Page 15 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

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WILLOW

“Vincent for the love of god, please!” I scream into my phone, waving a long cream satin dress with a strapless top and a daring slit just below my hip. The knee-high brown cowboy boots and denim jacket that complete the outfit lie in a heap on my bedroom floor.

Vincent's laughter flows through the phone line, warming my ears as I bite my lip to contain a smile at the sound of his smooth and melodic chuckle. “Princess, you know the rules.”

“Vincent! I am going to school, not a club and it’s not appropriate.” I huff throwing the dress on my bed and gripping my scalp in frustration.

Vincent’s voice drops an octave, turning to a deliciously dangerous growl that makes me press my thighs together as a wave of heat rushes through me. “You know what’snotappropriate, Princess? Breaking the rules we’ve so kindly laid out for you.”

I groan, pacing the length of my room. “Come on, Vincent. At least let me wear underwear— that slit is way too high.”

“No.”

“Vincent be reasonable this is-”

“Reasonable?” he echoes, the word dripping with amusement. “This is non-negotiable, Willow. Put on the dress, the boots, and the jacket, or…” He lets the threat hang in the air, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.

“Or what?” I challenge, even as my pulse quickens.

“Or you’ll find out just how inventive I can be when it comes to punishments.” A chuckle caresses the curve of my ear dripping into a sigh. “Or maybe I’ll tell Cast. See what his imagination can come up with.”

My stomach flips, a mix of dread and anticipation rushes through me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Princess,” he says, his voice like silk wrapped around steel. “This is what you signed up for. Now be a good girl and get dressed. And remember the inspection in the parking lot.”

“In the parking lot? Why?” I exclaim, staring at the phone like it had grown a second head. “I thought that was supposed to be during lunch.”

“Damien has practice during lunch, so be there in 35 minutes, Princess.” He simply says, followed by the swift click of the dial tone.

“Hello? Vincent!” I stare at my phone, half tempted to hurl it across the room.

Instead, I throw myself onto the bed face first and scream into the plush comforter. My body feels like it's on fire, my skin tingling from head to toe.

These outfits were manageable, pushing me out of my usual comfort zone, but this one is beyond that. I can’t possibly go to math class with my entire leg exposed, no matter how good it looks or the fact that Jasmine dragged me to get a painful full body wax just last weekend.

The thought alone makes me cringe, actually no— it makes me want to scream.

With a resigned sigh, I turn to the dress lying on the bed. It glimmers softly under the morning light streaming through my window, the cream satin as smooth as liquid gold. Even as I roll my eyes at the absurdity of wearing it to school, a tiny part of me can’t deny that Vincent has impeccable style even if it’s not my own.

I pick it up, the fabric cool against my skin as I step into it and shimmy it over my hips. The strapless top clings perfectly to my curves, the daring slit slicing up my leg in a way that feels both bold and scandalous. The silky material falls just right, hugging where it should and flowing effortlessly where it doesn’t. I tug at the top, trying to convince myself it’s too much, but the mirror reflects a truth I don’t want to admit.

I look good, and of course the dress is damn well tailored to my body so I don’t need a bra. Fucking Vincent.

I let out a frustrated groan and grab the knee-high cowboy boots from the floor, sliding them on one at a time. The worn brown leather contrasts perfectly with the elegance of the dress, giving the outfit a more casual fit despite the elegance of the strapless dress. Finally, I shrug into the denim jacket, the familiar weight grounding me in a way the rest of the ensemble doesn’t.

I stand in front of the mirror, turning slightly to the side to inspect myself. The slit reveals just enough leg to make my cheeks flush, but I can’t deny that the boots add a playful charm. The jacket softens the overall look, making it feel less like I’m heading to a red-carpet event and more like… me.

“Damn it Vincent,” I mutter as I twist and turn in the mirror because I don’t want to love it. In fact, I hate it. I do, because I look way too good to go to school.

My eyes land on the diamond necklace around my throat, and I pause staring at the three black diamonds. One for each of the Chessmen. I should feel trapped, disgusted but I can’t help the rush of warmth, something close to fullness or safety that rushes through me.

A sharp knock jolts me out of my thoughts, because no one is supposed to be here and there is no way Vincent has the key to my house, and if he stole Jasmine’s key I am going to rip him a new one. I glance at the clock—Vincent’s ten minutes aren’t even up yet.

“Willow? You in there?” Relief floods through me when I hear my dad’s voice calling from the other side of the door.

I scramble off the bed, my feet tangling in the hem of the offending dress as I rush to open the door. Dad stands there, his worn jacket slung over his arm and a tired but warm smile on his face. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks me over, and for a second, I forget about the chaos of my morning as I tumble into his arms.

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