Page 46 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“I will wiggle in your arms,” I grumble, though my voice lacks any real heat.

A warm, easy chuckle rolls through him. “Oh please do.”

“Ugh, you’re gross.” I roll my eyes trying to keep my voice low.

“Only for you,” he teases, effortlessly carrying me toward the front steps. His grip is firm but gentle, his warmth seeping through my clothes, making my cheeks heat for an entirely different reason.

The front doors swing open without him needing to put me down, and the cool air of the foyer greets us like a breath of luxury. Chandeliers glitter overhead, casting light over thepristine marble floors. I should be dazzled by the opulence, but all I can focus on is the smug expression on Vincent’s face.

“See? No stairs for you,” he says as he starts up the massive staircase, his tone almost patronizing.

“This is embarrassing,” I mumble, staring down at the intricate designs on the carpeted steps.

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” he quips, his voice dipping into a tone that makes my stomach flip. “But seriously, Willow, you don’t have to push yourself. I’ve got you.”

Despite the lingering annoyance, his words soften something in me. I glance up at him, his jaw set with determination, his focus entirely on me. There’s something both infuriating and comforting about how serious he is about my well-being.

We reach the top of the stairs, and he takes a right down a hall that seems endless. Finally, he stops in front of a room and nudges the door open with his foot.

“This,” he says, stepping inside and gently lowering me onto the plush bed, “is your room. It’s right across from mine. If you need anything, all you have to do is holler.”

I look around, taking in the soft cream walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows with billowing curtains, and the massive bed that looks like it was stolen from a fairy tale. “This is... my room?” I ask, my voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yup.” Vincent stands back, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “You like it?”

“It’s... nice,” I admit, my fingers trailing over the soft duvet. “But I don’t need all this. I could’ve stayed in a guest room or something.”

“No, you have your own room because you’re not just a guest,” Vincent says, his voice firm but edged with something softer. His arms are still crossed, but the way his fingers tap lightly against his bicep tells me there’s more he wants to say.

I glance at him, my fingers still brushing the ridiculously soft duvet. “Not just a guest?” I echo, my tone cautious. “What does that mean?”

He sighs, stepping into the room and leaning casually against the edge of the dresser. “It means you’re more than someone passing through my life, Willow.” His cerulean gaze locks with mine, his words laced with quiet intensity. “I meant what I said earlier. Everything I have is yours, including me. This room, this house, all of it—it’s just part of what I want to give you.”

My chest tightens, a mix of emotions swirling—gratitude, disbelief, and a pinch of fear. “Vincent... that’s a lot to take in.”

“I know,” he says, his expression softening as he sits on the armchair by the window. “And I don’t expect you to have all the answers right now. But I want you to feel safe here. To feel... cared for.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks me. My throat tightens as I look away, blinking quickly to fight back the sudden sting in my eyes. “You’re making it really hard to argue with you, you know.”

He smirks, his usual cocky charm breaking through the seriousness. “That’s the idea.”

Despite myself, I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Good thing you like me anyway,” he quips, leaning back with a lazy grin.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Don’t push your luck.”

Vincent stands, moving toward the door, but he pauses before stepping out. His hand lingers on the doorframe, and for a moment, he looks at me like he’s about to say something else. Instead, he just nods, his voice quieter this time. “Rest up, Princess. You’re going to need all your energy for our date tomorrow.”

I blink up at him, confused. “Date? What are you talking about?”

Vincent smirks, his signature confidence cutting through the concern that’s been clouding his expression all day. “You didn’t think I’d confess my undying love and not take you out, did you?”

I groan, trying to sit up, but the effort makes my head spin. “Vincent, this isn’t funny. I just had a near-death experience, and you’re talking about?—”

“About giving you something to look forward to,” he interrupts, his voice softening as he comes back to bed, sitting just inches away from me.“Something to remind you that you’re alive, that you’ve got a lot more living to do.”

I narrow my eyes at him, unsure whether to be annoyed or touched. “You’re insufferable.”

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