Page 88 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

I rub my face, leaning against the wall as the weight of it all settles in. I should be happy about that. Should be looking forward to having her back. But all I feel is this sick, gnawing uncertainty.

But deep down, I know I’m right where I need to be.We’reright where we need to be. Because when Willow wakes up, if she wakes up, it’s going to be us. And if the universe is generous enough to keep her here, we’re going to prove to her just how much she means to us.

I just pray to God it’s enough.

EPILOGUE

CAST

Two Years Later

Our daughter is perfect—a spitting image of Willow, with large doe eyes and delicate black curls that kiss her forehead. She has Vincent's blue eyes, his pink lips, and, for some strange reason, Damien's smile. She is more than any of us deserve, named after Damien’s mother—our little Rose.

And our son is a fighter. The first time Vincent held him, he wrapped his tiny fingers around his and didn’t let go until he was fast asleep on his chest. He has Willow’s hazel eyes and Damien’s blonde hair. He was born silent, which only makes him more like Damien. Just like their mother. We named him after her father—Teddy, our Theodore.

It’s been two years since Willow gave birth, two years since she endured a brutal pregnancy—recovering from heart surgery while carrying twins. The toll it took on her was more than any of us could have imagined, but she fought through it. And the moment she was finally out of the hospital, she told us she needed to paint again. Now, every one of us has a mural in ourrooms, each one uniquely hers, constantly evolving with every brushstroke she adds.

The walls of my room are coated in shades of black and grey, the colors swirling together like storm clouds. Only hints of red pierce through the darkness, like flames licking the edges of a memory. She tells me with everyone else she dreams in colors, but with me she sees everything clearly, in black and white with a hint of wild color.

I watch her now, as she sleeps peacefully in my bed. The soft rise and fall of her chest. Her wild curls spread across the pillow like a halo. I can’t help but smile, marveling at how perfect she is, how perfect she always will be, and for a moment, I forget about everything else. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. She’s the reason I’m better than I was. The softest of sighs escapes her lips.

I hear the soft creak of the door before Damien steps inside. His silhouette lingers in the doorway for a moment, just enough to make sure he’s not interrupting the calm we’ve found in the stillness of this room.

“They’re asleep,” he says quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if to keep the peace. "Both of them."

I nod, barely acknowledging the words as I turn my attention back to Willow. She stirs, her lashes fluttering as she slowly wakes, her eyes searching for mine through a haze of sleep.

“Willow,” I murmur softly, my voice rough with affection. “Baby, wake up.”

Her eyes crack open slowly, meeting mine with that sleepy, almost dazed expression she only shows in the morning, like she’s still caught between dreams and reality.

“There’s a dress picked out for you,” I continue, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face, the strands tangled and wild, a reflection of her creativity. “Vincent chose it. We have a few things to get to tonight.”

She blinks at me, then at Damien, still standing in the doorway, his arms crossed casually, waiting. “W-where are we going?”

I can’t help but smile as she slowly sits up, that sleepy grin pulling at the corners of her lips. I lean down, kissing her softly again, then pull away with reluctance.

“It’s a surprise, come on get dressed,” I whisper.

A few minutes later, the guys and I get dressed in Vincent’s room. Vincent is already perfect in his dark suit that fits him like it was made for his exact measurements—which, knowing Vincent, it probably was. Damien fumbles with his bowtie, muttering under his breath as his usually steady hands betray his nerves. I check my reflection one more time, smoothing down my jacket, wondering if I should have gotten a haircut yesterday.

The door opens and Octavia walks in, her face lighting up as she takes us in. I can't help but smile—she looks so much like Willow when she smiles like that.

"Oh my, don't you all look handsome," she says, eyes glistening as she pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos before any of us can object. "Willow is going to absolutely melt when she sees you three."

She moves to Damien first, reaching up to fix his crooked tie with motherly efficiency. "Honestly, Damien, after all these years you still can't tie this properly."

"Nerves," he admits with a small smile that rarely graces his serious face.

"Eleanor and I have the kids all taken care of," Octavia says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "They're all tuckered out, the little angels."

She turns to me next, fussing over my collar. I stand still, letting her straighten what doesn't need straightening, knowing this moment means as much to her as it does to us. Octavia is in remission now, her hair has grown back in a stylish silver bob. It's been two years since her last treatment. Eleanor and she have become best friends, even living in a shared apartment a few floors below us. They've formed their own little family, much like we have.

“Alright guys, get moving, and remember to record, or I will never forgive you.” Octivia chastises and I smile at her. Ever since Octivia and Willow have patched things up they have been inseparable, only allowing Vincent’s mother, Elenanor into their close circle.

“We promise we will record Octi.” Damien nods, kissing her on the cheek as he moves towards the bedroom door.

Vincent nods, pulling her into a small hug before we exit the bedroom and the minute my eyes land on Willow I lose my breath.

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