Page 17 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

The weight of his words settles over me, and I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

“Just promise me you didn’t kill someone, or hurt yourself to get it,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I didn't, I promise.” I nod and he follows, nodding tightly.

He reaches out, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going on with school or anything else, but if you ever need me?—”

“I know,” I say quickly, my voice barely a whisper. “I know, Dad.”

He pulls me into a hug, his arms strong and familiar. I melt into his embrace, not wanting this moment to end, because that means I have to deal with the Chessmen and he has to go back to work. I can see in the wrinkles along his eyes that he can’t keep working like this. I can’t let him. I won’t.

When he pulls back, he gives me a small smile, his eyes lingering on my dress again. “Seriously, though. You might want to throw on some leggings or something. That slit’s a little high.”

I laugh, the sound shaky but real. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

As he stands and heads for the door, I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of him leaving again.

“You’re tougher, smarter and more beautiful than you think, Willow. Don’t forget that.”

The sound of his truck pulling out of the driveway snaps me back to reality. I glance at my phone, and my heart sinks when I see a new message from Jasmine:

I’m outside!

Jasmine is only picking me up because the guys have a meeting with Cast’s father this morning and theyallowed,her to. Fucking controlling assholes.

I groan, staring at the dress like it’s a prison sentence, and like the perfect prom dress all in one. With Dad’s words echoing in my mind, I square my shoulders and grab my denim jacket, backpack, and phone. If I’m going to face the Chessmen in this dress—and the day ahead—I’ll need all the strength I can muster.

I step outside, shielding my eyes from the morning sun, and spot Jasmine’s car idling at the curb. She waves excitedly, her face a mix of amusement and curiosity. As I walk toward her, the slit in the dress feels more pronounced with each step, the cool breeze brushing against my legs. I tug at the hem of my denim jacket, hoping it’ll somehow make the outfit feel less… revealing. It doesn’t.

Jasmine lowers her sunglasses, her new pink zebra stripes vibrant against her platinum blonde buzz cut. I slide into the passenger seat, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Wow. Look at you,” she teases. “You’re, like, a country music video come to life.”

“Don’t start,” I groan, buckling my seatbelt.

She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What? It’s your outfit ain’t it?”

“No, it’s Vincent’s.” I mutter, crossing my arms. “He’s determined to turn me into some kind of Barbie doll.”

Jasmine doesn’t know about my agreement with theChessmen; she thinks I got caught stealing and I am paying off the debt, by parading around in cute little outfits, nothing more than male horniness. I don’t know why I don’t want to tell her, but how do you tell your bestie,I sold the last four months of our senior year away.I mean would she understand, sure. Would she yell at me? Definitely.

Jasmine laughs as she pulls away from the curb, her tone light but her eyes flicking toward me with concern. “Well, if it helps, you look amazing. But... uh, have you checked your phone today?”

I frown, pulling it out of my jacket pocket. “Why?”

She hesitates, her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. “There are… rumors. About you. At school.”

My stomach twists as I open my messages, scrolling through notifications from social media. My name is plastered everywhere, accompanied by words like “gold-digger,” “harlot,” and worse. Heat rises to my cheeks, my grip tightening on the phone.

“What the hell?” I whisper, the words burning in my throat.

Jasmine sighs. “I don’t know who started it, but people are talking. You’ve been caught with all the Chessmen, even Damien, and he has a girlfriend..”

I slam my phone down, my heart pounding. “Why does everyone care so much? I didn’t do anything. It’s just lunch, that’s all anyone knows.”

“Yeah, but you went from persona non grata to literally being around them every second of every day. People love to talk about anything Chessmen related. And you, walking around in that dress, hanging out withthem—” she glances at me, her voice softening—“you’re like the Chessmen’s queen.”

“Fuck that. I am more of a pawn, or the board or like not even relevant.”

“I doubt that, baby boo. You’re totally on the board at least.”

---