Page 60 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“For now, hermano. For now,” I say, my gaze flickering over to Willow. I see the flush rise in her cheeks, the softness of her skin, and I feel a possessive tug that I have to suppress. I growl under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

I can tell she feels it too—this magnetic pull. It’s in the way her eyes flicker to me when she thinks I’m not watching, the way she tenses slightly when I speak. She’s not used to this world, to the pressure, the heat of it. But she will be. They all do. It’s only a matter of time.

The moment we enter the grand dining room, the air thickens. I catch my father sitting at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, his posture impeccable, as always. His eyes—dark, calculating—immediately lock onto Willow. There's no mistaking the way he watches her. It's not just interest. It'sassessment. The kind of look that pierces, weighing everything and everyone around him.

Willow’s hand trembles slightly as my father takes it, his grip firm and steady, a silent reminder of the power he wields. She looks up at him, her expression steady, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty behind her eyes, an awareness of the depth of this meeting. My father doesn’t miss that, nor do I. It’s a silent test, and Willow is holding her ground well—her nerves only visible to someone who’s been trained to notice.

“Willow,” my father says again, his voice deep and smooth, a weight to it that carries the full force of his attention. There’s no mistaking the command beneath the pleasantries. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you."

The tension in the room is palpable as she responds, her voice polite, almost formal. "Mr. Castillo."

A small chuckle rumbles in my father’s chest, and his gaze softens just a fraction. He’s not a man accustomed to formalities, not with people who’ve already entered his orbit, and I can see the edge of approval sharpening his features.

"Call me Tito," he says, his voice warm, but with an undertone that suggests a subtle command to drop the titles. His attention shifts back to me, his smile growing slightly wider, almost amused. “She is gorgeous, mi hijo,” he adds, his eyes twinkling as he looks between Willow and me.

I catch the weight of his words, the underlying meaning in them. He thinks she’s good enough to be mine. To stand by me on that gilded throne. My chest swells with pride at the thought, a sharp possessive hunger gnawing at me.

This level of approval from my father isn’t something he gives lightly, and I know damn well he’s done his research on Willow. He doesn’t just hand out compliments like this—he sees value, power, potential in her.

And now that she’s mine... there’s nothing that will change that.

I can’t help but let a smirk creep across my face as I move closer to her. My hand snakes around Willow’s waist, pulling her gently into me. She’s the perfect kind of softness, fitting seamlessly against my chest. I kiss her temple, feeling the heat of her skin against my lips. “She is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” I say, my voice smooth and filled with a satisfaction that only comes with knowing something—someone—so completely and intimately.

She slumps against me, a little worn down by the weight of my father’s attention, and I can’t help but smile. My grip on her tightens just enough to remind her that she’s with me.

I hold her up, not just physically but in this world we’re building together.

It’s strange, this kind of possession, but I crave it.

I want her wrapped up in my world, unable to escape, drawn into my orbit as much as I am to hers.

“Will you sit now, mi hijo?” My father’s voice breaks through the moment, a touch too commanding, but I’m too lost in the sensation of her against me to care.

With a lazy grin, I nod and ease Willow gently into the seat next to me. She settles in, still a little too aware of the silent weight of the room, the pressure mounting on her shoulders. But that’s okay. She’ll get used to it.

My father takes his seat back at the head of the table, his eyes still flickering to Willow, weighing her silently. I sit to his right, the proximity enough to keep me in his line of sight—though I know this is as close as he’s going to get tonight. A silent show of respect.

“Mr. Castillo,” Vincent murmurs. My father greets him with a nod, and Vincent takes his seat across from us.

“Vincent, how’s your viper of a mother?” My father chuckles, clearly enjoying the question.

“Still poisonous,” Vincent responds with a grin, and my father’s smile widens, clearly amused by the banter.

Across the table, Vincent leans back in his chair, that damn Cheshire grin never leaving his face. He’s savoring the moment, enjoying watching us play our roles in this little exchange, knowing full well that he’s got a front-row seat to the drama unfolding around him.

He doesn’t say much, but his gaze never shifts from me or Willow, as though he’s studying us both, reading the unspoken tension and anticipating what comes next in this game I’ve only just started playing.

“Dinner,” my father says again, his voice soft but firm, as he looks toward the staff bringing out the first course. The air between us thickens, not from tension, but from the sense of anticipation that always surrounds these meals. Every glance, every word, is a game of its own. And I know I’m holding all the cards.

I watch Willow out of the corner of my eye, studying the way her body tightens under my father’s unrelenting gaze. She’s trying to maintain her composure, but I can see it in the way her postureshifts ever so slightly. The weight of this world is pressing on her, and I can feel the tension building within her.

She’s like a puzzle, one I’m determined to solve, piece by piece. The more I learn about her, the more I want to possess every corner of her, every layer of her.

I lean back in my chair, casually draping my arm around the back of Willow’s seat, pulling her just a little closer. Vincent grins across from us, that Cheshire grin of his spreading wider, as though he’s thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. But I don’t pay him any mind. I’m focused solely on Willow now.

“Relax,” I whisper lowly, just for her. “You don’t show your fear to anyone but me.”

She nods almost imperceptibly, straightening up as her walls slide back into place, all under my command. She forces a smile and looks over at my father with that same bright, calculated charm. “Tito…” she begins, her voice smooth, respectful—but with just enough warmth to show she’s finding her place in this world.

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