Page 59 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

Vincent leans down, nuzzling her neck, a soft smile curving his lips as he whispers something I can’t hear. Her tense shoulders relax a little, and a small, begrudging laugh escapes her. The sound sends an unfamiliar warmth creeping through me, mingling with the darker parts of myself I’ve spent a lifetime trying to control.

My lips twitch. She’s already halfway there, isn’t she? So sweet, so innocent—and I can’t wait to see how much of that sweetness I can twist into something darker. Something that belongs to me.

Her scent—light and intoxicating—fills the car, and I lean back in my seat, watching the two of them like a predator sizing up prey. My Princess doesn’t realize how much power she’s given us, and she certainly doesn’t realize how much fun I plan to have with it.

She shifts in Vincent’s lap, the denim skirt she’s wearing hiking up just enough to show off more of her legs. My gaze lingers, unabashed, as my fingers drum idly against my thigh. A soft chuckle escapes me, the sound low and dark.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, her voice tentative, her gaze darting to me.

“Just thinking,” I say smoothly, my tone laced with amusement. “You have no idea what you’re walking into, do you?”

Her brows knit together, confusion flickering in her expression. “What do you mean?”

Vincent cuts in, his lips brushing against her ear. “Don’t worry about him, Princess. He’s just being dramatic.”

Dramatic. Sure. That’s one word for it. But really, I’m imagining all the ways I can chip away at the picture-perfect girl sitting in front of me, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but what I’ve made her into.

The car slows as we approach the gate to theCastillo’s estate, its towering black iron bars flanked by two armed guards. One steps forward, his hand resting lightly on the grip of his weapon as his sharp eyes scan the car.

I roll down the window, leaning against it with an easy smirk. “Tranquilo, hermano,” I say in Spanish, motioning toward Willow. “La princesa está conmigo. Añádela a la lista—acceso completo.”

The guard glances at her, his lips quirking in subtle amusement before nodding. “Por supuesto, señor Castillo. La princesa tendrá acceso completo.”

Willow’s eyebrows knit together as she leans toward me, her voice low. “What are you saying?”

I wave her off with a grin. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about, Cariña.”

Before she can press further, the guard steps back, signaling for the gates to open. They groan loudly as they swing inward, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.

Once we’re through, I open the car door and step out, adjusting my jacket. The crisp night air carries the faint scent of jasmine from the meticulously landscaped gardens lining the long driveway.

“Come on, Cariña,” I call back to her, extending a hand. She takes it hesitantly, stepping out of the car with Vincent close behind.

Her eyes widen the moment she takes in the house. No, not a house—a fortress of modern luxury. The sleek glass walls reflect the moonlight, giving the illusion that the entire building is glowing. Armed guards patrol along the stone walkways, and cameras discreetly mounted on the building track our every move.

“This place is…” she starts, but words seem to fail her.

“A monument to indulgence?” Vincent offers, smirking.

“A security nightmare,” she mutters, still scanning the grounds, her gaze lingering on the guards.

I chuckle, the sound rich and low. “Don’t worry, Cariña. I’ve got more than enough men to keep you safe. For now.”

She gives me a skeptical glance but doesn’t respond, distracted by the sheer scale of it all. The polished black doors in front of us are flanked by massive columns, and as I push them open, the soft glow of chandeliers spills out onto the marble steps.

Vincent snorts as he steps inside. “Every time I come here, I’m reminded that Cast’s ego needs a damn zip code.”

I laugh, unbothered, and glance back at Willow, who’s still standing on the threshold, wide-eyed. “Are you coming in, or are you going to stand out there gawking all night?”

She blinks, her cheeks coloring slightly, and hurries inside, her boots clicking against the floor. Her gaze sweeps over the luxurious interior—the marble floors, the velvet-upholsteredfurniture, the towering glass windows offering a view of the glittering city below.

“This isn’t a house,” she murmurs, turning in a slow circle. “It’s a fortress.”

“Correction, Cariña,” I say, leaning casually against one of the columns. “It’s my fortress. Welcome home.”

I see the way she pauses, as if trying to decide whether to take my words seriously or not. But it’s that hesitation, that uncertainty, that draws me in more. I see Vincent stiffen beside me, and I know he’s preparing for whatever will come next. He doesn’t know her like I do. Not yet, anyway.

“She is living with me,” Vincent shoots me a sharp look, his tone laced with authority. Normally, I would take that as an invitation to cross the line. But tonight, I choose to play it carefully. I allow the tension to build between us, not reacting. I just smile.

---