Page 40 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

Damien gives me a knowing look, his expression softening just enough to catch me off guard. “He’s in love with you, that’s his problem.”

I freeze, blinking at him in disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me,” Damien says, his voice calm but matter-of-fact. “Vincent loves hard, Willow. When he cares about someone, he’ll move heaven and earth to keep them safe and happy. Right now, he’s frustrated because you won’t even let him move a rock.”

I scoff, the words tasting sour in my mouth. “That’s not love, Damien. That’s obsession.”

He shrugs, his lips twitching into a faint, teasing smile. “Obsession, love—same thing, really.”

“It’s not,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over. “Love is about trust and choice. Obsession is about control, and that’s exactly what Vincent is doing.”

Damien studies me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re right that love is about trust,” he says finally. “But you’re wrong if you think Vincent would ever hurt you. He’s loved you too long to do something like that, trouble.”

I roll my eyes, still unconvinced. “Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t swoon over his Neanderthal tactics.”

Damien’s eyes darken slightly, his easy demeanor shifting as he straightens from the counter. “You know, you’re not exactly making this easy for anyone, least of all yourself.”

I narrow my gaze, bristling. “Oh, I’m sorry, Damien. Am I supposed to be grateful that Vincent has decided I’m his favorite pet project?”

“Pet project?” Damien’s voice rises, his tone sharper now. “You think this is some kind of game for him? You think he’s doing this for fun?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” I snap back, my voice trembling with anger. “He’s controlling, overbearing, and won’t take no for an answer. What part of that screams love to you?”

Damien steps closer, his presence suddenly more imposing. “The part where he’s willing to risk everything for you. The part where he’s trying to keep you alive while you’re busy throwing tantrums about your ‘freedom.’”

I flinch, his words hitting harder than I’d like to admit. “You don’t get it. None of you do.”

“Oh, I get it just fine,” Damien counters, his voice dropping but no less intense. “You’re scared. Scared to admit that maybe you need us. Scared to admit that maybe Vincent’s not the monster you’re making him out to be.”

I glare at him, my heart pounding. “And what if I don’t want to need you? What if I just want to live my life without being smothered?”

Damien’s gaze softens for just a moment before hardening again. “Then you better figure out how to stop stealing hearts, trouble. Because whether you like it or not, Vincent’s not going anywhere—and neither am I.”

12

WILLOW

Iwrap my arms tightly around Dad’s neck, pulling him in for the fifth hug this morning, like letting go might somehow make him disappear faster. “Text every day.”

Dad chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar, a soothing balm against the ache building in my chest. “I’ll call you every time we have service and text when I can. I promise.”

I bury my face against his shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of tobacco and sugar cookies that always clings to him. It’s the smell of safety, of home, of everything stable in a life that’s about to feel anything but. “I guess I can live with that insanity,” I mutter, my voice muffled and trembling slightly, “if I must.”

“Atta girl,” he says, patting my back gently. His tone is steady, but I can feel the subtle tension in his body, the kind he gets when he’s trying to keep his own emotions in check.

Jasmine steps forward, offering Dad a small but warm smile. “Take care of yourself, Tommy. And don’t forget to send me pictures of those bears you keep talking about.”

Dad laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best, Jaz, but no guarantees on the bears.”

They share a quick hug, and I notice the way Jasmine’s expression softens just a little. She’s trying to be strong for me, but I can see the worry in her eyes. She knows how much this goodbye hurts.

Dad turns back to me, cupping my face in his calloused hands. “You’ll be fine, Willow. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. And you’ve got good people looking out for you.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. His words feel like a weight I don’t know how to carry, but I nod anyway, because it’s what he needs to hear. He kisses my forehead one last time before stepping back toward the waiting car, leaving a hollow ache in his absence.

As the car disappears down the driveway, I feel Jasmine’s hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I shrug, my eyes fixed on the empty street. “Define okay.”

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