Page 66 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

I blink, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak of his father like this. “That’s... harsh.”

Vincent shrugs, his jaw tight. “Sometimes the truth is harsh.”

I nod slowly, trying to piece together the fragments of his family. Vincent doesn’t speak of them often, but when he does, there’s a heaviness to it, like he’s carrying something too large for anyone to truly understand.

“And your stepmother?” I ask, my voice quieter this time.

The moment I say it, his face darkens again, the shadows in his eyes deepening. His body stiffens, and I know I’ve touched on something that goes deeper than I expected.

“She’s the fucking devil.” His voice drops to a near whisper, but the anger in it is sharp. “She’s a snake in disguise—manipulative, cruel, calculating. She’s not even close to being a mother.”

I can feel the weight of his words, and a deep ache forms in my chest, a sadness for him that I can’t quite put into words. I think back to the news about his missing mother seven years ago. The tears in his eyes. The way he begged for her to come back. I let out a small breath, trying to absorb what he’s telling me. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

Vincent’s jaw tightens, but then he exhales, his expression softening just slightly. “The only good thing she’s done is my step-siblings. They’re at boarding school—Tyler and Taylor. Tyler is a musical genius who can play, like, six instruments. And Taylor? She’s a science god. She’s the reason my skin is clear.”

He winks, a small smile breaking through his earlier tension. For a moment, he looks more like the Vincent I know, light and teasing. “You’ll meet them one day. They just turned eleven.”

A smile spreads across my face, and I can’t help but feel a warmth at the way pride flashes in his eyes. “I can’t wait to meet them,” I say softly, meaning every word.

He holds my gaze for a moment, and something in his shoulders relaxes, like maybe the thought of them makes everything feel just a little bit lighter. But then, as if remembering where we’re heading, the weight returns to his features.

“But before you meet the wonder twins, we’ve got breakfast to face.”

I nod, placing my coffee down. But inside, my mind spins with everything he’s said, the cracks I can now see in the glossysurface of his life. Without thinking I ask, “what outfit should I wear?”

A large smile spreads across his face. “The pink sun dress that matches the streaks in your hair.”

I look down at my fading pink tips. I need a touch up soon. “You got it.” I nod walking over to the closet.

“Thirty minutes,” Vincent adds. “Get dressed. You’ll need to be presentable, especially with my stepmother there.”

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I step out of the room after exactly thirty minutes, my hands smoothing down the soft fabric of the pink sundress Vincent had requested. It hugs my body just enough to feel flattering, the hem swishing around my knees as I walk. The color’s a little lighter than the fading pink in my hair, but close enough that it feels intentional, cohesive. A touch of blush on my cheeks and a swipe of gloss on my lips finish the look.

The heels I choose are low—practical but still polished—and the delicate gold chain around my neck feels like a small shield, something to remind me I’m more than whatever judgments might be waiting for me downstairs. It falls just below my ever present diamond collar from the Chessmen.

I inhale deeply, willing the rising nerves to settle. It’s just breakfast. But the weight of Vincent’s earlier words—about his stepmother, his family, their world—crawls into my chest and twists there.

Polite, but cutting. Snakes in pearls and suits.

I glance at my reflection in the hallway mirror as I pass, wondering if I look as nervous as I feel. I don’t know if I’ll be ableto hold my own in a room full of people who seem designed to tear others down, but the one thing I do know is that I won’t let them see me crumble.

This isn’t just about me. It’s about Vincent too.

Still, the nerves linger, my stomach fluttering like a cage of restless birds.

By the time I reach the end of the hallway, Vincent is waiting, leaning casually against the banister. His eyes sweep over me, lingering just long enough to make my heart skip a beat.

“Perfect,” he says, his smile soft but approving. “Pink suits you.”

I try to smile back, but my nerves are starting to feel more like a full-body hum. “Let’s just hope your family agrees.”

His expression hardens just slightly, and he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. “Don’t worry about them. Just stay close to me. You’ll be fine.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and we head down the stairs together.

We make our way to the dining area, Vincent’s hand searing onto the small of my back. The dining room feels like a museum: high ceilings, antique chandeliers, and a table so long it seems to stretch for miles. Every inch is polished and gleaming, yet cold, lifeless. Vincent’s hand hovers at the small of my back as we enter, three minutes late. His stepmother’s sharp eyes snap to us like a hawk spotting prey.

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