Page 18 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

I stare out the window, biting the inside of my cheek. My dad’s words echo in my head:You’re tougher, smarter, and more beautiful than you think.I square my shoulders, forcing the anger and embarrassment down. “Let them talk,” I say finally. “I’m not doing anything and I am not going to hide like I am, but I am definitely making the guys clear my name.”

Jasmine smiles, her admiration clear. “Oh please, tell me I can be there when you curse them out.”

“I am not going to curse them out. I am going to have a casual, stern conversation.” I smile tightly, but Jasmine just snorts.

“Yeah, because all those boys need is a firm hand, and your even firmer ass.” Jasmine winks, and I groan, leaning my head against the cool window.

By the time we pull into the school parking lot, my nerves are back in full force. The Chessmen are impossible to miss, lounging near Vincent’s sleek black car like they own the place. Which, knowing them, they probably do. At least I know for a fact Vncent and Cast do.

Jasmine gives me a reassuring nod as I step out of the car, the slit in my dress catching the light and drawing a few stares. I tug at my jacket again, determined to make it to the guys without tripping over my own feet.

As I approach, Vincent is the first to notice me, his grin widening. “Well, well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look who decided to listen to instructions.”

“We should give her a cookie for it.” Damien snorts.

I glare at him, “Bite me, Sterling, and what are these rumors about me being a whore?”

Damien’s eyes flare like an inferno, but Cast quickly stands between us laughing. “I will gladly bite you, pawn, but first give us a little spin.”

“Cast, the rumors.” I pout.

“Spin first.” He commands.

I stop a few feet away, forcing a smile as I do a slow twirl. “What do you think?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Do I meet your ridiculous standards?”

Damien rolls his eyes, and growls. “It’s fine. I’ll handle the rumors.”

Vincent steps closer, his eyes raking over me in a way that makes my skin heat. “More than fine,” he murmurs, his voice low and flirty. “You’re stunning, Princess. Absolutely stunning.”

I roll my eyes, pretending his words don’t affect me as I will my cheeks not to blush. “Don’t get used to it, and thank you.”

Cast, however, is the one who catches me off guard. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “You look good enough to eat,cariño. I can’t wait to ruin that dress.”

My face flushes, and I take a quick step back, glaring at him. “You’re disgusting,” I hiss, though my voice lacks conviction.

He smirks, unbothered, and leans casually against the car. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the heat spreading across my cheeks, I turn on my heel and march toward the school, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. Behind me, I hear Vincent chuckle and Cast mutter something under his breath, but I don’t look back.

Jasmine catches up to me just inside the doors, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “What did he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” I mutter, my face still warm.

She giggles, sliding her arm over my shoulders. “Ooo that nasty, huh?”

6

WILLOW

“You asked for me, Miss Robinson?” I say, poking my head into the art room. The familiar scent hits me immediately—a rich blend of turpentine, acrylic, and oil paint, layered with the faint metallic tang of drying brushes and the earthy undertone of clay.

It's an aroma that clings to the room, seeping into the wooden floors and peeling plaster walls, like a warm, old blanket that feels like a strange sense of comfort that feels like home. I take a tentative step inside, the scuffed floorboards creaking underfoot, and draw in another breath, letting the memory settle.

“Ah, Miss Carter, thank you for blessing me with your presence.” Miss Robinson sighs, staring as a colorful masterpiece of acrylic painted flowers bursting out of a child’s chest.

I let out a small laugh as I shut the door. Miss Robinson's long braids cascade down her back in that boho style, with strands of blue and purple peeking through. Her skin glows with a smooth, brown radiance, and despite the scent of chalky paint in the air, she always has a subtle aroma of shea butter and honey.

“Just busy, Robinson.” I shrug, moving closer to her, and the painting she is working on.

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