Page 67 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“Well, well,” she says, her voice clipped and icy. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Vincent. And... your guest.”

Her gaze sweeps over me, dissecting every inch of my pink sundress, the faint pink in my hair. The corners of her mouth twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s judgment.

Vincent’s father barely glances up from the newspaper he’s holding, a half-empty coffee cup beside him. “Three minutes late,” he mutters, flipping a page. “I see punctuality is another lesson you’ve chosen to ignore.”

Vincent pulls out a chair for me, his movements measured, tense. “We’re here now,” he says evenly, but I can feel the anger simmering beneath his words.

“Of course you are,” his stepmother says, her voice dripping with false politeness. “Though I must say, Vincent, it’s irresponsible to bring in a... stray without a proper background check. We don’t know anything about her. Where she comes from. Who she really is.”

My cheeks flush, and I glance down at my plate, gripping my napkin tightly.

“Her name is Willow,” Vincent says sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “And she’s my guest. You don’t need a background check to know she’s worth a thousand of whatever this family pretends to be.”

His father folds the newspaper deliberately, setting it down as if Vincent’s outburst is an inconvenience to his morning. “You’re too emotional, Vincent. Always have been. It’s no wonder you’re such a disappointment.”

Vincent stiffens beside me, his hands curling into fists. I reach out under the table, brushing my fingers against his, but he doesn’t react.

“And this?” his father continues, gesturing vaguely toward me. “Bringing in some girl off the street, defending her like she’s your responsibility? It’s foolish. Reckless.” He sighs, almost absentmindedly, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Perhaps it’s time we consider a more permanent solution. A psych ward, maybe, like your mother. It’s clear you’ve inherited her... tendencies.”

The words land like a bomb. Vincent freezes, his breathing shallow, his face blank.

My heart pounds as I glance at him, his knuckles white against the edge of the table. The silence is suffocating, stretching on for far too long.

“Don’t,” he finally says, his voice low and trembling with barely contained fury. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

His stepmother laughs softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Vincent. So dramatic. You’ve always been this way—obsessive, gullible, foolish. It’s embarrassing, really. How easily you let someone manipulate you.” Her eyes flick to me, full of disdain. “You see a pretty face, and suddenly you’re ready to throw away what little dignity you have left.”

“That’s enough!” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop myself. My voice shakes, but I don’t care. “You don’t know anything about him. Vincent is more than any of you could ever understand. He’s kind, loyal, and?—”

“Willow, don’t,” Vincent says quietly, but I’m too angry to stop.

“And he’s not the problem here!” I continue, glaring at his stepmother. “You are. All of you. You treat him like he’s less than, like he doesn’t matter. But he does. He’s everything.”

The room falls silent, the tension so thick it feels like it might crush me. Vincent’s father raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, while his stepmother stares at me like I’m some sort of unruly child.

“Well,” she says finally, her tone ice-cold. “It seems you’ve trained her well, Vincent.”

Vincent’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he stands. His face is set, his jaw tight, but his eyes burn with anger. “We’re leaving,” he says, his voice like steel.

“So dramatic. Go on then, let me eat breakfast in peace.” his father calls after him.

Vincent doesn’t respond, his hand gripping mine as he pulls me out of the room. My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel like I can finally breathe again as we step into the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but he shakes his head, his expression softening as he looks at me.

“Don’t be,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right.”

Vincent’s hand is a steady grip on mine as he pulls me through the back door, his pace quick and determined. I stumble slightly, struggling to match his long strides, but he doesn’t slow. We pass through the kitchen where a few staff members glance our way, but Vincent doesn’t acknowledge them, his focus completely on getting us outside. The heavy wooden door slams shut behind us, and the noise of the house fades, leaving only the quiet of the garden.

The moment we step outside, the world shifts. The garden feels like a different realm, sprawling endlessly before us. Thegreen grass stretches far, dotted with winding stone paths and wildflowers blooming freely along the edges. The air here is fresh, crisp, a stark contrast to the sterile atmosphere of the house.

My eyes are drawn to the hedge maze at the center of the garden. It towers above us, a labyrinth of perfectly trimmed greenery, twisting and turning in tight, intricate loops. It looks ancient, like something straight out of a fairytale. I wonder what it would be like to get lost in it—to wander through the winding paths, escaping everything, if only for a moment.

“Do you realize what you just did?” Vincent’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up at him.

“What?” I stutter, still a little caught up in the beauty around us.

Before I can react, he swings me around, pressing me into the soft wall of the hedge, his body towering over mine. His gaze is intense, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

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