Quite the opposite.”

“Opposite?” I let out a bitter laugh, my hands clenching into fists. “You’re blackmailing me, controlling every move I make, and you think throwing money at my family makes this okay?”

Cast shrugs, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s called incentive, darling.”

“That’s one hell of an incentive.” I snort. “But that amount of money means nothing to you.”

“And everything to you. Win-win, pet.” Damien leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t call me that.”

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