Page 78 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

Ricardo’s gaze sharpens. “You are if Cast says you are. And whether you realize it or not, people are watching. Waiting. Long live the prince.”

24

WILLOW

Once we arrive at the safe-house, Damien is already standing outside, partially dressed in his hockey gear, next to his motorcycle. I’m barely out of the car when he notices me and strides toward me, his expression unreadable but tense.

Without saying a word, he looks me over, his gaze sharp and calculating as if he’s assessing the situation, making sure I’m in one piece. "You good?" he asks flatly, his tone not quite concerned, but more like a man making sure his investment hasn’t been damaged.

“I’m fine,” I answer quickly, sensing that’s all he wants to hear.

Damien doesn't linger, though. He pivots sharply and walks toward the safe-house entrance where Ricardo stands, eyes narrowing as he sizes him up as he speaks to me. “You’re okay in here?” he asks, his voice flat but with an edge of authority.

I nod, visibly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Yes, Damien, I’m fine. I’m safe here.”

Damien’s expression doesn't soften. Instead, he takes a long look at me before his eyes snap back to a fuming Ricardo.

“Who put the flowers in her locker?”

“We don’t know yet, sir.” Ricardo says his voice sharp, edging on disrespect.

“If anything had happened to her...” His voice trails off, but the implication is clear.

Ricardo visibly stiffens, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes dart nervously, betraying his calm facade. He stays silent, but the tension in his posture speaks volumes. After a beat, he nods, his eyes looking away from Damien.

I stand there for a moment, my chest tight as I watch the interaction unfold. The silence is thick, heavy with unspoken history and danger. I glance around at the quiet neighborhood, the ordinary houses with perfectly manicured lawns.

The kind of place where nosy neighbors are likely peeking through their windows, making note of everything that’s happening. The last thing I need is the attention of anyone who might get too curious.

I reach out, my fingers curling around Damien’s forearm, needing a sense of security, a reminder that he’s here and that everything will be okay. My voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the tense air. “Let’s do this inside,” I murmur, trying to defuse the situation, to keep him from saying anything else that could escalate things further.

Damien doesn’t look away, his expression fierce, calculating. His sharp eyes return to Ricardo, the weight of his words heavy.“You let anyone get that close to her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.” His tone is cold, the kind of cold that doesn’t leave room for second chances. It's a promise, one that anyone with half a brain would take seriously.

“Yes, sir.” Ricardo nods, as Damien turns away snapping at me.

“In the house now,” He growls.

I follow him inside, my hand still wrapped around his forearm as I take in the sight of the house. It’s deceptively normal, almost too normal. The kind of place where nothing about it stands out—no guards at the windows, no high-tech security systems or armed personnel. Just a quiet, nondescript house in the middle of a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac. And that’s exactly what makes it unsettling. The illusion of normalcy is the mask for something much darker.

Damien’s presence at my side is the only thing that grounds me as I take a slow, steadying breath.

I glance at Damien as the door shuts softly behind us. His posture is tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes are dark with something I can’t quite place. He doesn’t meet my gaze, pacing a few steps before stopping in the center of the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The tension in his shoulders tells me more than words could.

“Damien?” I call softly, my voice hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t respond at first, his back still to me as he stares at the wall, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The silence between us stretches, and I wonder if he even hears me.

Then, without warning, he turns to face me, his expression hard. “I shouldn’t have disappeared,” he mutters, as if to himself, hisvoice low and edged with frustration. “I let you get dragged into this shit. Intomymess.”

I take a step toward him, but he’s already shaking his head, the anger in his eyes now mixing with something else—something darker, something heavier.

“I should’ve seen it coming. Cast has power and you’ve been around him. People want to kill him, get under his skin, and you’re right there. And now…” His voice cracks for just a second before he regains his composure. “Now, someone is showing us they can get close enough to hurt you.”

I watch him carefully, my heart aching at the sight of the man who’s usually so composed unraveling in front of me. He’s not used to this—being vulnerable, admitting that he doesn’t have all the answers.

“Damien,” I say, my voice steady, even though my chest feels like it might explode with the weight of his words. “You can’t control everything.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, his gaze dark and conflicted. “I should’ve been the one to protect you. I promised I’d keep you safe, and now…” His voice falters again, but this time, he catches himself before the words completely give way.

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