Page 75 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

Long Live the King.

A chill crawls up my spine as I process the photo. Tito’s dead. And with his death comes the inevitable—my ascension to the head of the cartel.

I feel it in my bones. This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve been trained for. But in the back of my mind, I also hear Willow’s soft breathing, the way she just looked at me and said,“Yours.”

The weight of the title doesn’t hit me all at once. It comes slowly, like a snake slithering up my spine. It’s mine. The legacy. The power. The control.

“Get out,” I say to the man at the door, my voice low, dark. “And don’t let anyone else in.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He nods, hurrying out of the room, leaving me alone with the photo and the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

I close the door behind me and turn back to Willow, who’s watching me intently from her spot. She looks at me with those eyes, searching, waiting for me to say something—anything. But the only words I can manage are the ones I whisper to myself.

Long Live the King.

I don’t need to say it out loud. Not yet. But I know what this means. It means everything is about to change. And Willow? She’ll be right there with me, whether she knows it or not.

I turn back to her, my face hardening into a mask of control. “Get some rest,” I say, my voice softer now, almost tender.

“But-”

I kiss her forehead. “Now Cariña.”

23

WILLOW

The halls of school are louder today, buzzing with whispers that hum around me like a hive on the verge of chaos. I don’t need to strain to hear them—snippets of conversations and stolen glances follow me like shadows. Something has shifted since last night, something electric and tangible, though no one would dare say it to my face.

It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m practically swimming in Cast’s oversized button-up. Or maybe it does. The soft fabric brushing against my skin feels like a shield, a brand that declares who I belong to without a single word. But there’s more to this tension—it’s heavier, darker, a prelude to a storm.

I turn a corner and nearly collide with Ricardo, his imposing frame appearing like he materialized out of thin air. His face is locked in its usual dark expression, the permanent scowl etched so deeply it might as well be carved in stone.

“Morning, sunshine,” I tease lightly, trying to meet his gaze. Nothing. His eyes dart around, scanning the crowded hallway, looking for threats I can’t see.

“You know, a simple ‘good morning’ wouldn’t kill you,” I say as we fall into step together. Silence. “Seriously, Ricardo, you’ve got to work on your people skills. I mean, how do you even order coffee? Do you just point and grunt?”

Still nothing.

“Okay, fine,” I huff, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t have to talk to me, but at least pretend I’m not completely invisible.”

Ricardo doesn’t even blink. His gaze is locked on something—or someone—down the hall. I follow his line of sight, but there’s nothing there but a group of freshmen giggling over their phones. He’s been like this for three weeks now, ever since Cast declared that I couldn’t be alone for more than a minute.

I sigh and shake my head, muttering to myself as we reach my locker. “It’s like talking to a wall. Except walls don’t carry guns.”

Ricardo shifts slightly, his hand brushing against his jacket where I know he keeps one of his weapons. He doesn’t need to say anything; the gesture is enough to remind me that he’s not here to chat.

I roll my eyes as I spin the combination on my lock. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

The door swings open with a metallic groan, and for a second, I’m lost in thought, rummaging through my books. But then the smell hits me—floral, sweet, and intoxicating. My breath catches, and I freeze, my eyes landing on a bouquet of white lilies nestled inside my locker.

They’re beautiful, almost too perfect, their petals pristine and delicate. But it’s not the flowers that make my heart race—it’s thenote tucked among them, the stark black lettering on crisp white paper.

For the new reigning queen.

The world narrows to that bouquet, the lilies so white they almost glow against the dull metal of my locker. My heart stutters, and my fingers tremble as I reach for the note tucked between the petals.

For the new reigning queen.

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