Page 24 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

When it’s over, I collapse back onto the bed, my chest heaving, my body trembling. Damien lifts his head, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice dripping with amusement.

I can’t even form a coherent response. All I can do is nod, my mind still hazy with the lingering effects of my orgasm. Damien chuckles softly and leans in, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Good because I want to do that again.”

8

VINCENT

Angie’s nails click-clack against the freshly polished dining table, each tap grating against my nerves. She hasn’t spoken yet—she never does right away. She likes to stretch out the silence, letting it coil around me like a snake, waiting for me to flinch. Across from me, my father sits motionless, fingers steepled, his expression carved from stone. The candlelight flickers, catching in the crystal glasses, but nothing about the scene is warm.

“So, when were you planning to tell us about your fiancée?” Angie finally says, her voice smooth, sharp. The kind of tone that makes people straighten up, makes them feel small. But I know better than to shrink under it. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Care to explain where our wedding invitations are?”

“Care to explain where you were when I was in the hospital for three months, learning how to walk again?” I snarl.

Angie rolls her eyes. “We sent flowers.”

“Didn’t get them.”

“Don’t be so dramatic Vincent.”My father sighs. “We knew you were alive.”

“Great,” I sarcastically smile.

“You didn’t answer our question, where were our wedding invitations?” Angie drones, dragging a nail across the dining room table.

I shrug looking around the room. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

My father groans but Angie laughs quietly, a smug look on her face. “Oh, Vincent. You can lie to your father, but don’t insult me.” She tilts her head, the candlelight catching the sharp angle of her cheekbones. “You were never very good at keeping secrets. Not from me.”

I force my shoulders to stay relaxed. She’s baiting me, waiting for the slightest tell. “Where did you hear that?”

“That doesn’t matter.” She waves a manicured hand, dismissive. “What matters is that you didn’t think we deserved to know.” She glances at my father, her perfectly arched brow lifting. “Can you believe this? Our own son—engaged—without a single word.”

My father exhales, slow and deliberate. “Is it true?”

I drag my tongue over my teeth, swallowing down the irritation clawing its way up my throat. Lying would be pointless. They already know.

“Yes.”

Angie’s nails resume their clicking against the table, her smile widening. “And here I was, under the impression that we were your family.”

I clench my jaw. “That’s never been true.”

My father sighs, rubbing his temples. “Vincent?—”

Angie doesn’t let him finish. “Who is she?”

I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression blank. “None of your concern.”

Her eyes gleam, victorious. “Oh, but it is. After all, whoever she is… she’s clearly worth defying us for.”

Angie watches me for another beat, then stands, pushing her chair back with a slow scrape against the floor. “Ha,” she chuckles cruelly, adjusting the bracelet on her wrist. “Don’t tell me it is that little harlot you snuck in here during high school?”

“Don’t disrespect Willow.” I snarl, my eyes narrowing on the clear green of her eyes, that almost looks snake-like.

"Disrespect?" Angie's laughter cuts through the air like shattered glass.

“Oh, so itisher.” She lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head like I’m some kind of fool. “How pathetic. I thought you’d have outgrown your little rebellion by now, but no. Still clinging to your bad habits, like a child who refuses to wash off the dirt.”

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