Page 81 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

My jaw clenches, and I exhale sharply, forcing my breath to even out. No.No.I can’t think like this. She’shere. She’smine. Shechoseme.

Didn’t she?

The thought eats at me like rot, and for the first time since she said yes, I feel something I haven’t let myself acknowledge.

A knock at the door rips me out of my spiral, “Come in.”

Franklin steps inside, his usual stoic expression in place, but I don’t miss the subtle tension in his shoulders. He knows better than to disturb me unless it’s important.

“Sir,” he says, his voice calm, measured. “This arrived for you.”

I eye the thick ivory envelope in his gloved hand, irritation already creeping up my spine. “What is it?”

Franklin clears his throat, stepping closer to place it on my desk. “New prospects for marriage.”

The words barely leave his mouth before my whiskey glass shatters in my grip.

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. My fingers sting, blood pooling from where the glass has cut into my palm, but I don’t give a damn.

Franklin doesn’t flinch. He simply reaches into his jacket pocket, retrieving a handkerchief before placing it beside me. “I took the liberty of disposing of most of them,” he continues as if I hadn’t just crushed glass in my hand. “But your parents insisted you look these over personally.”

To my parents, Willow isn’t the perfect, groomed,well-bredsocialite they wanted me to marry. She isn’t tied to another empire. She doesn’t bring them power, influence, or anything they deemvaluable.

She only bringsmepeace.

And in their eyes, that isn’t enough.

I drag my tongue over my teeth, shoving back the rage clawing up my throat. “I have a fiancée,” I grit out.

Franklin inclines his head. “Yes, sir. I am well aware.”

“So why the fuck,” I press my bloody hand against my desk as I stand, voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “is there a fuckinglistof women being handed to me?”

Franklin doesn’t so much as blink. “Because they do not believe you willstayengaged to her.”

I force out a breath, and snatch the envelope off my desk and tear it in two, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

“Then they’ll just have to learn to fucking believe,” I mutter, voice hoarse.

Franklin nods, bending to collect the remnants of the paper. “Very well, sir.”

The second Franklin steps out, I’m moving—my bloodied hand throbbing at my side, my pulse a deafening roar in my ears. My breath is shallow, my vision tunneled as I storm through the halls, taking the stairs two at a time.

They don’t believe I’ll stay engaged to her.

They think she’ll leave.

They think I’ll let her go.

My jaw clenches so tightly it aches.

By the time I reach my bedroom, my heart is a fucking riot in my chest. I shove the door open without hesitation.

Willow is curled up in bed, a book in her hands, the silk sheets pooling around her waist. She looks soft, warm—mine. But when her gaze flicks up to me, concern flickering in her eyes, something in me snaps.

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know how fucking fragile this is. How the wolves are already circling, waiting for any excuse to rip her away from me.

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