Page 72 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

Before I can protest, Vincent turns and walks back toward the library, his steps purposeful, his body tense with anger. I watch him, confused and still shaken, as he disappears through the door.

I stand there, caught in the quiet for a few long seconds. And then, I hear it. Vincent’s voice, rising above the soft murmurs of the library.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Damien?” Vincent’s words are a growl, filled with fury. “You make the girl I like—no, the girl I love—cry, and you don’t even care?”

I don’t know how, but I move closer, drawn to the confrontation like a magnet, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

Vincent is standing in front of Damien now, his fists clenched at his sides, and his face is red with rage.

“You’ve been acting like a fucking asshole to her for weeks. You think she’s just gonna keep taking it? You think you can break her like this and she’ll just let you? She’s a fucking person, not some tool you can use for your anger, Damien!”

Damien looks unfazed, but there’s a flicker of something—resentment, defiance—in his eyes. He leans back in his chair, a smug, almost cruel grin spreading across his face.

“I don’t care about her, Vincent. You know what she is to me?” He leans forward, his voice dripping with venom. “She’s the fucking heart-stealer. The one who took my mother’s heart and left me with nothing. She doesn’t get to fix me, not now, not ever.”

Vincent’s eyes flash with pure rage, and without another word, he moves in. The next thing I hear is the sickening crack of his fist connecting with Damien’s jaw.

Damien staggers back, a curse escaping his lips as he rubs at his face. The anger in Vincent’s eyes is primal, wild, and for a moment, I don’t even recognize him.

“That’s for making her cry,” Vincent growls, his voice low and filled with something darker than I’ve ever heard. “And that’s for calling her a heart-stealer. She didn’t steal shit from you.”

Damien glares up at him, his eyes wild with rage, but he doesn’t move to retaliate. He just stands there, nursing his bleeding nose with one hand, the other curled into a fist at his side.

“You’re not worth it,” Vincent mutters through clenched teeth, his voice low and seething. “You don’t get to hurt her anymore.”

Damien grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t care, Vincent. Do what you want. I don’t give a shit, be me? I’m done.”

The coldness in Damien’s voice cuts through me, but Vincent is already moving. He turns to face me, his anger melting away the moment he sees me standing there, looking lost and fragile.

“Willow,” Vincent says softly, walking toward me. He reaches out, his hand gentle as he cups my face, wiping away the remnants of my tears. “I’m taking you to Cast’s house. I can’t leave you here, not like this.”

His voice is calm, but I can hear the determination behind it. The heat of the moment is still alive in his chest, but he’s already thinking about me—protecting me. I can’t help but feel both touched and conflicted. I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. I didn’t want anyone fighting over me.

“Vincent…” My voice falters as I look between him and Damien, still standing there, staring at us. Damien’s gaze is full of venom, but it’s not aimed at Vincent anymore. It’s all directed at me.

“I don’t care, Willow,” Vincent says, cutting me off. “You’re not staying here. Not while things are like this. I’ll take you to Cast’s place, and I’ll make sure you’re safe. I have some things I need to take care of, but I don’t want to leave you alone in my house, not when everything’s this... unstable.”

The weight of his words hits me, and I can’t help but feel a rush of relief mixed with uncertainty. Vincent is always there, always trying to fix things, always trying to make everything right. But there’s no fixing the mess I’ve made of everything, no matter how much he tries.

He pulls me into his arms, his grip firm but tender, guiding me toward the door. I glance over my shoulder at Damien one last time. His face is still bruised, blood dripping from his nose, but his eyes are hard and empty.

I swallow the lump in my throat, fighting the confusion and sadness threatening to swallow me whole. But Vincent is already walking me out, pulling me away from the chaos, away from the conflict that’s suffocating me.

I let him. Because, for the first time in weeks, someone is taking control, someone is telling me what to do, and I don’t know how to handle it—but I don’t have the energy to fight.

22

CAST

Irub my eyes, my gaze flickering between the paperwork scattered across my desk. The legalities surrounding Castillo Industries—my inheritance and the legacy of the Castillo Cartel—are suffocating. It’s a lot to process, even for me. But right now, it’s not the mountains of paperwork that’s testing my patience.

Willow’s chewing her damn pen again. The rhythmicclick-click-clickis driving me insane.

“Willow,” I grunt, not looking up, but I don’t have to. She knows my tone well enough by now. “Stop chewing the pen. You’re distracting.”

“Sorry,” she whispers, putting the pen down.

There’s a beat of silence before I hear her shuffle across the room, closer, the soft rustle of pages from her book fading as she approaches my desk. I glance up just in time to catch her biting her lip, that nervous little quirk of hers that she can’t hide.

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