Page 50 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“Youreveryday lifeisn’t your life anymore,” he replies, his tone sharp enough to carve through marble. He stops in front of me, tilting his head as he regards the closet like a painter assessing his masterpiece. “You belong here now. You’ll look the part.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off with a raised hand. “Humor me, Willow. Pick something.”

I glance back at the wardrobe, overwhelmed. “Something for what?”

“For dinner,” he says simply. “Tonight.”

“Dinner doesn’t require a gown.”

He smirks, the kind of smile that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s amused or annoyed. “In this house, it might.”

I sigh, stepping closer to the racks. My eyes land on a dress—black, sleek, understated compared to the rest. I pull it free, the fabric cool and weighty in my hands. “This?”

Vincent studies it, then nods approvingly. “It’ll do. Shoes are on the left.”

I shift to the shelves, selecting a pair of heels that look as though they could double as weapons. Vincent approaches, his presence a magnetic pull. He takes the dress from me, draping it carefully over the bed. His hands brush mine for the briefest moment, and the air between us seems to still.

“Wear your hair up,” he says, his voice low, almost a suggestion but carrying the weight of a command.

“And if I don’t?”

His smirk deepens, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “Then you’ll find out how persistent I can be.”

“Willow,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-smooth. His hand ghosts over my arm, light as a whisper, until it rests just above my elbow. I stiffen, my breath catching, but I don’t pull away.

His lips brush the curve of my neck, a barely-there caress that sends electricity pulsing underneath my skin. It’s deliberate, controlled, the kind of touch that leaves a mark without leaving a trace. “The limo will be downstairs in an hour,” he says, his words warm against my skin.

I swallow hard, my heart thundering in my chest as his scent—a mix of something sharp and smoky, like citrus and the faintest hint of musk—wraps around me.

“I trust you’ll be ready,” he adds, his tone laced with the kind of confidence that doesn’t ask but commands.

I force myself to nod, words failing me. Vincent’s hand slips away, and the heat of his presence begins to fade as he steps back, though the air still feels heavy with him.

“Good,” he says simply, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving me standing there, caught between the urge to catch my breath and the strange, disorienting pull of his touch. I press my fingers to my neck where his lips had been, as if I can erase the lingering sensation—or memorize it forever.

I take the dress from off the hanger, the fabric cascading like liquid shadow between my fingers. It’s soft yet substantial, with a weight that feels almost regal. As I lift it, the faint scent of something clean and luxurious drifts up, as if the dress itself carries the essence of wealth and elegance.

I step into it carefully, the cool fabric gliding against my skin as I pull it up over my hips. It molds to me like it was made for my body, the fitted silhouette embracing every curve without suffocating. The sleeves slide into place, their fitted cut stretching to my wrists before flaring into delicate, almost ethereal cuffs. I can’t help but notice how the dress transforms me with each movement.

I tug the neckline into place, the deep plunge drawing my attention to my collarbones and the curve of my shoulders. It’s daring, even risqué, but the way it flatters my frame feels more empowering than uncomfortable. I turn to the mirror, tugging gently at the slit along one side of the skirt. It’s high enough to be noticed but not so high that it feels inappropriate—just enough to make me feel bold.

I pause, staring at the reflection of a woman I barely recognize. The Willow I’ve always been—safe, practical, predictable—would never dream of wearing something like this. But this version of me, swathed in black silk, feels different. Confident. Commanding. Even… dangerous.

Taking a seat at the vanity, I focus on my hair next. My thick pink tipped black curls spill around my shoulders in a wild cascade, too untamed for the elegance of the dress. With steady hands, I gather them, twisting and pinning until they form an intricate updo high on my head. The style is deliberate, each curl pinned in place to frame my face and neck, leaving just a few tendrils loose to soften the edges. I add the final touch—a delicate jeweled pin tucked into the side of the updo. Its subtle sparkle catches the light, perfectly complementing the understated opulence of the dress. Besides some mascara and a pink glossed lip I don’t add any more makeup before I move to the center table adorned with accessories.

The earrings I choose are long, dangling black crystals that graze my neck, shimmering with every tilt of my head. A matching bracelet clasps around my wrist, and a silver chain with an onyx pendant rests just below the diamond heart collar at the hollow of my throat, catching the glow of the soft lamp light.

Finally, I slip on the black stilettos waiting at the bottom of the wardrobe. They’re higher than anything I’m used to wearing, the kind of heels that scream danger and allure, but when I stand, they complete the look.

I step back to take it all in. The dress, the jewels, the hair—it’s not me. And yet, it is. It’s the woman Vincent sees in me, and for some reason I want to be her. She is beautiful, capable, and the center of attention. Me through Vincent’s eyes is as scary as it is alluring. The Willow he wants is everything I aim to be, but how did he know…how did he see this before I did?

The soft knock at the door startles me, and I turn to see the faint outline of Vincent’s shadow outside the room. “You are absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks to the clothes and jewels.” I snort and he goes to speak but I hold up a hand before he can say anything. “Speaking of which, how do you know the exact size of my…well everything?”

He moves in closer, his hands sliding onto my hips like they were meant to be there. “First, I said you are stunning, full stop. You’d be drop-dead gorgeous naked.” He bounces a curl with a smilebefore whispering in my ear. “And to answer your question, I have spent a lot of time watching you Princess.”

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