Page 16 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine, maybe trying to figure out if I’m serious, if I’m ready for what I’m asking. And I can’t blame her for that. I’ve never been good with commitment—but with her, it’s different. The idea of losing her, of not having her in my life, it’s unbearable.

“Vincent,” she whispers again, softer this time, but there’s a distance in her voice that makes my chest tighten. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can do that with you.”

My heart drops, and I feel the sharp edge of her words cut through me like a cold wind. “Why not?” I ask, the question coming out almost desperate, like I’m trying to pull her closer, to make her see what I see.

She pulls away a little, sitting up on the edge of the bed, her back to me.

“Because I’m not sure I can ever give you what you want,” she says quietly, her voice trembling just a little. “I’m not sure I canbewhat you want. I’m not… ready for that. For the forever you’re asking for.”

I sit up too, not knowing whether to reach out for her or give her the space she’s clearly asking for. “But I want you, Willow,” I say, trying to keep the edge from my voice, trying to make her understand that it’s not about theforever—it’s just aboutus.

She looks over her shoulder at me then, her eyes full of so many things—fear, uncertainty, maybe even a little sadness. “I know you do. And I care about you, Vincent. But that’s the problem. I can’t promise you forever. I don’t even know if I can promise you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I say, even though the word doesn’t feel like enough. Even though nothing feels like enough. “I get it.”

She turns to face me then, her eyes soft but sad, and she reaches for my hand. “I don’t want to hurt you, Vincent. I care about you. I just-.”

“I know.” I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

_______________________

Willow

Present Day

The tears won’t stop falling, and I want nothing more than for them to stop, especially when Vincent is looking at me with such heat in his eyes. I want to crawl into myself, scream, and beg for him to be mine, to want me again.

“Vincent-” I stutter, my hands won’t stop shaking no matter how much I will them to be still.

Vincent’s blue eyes drill into me, fierce and unrelenting, pinning me in place like he can see straight through the cracks I’ve been trying so hard to keep together. My breath shudders, and I clench my fists to stop the shaking, but it’s useless. Everything in me is unraveling, and he’s standing there, watching me fall apart.

“Vincent—”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he might soften. But then he speaks, his voice razor-sharp. “What the hell do you want from me Willow?” His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s demanding, searching. Like he needs tounderstand. “You think you can just run away and pretend none of it happened? Thatwenever happened?”

I let out a broken, bitter laugh, wiping at my face furiously.“Wedidn’thappen, Vincent,” I whisper, my voice raw. “Not really. We were a deal, I wasyourpawn.”

His expression darkens, his body going rigid, but I press on. “I was never going to be able to make you happy.”

Vincent lets out a sharp breath, his hand running through his hair in frustration before he steps closer, his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t fucking do that,” he growls. “Don’t stand here and feed me that bullshit like it’s some noble fucking sacrifice.”

I shake my head, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens—not hard, just enough to keep me from running, from hiding.

“You’re a coward,” he spits, his voice rough with anger butfeelslike heartbreak. “You didn’t leave because you couldn’t make me happy. You left becauseyouwere scared. Because it was easier to run than to stay and fucking fight for this.”

My breath catches, my pulse pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. “That’s not true,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. It’s a lie, and he knows it.

Vincent scoffs, shaking his head, his thumb brushing over my jaw in a touch that feels almostgentledespite the fire in his eyes. “You think I don’t know you, Willow? You think I don’tseeyou? You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t fucking lie to me.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You still want me.”

8

WILLOW

A week later

I sit at Cast’s heavy mahogany desk, the glow of the computer screen casting an eerie light across my face. The page in front of me blurs as I stare at it, unseeing, the words bleeding together in a haze of grief and exhaustion. The funeral home’s website is open, a dozen floral arrangements staring back at me, demanding I make a decision I am wholly unequipped to make.

White lilies, red roses, carnations, chrysanthemums, orchids—all with meanings that suddenly feel too heavy, too much. My father deserves the perfect flowers, but I don’t know what those are. I don’t know what anything is anymore.

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