Page 77 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

His eyes flash, his grip tightening just enough to remind me exactly who I’m dealing with. “Don’t fucking play with me, Willow.”

“I’m not,” I snap, yanking my chin free. “But I won’t let you dictate my life. Vincent and I?—”

Cast’s growl is pure menace as he steps closer, crowding me back against the door. “Don’t fucking say his name right now.”

“Why? Because it reminds you that I have a choice?” I shoot back, my breathing unsteady. “That you don’t control me?”

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I see something else beneath the anger—something raw and unhinged. “If you want to leave this room, Willow, then hear me loud and fucking clear.” He leans in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You walk out that door, and we’re done.”

The air between us crackles, the weight of his ultimatum bearing down on me.

I swallow, my throat tight. My hands clench at my sides, but I keep my chin high, my resolve unwavering. “Then I guess we’re done.”

I don’t wait for his reaction. I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I turn on my heel, my pulse hammering against my ribs, and walk out.

The second I step into the hallway, the air feels thinner, but the suffocating weight in my chest only grows. The echo of my footsteps is drowned out by the pounding rain against the windows. I barely register the blur of the penthouse lobby, my only focus on getting out.

By the time I push through the revolving doors, the storm is relentless. Rain slashes at my skin, soaking through my clothes in seconds, but I don’t stop. I hail the first taxi I see, slippinginside before my mind can betray me, before the weight of what I just did crushes me.

"Where to?" the driver asks, his voice scratchy, indifferent.

I hesitate for only a moment before rattling off Vincent's address.

The name tastes foreign on my tongue, but it’s the only place I can go. Vincent was kicked out of the penthouse by Damien the night he found out we were engaged with strict rules that he was not welcomed there any longer. I was only allowed to stay because Cast said so, but Damien hasn’t talked to me since.

The car pulls away from the curb, and I press my forehead to the cool glass, my breath fogging up the window. Cast’s voice still echoes in my head.You walk out that door, and we’re done.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have believed he could say those words. A week ago, I was still trying to pretend there was a version of us that could survive this.

But right now, I don’t know if I can.

29

WILLOW

“What’s wrong?”Vincent’s eyes narrow in on me, his anger rolling off him in waves hot enough to dry my damp clothes. His hand slides around my shoulders as he guides me into his mansion, his grip firm—possessive, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

I sniffle, pulling my hoodie closer to my chest, as if that alone could shield me from his scrutiny. “Nothing.”

“Try again,” Vincent snarls, his fingers tightening around the back of my neck. The pressure isn’t enough to hurt, but it’s a warning, a reminder that he knows me too well to believe the lie.

The warmth of his home does nothing to chase away the chill that clings to my skin. Water drips from my sleeves, puddling onto the pristine marble floors, but Vincent doesn’t seem to care. His focus is on me—on my trembling fingers, the way my shoulders curl inward, how I won’t meet his gaze.

I bite my lip, struggling to keep my voice even. “It’s my fault.”

Vincent exhales sharply, his jaw ticking. “Your fault?” His other hand comes up, cupping my chin and tilting my face up to his.His dark blue eyes search mine, scanning every inch, every little crack in the mask I’m trying so desperately trying to keep in place. “You want me to believe that you made yourself cry?”

I swallow hard, but my throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming without realizing it. The truth claws at my insides, begging to be let out, but I don’t know if I have the strength to say it—to admit how broken I feel.

Vincent’s thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t noticed falling. His grip on my neck softens just slightly, and I melt into him whispering the words before I know how to stop myself. “Cast says we’re done.”

I shudder, pressing my lips together as if I can keep the words from feeling real. Vincent’s body concaves into himself, eyes falling shut as he curses to himself. “Fuck.”

My lip wobbles, and I fall into Vincent’s chest. Vincent catches me without hesitation, his arms wrapping around me like a shield against the world. His hold is firm, steady, as if he can keep me from crumbling just by holding me together.

I clutch at his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric, desperate for something—anything—to ground me. My chest feels hollow, aching in a way I don’t know how to fix. “I thought…” My breath hitches, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “I thought he loved me.”

Vincent tenses beneath my touch. His fingers tighten against my back, and I feel the sharp inhale he takes, like he’s swallowing down the first thing he wants to say. Probably something violent.

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