Page 17 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling shakily.

The soft click of the office door opening barely registers through the fog in my mind, but then I hear footsteps—calm, measured. I know who it is before I even look up.

I don’t turn to see who came inside. Instead, I keep my eyes on the screen, hoping they’ll leave, hoping they won’t see how lost I am.

Damien steps beside me, and out of the corner of my eye I see his gaze drop to the screen in front of me before he steps in closer. Without hesitation, he reaches out and selects willows and roses.

“These,” he says, voice quiet but certain.

I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Why?”

“Because they remind me of you,” he answers simply. “And because he loved you. That’s all that matters.”

I nod, my throat too tight to form words.

Damien reaches over, scrolling through the options, clicking on an arrangement that I hadn’t even noticed. It’s perfect. Deep red roses nestled between soft, delicate willow branches.

My vision blurs again, but this time, I don’t try to blink it away. The tears fall, hot and silent, splashing onto my lap as I grip the edge of the desk.

“Hey,” Damien says softly, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. He doesn’t touch me—he never does unless I initiate it—but he’s close enough that I feel his presence. “It’s okay, Willow.”

I shake my head, a sharp, jerky movement. “No, it’s not. None of this is okay.”

Damien is silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he speaks, his words slow, deliberate. “It wasn’t your fault.”

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, swiping at my wet cheeks. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” He says it with such conviction that it almost makes me believe him. Almost.

I turn to face him then, meeting his steady gaze. His grey eyes hold a twinkle of understanding. Like he knows exactly what kind of weight I’m carrying.

“Would he still be alive if I had never met you?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “If I had never gotten involved with any of you?”

Damien doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence or offer me pretty lies. He just watches me, his jaw tight, before he sighs out a response. “Maybe, but I can say the same thing about you. If you never met my mom would she still be alive?”

“Damien-” I sigh.

“Maybe she would be, but that’s a maybe. The fact is my mom and your dad are gone.”

My hands tremble as I stare at him. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He nods, his gaze never leaving mine. “But blaming yourself won’t bring him back.”

I bite my lip, tasting the salt of my tears. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Damien watches me for a long moment, and then he reaches out, not quite touching me, but his fingers ghost over my wrist, a quiet offering. “You don’t have to stop. You just have to learn to carry it.”

I exhale shakily, gripping the desk tighter.

For a moment, the silence stretches between us, heavy but not suffocating. Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it, Damien says, “I visited him. Every Sunday.”

My breath catches. “What are you talking about?”

He looks away, his jaw flexing. “Your dad. I visited him. We talked.”

I stare at him, struggling to process his words. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. “It wasn’t about me. He… he wanted a connection to you. I was that for him, that’s all.”

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