Page 14 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

He doesn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor as the elevator hums to life, moving downward.

I take a shaky step forward, my voice low but desperate. “Please, Cast. I-I can’t lose you again.”

He finally turns, his gaze piercing me like a blade. There’s nothing soft in his eyes, nothing that tells me he still sees me as the same person. Just anger and frustration.

I feel like I can’t breathe. Like if I let this moment slip away, I’ll lose him forever.

And that’s not something I can live with.

My hand flies out before I can think twice, slamming into the emergency button on the panel. The elevator jolts to a stop, the red emergency light flickering on above us. A sharp alarm blares for a second before cutting off, leaving us in an even heavier silence.

His head snaps up, his eyes flashing darker.

“Are you serious, Willow?” His voice is low, biting, edged with a snarl that makes my stomach twist.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” I rasp, still fighting to catch my breath, the pounding in my chest refusing to settle. “You’re not going to walk away from me. Not like this.”

He exhales harshly through his nose, tilting his head back like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding. “This is not the time for this.”

I swallow hard, my hands curling into the fabric of my sleeves to stop them from shaking. The effort is useless. My body betrays me—my chest tightens, a dull ache pulsing beneath my ribs, growing sharper with every unsteady breath. My heart flutters, skipping like it’s caught between beats, like it can’t decide whether to keep going or give up entirely.

“I know you’re mad I was engaged to Vincent, and then the wedding--” My voice wavers, my lips pressing together as I force myself to look at him. The room tilts, a wave of dizziness crashing over me, my pulse pounding unevenly against my skull. “Well, funny thing, I?—”

A sharp, humorless laugh bursts from him, cutting me off completely. It startles me.

“That’swhat you think this is about?” His eyes flash darker. “You really think I give a shit about that?”

I stare at him, my breath still coming in shallow gasps.

His hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. “I’m mad becauselook at you,Willow!” His voice cracks, the words raw and ragged. “You look like hell. You look like you’ve been dying right in front of me, and you weren’t even going to tell me. You were just going to let yourself waste away while I stood there, clueless.”

I flinch. A sharp pain lances through my chest. My breath catches. For a terrifying second, the world narrows to nothing but the erratic hammering of my heart, the way it stutters, then slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing uneven. “I don’t care about Vincent, I don’t care about the marriage, I don’t care about any of that bullshit. I care aboutyou.And you’re standing in front of me, looking like you can barely fucking stand, and I—” His voice breaks completely, and he turns away, pressing his hands against the elevator wall like he needs something to brace himself.

Tears burn in my eyes, my throat thick, clogged with everything I don’t know how to say.

He lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “You are the love of my life.” The words come out quiet, but there’s nothing weak about them. “You always have been, always will be. And you’ve been suffering—alone. You were never supposed to do thisalone.”

My hands tremble at my sides, my whole body shaking from more than just exhaustion now.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper.

Cast exhales sharply, his head still bowed, his hands pressed flat against the wall like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.

I take a shaky step forward, my pulse a frantic staccato against my ribs. My fingers hover between us for a moment before I press my palm flat against his chest, right over his heart.

“Cast,” I murmur. I grip my sleeve tighter, my nails digging into the fabric, willing my body to cooperate. Not now. Not in front of him.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react—except for the sharp hitch in his breath.

My other hand reaches for his wrist, wrapping around it weakly, guiding his palm to my own chest, just over my erratic, too-fast heartbeat.

“I’m alive,” I tell him, my voice raw. “Feel it.”

His fingers twitch against my skin, but he doesn’t pull away. He just stands there, jaw tight, eyes closed, breathing uneven.

I press his hand harder against me, desperate for him tobelieve it. “I’m here,” I whisper, voice barely audible. “I know I don’t look like it, I know I’m—I know I’m a mess. But I’m still here.”

---