Page 86 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

His words hit like a slap, but I don’t have time to process the pain. He lunges for me again, and I swing the curling iron wildly, forcing him to keep his distance. My mind races, desperate for a way out, for help.

The door. If I can just make it to the door…

Ricardo lunges again, his hands reaching for me, but I don’t give him the chance. With the curling iron still hot and gripped tightly in my hand, I swing it with everything I have, aiming for his face. The impact lands hard, the searing heat making him scream in pain as he stumbles backward.

I don’t stop. I can’t. The adrenaline coursing through my veins takes over as I grab a shard of the broken vase from the floor.My hands tremble, but the primal need to survive outweighs my fear.

“Stay back!” I warn, my voice trembling but fierce.

Ricardo doesn’t listen. His face twisted in pain and rage, he charges at me again, and I act on instinct. As he reaches for me, I drive the jagged shard into his side.

The sound he makes—a mix of a gasp and a groan—cuts through the air as he stumbles, clutching his side. Blood seeps through his shirt, dark and spreading fast.

I back away, my chest heaving, tears blurring my vision. “I didn’t want this,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

He slumps against the wall, his breath labored. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, there’s something almost human in them—something that looks like regret. But it’s too late. His body slides to the floor, lifeless.

I drop the shard, my hands trembling as I stare at the blood staining my dress, the golden shimmer now marred by deep red streaks. My chest tightens, and a sob escapes my lips as I press my back against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor.

The room is eerily silent except for the sound of my ragged breathing. My mind races, replaying the events in a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. Ricardo. Someone I trusted. Someone who betrayed me.

The reality of what just happened settles over me like a heavy weight. I killed him. I didn’t have a choice, but the guilt already begins to claw its way into my chest.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolts me out of my daze. My heart leaps into my throat as I hear footsteps approaching. For a fleeting second, I think it might be Vincent or Cast—but when my father steps into the room, the relief is short-lived.

His eyes take in the scene in an instant: the broken vase, Ricardo’s lifeless body slumped against the wall, and me—blood-streaked, trembling, and slumped on the floor.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his voice sharp but not unkind.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. A sob breaks free instead, and I bury my face in my hands. “I didn’t mean to,” I choke out. “He… he attacked me, and I?—”

“Willow,” he says, his tone firm but steady as he crouches down in front of me. “Listen to me. Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. “No, but I?—”

“Good.” He cuts me off, standing and stepping over to Ricardo’s body. He doesn’t flinch as he examines the scene, his jaw tightening. When he turns back to me, his expression is unreadable.

“You can’t stay here,” he says, his voice low but urgent.

“What?” I blink at him, confusion and panic surging in equal measure.

“You can’t stay,” he repeats, already moving with swift precision. He grabs a dish towel from the counter and tosses it to me. “Wipe off your hands and arms. Quickly.”

“But—”

“No buts, Willow.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “The police won’t care that this was self-defense. They’ll see you, see him, and they’ll make you the villain. I won’t let that happen.”

He disappears into the hall for a moment, returning with a set of car keys. He crouches in front of me again, his gaze intense but not unkind.

“Take my car. Drive to your Aunt Clara’s. She’ll keep you safe until I figure this out.”

My mind reels. “But I can’t just leave you here with… this.” I gesture helplessly at Ricardo’s body.

“Yes, you can.” His voice softens, but the determination in it doesn’t waver. “You don’t have a choice, Willow. I’ll handle this. I’ll take the blame if I have to. But you need to go. Now.”

Tears stream down my face as I stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s sacrificing himself for me, and it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

“I—” My voice cracks, but I force myself to speak. “What about Vincent and Cast? Damien? I can’t just leave them.”

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