Page 53 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

We walk in silence, the soft click of our shoes against marble the only sound. When we round the corner to my office, something feels off. The door is slightly ajar. My office is never left open.

I extend an arm, stopping Damien. "Wait."

His posture shifts instantly, body rigid. My hand moves to my gun, slipping it from its holster.

I push the door open slowly, gun raised.

Valentina sits in my chair, her white dress and hands covered in blood. It’s splattered across her face, matted in her hair. Her eyes are vacant.

“Jesus Christ,” Damien breathes.

I holster my weapon and cross the room. “Val? Look at me. Are you hurt?”

Her gaze slowly shifts to my face, confusion and fear swimming in her eyes.

"I can't..." she whispers. "I can't remember."

I kneel in front of her, taking her ice-cold hands in mine. “Can’t remember what? Whose blood is this?”

A tear carves a path through the crimson streaks on her cheek.

“Mom’s,” she whispers. “I think it’s my mom’s.”

My stomach drops.

Damien is already texting, mobilizing our people to Elena’s last known location.

“We’re going to figure this out,” I promise. But I’ve seen blackouts before. Whatever her brain is protecting her from should never be uncovered.

I turn to my brother. “Get Dr. Reeves here. Lock down the estate.”

Damien nods grimly. “So we’re going to help the girl that tried to kill Willow.”

“She’s my sister. We have to help her.”

Damien’s jaw tightens. “I cannot trust anyone, can I? First Vincent and now you’re asking me to help your fucking sister.”

“I’m not asking. I am telling you to go help my sister.” I narrow my eyes. “You know you can trust me. You know you can trust Vincent—to a point. You know we would lay down our lives for each other. But none of that matters if you are in love with Willow Carter. I would shoot you dead for her, hermano. I would kill myself for her. If it meant her happiness, I would shatter the world into a million pieces.”

Damien doesn’t answer.

I turn back to Valentina. She is staring at her bloodied hands as if they belong to someone else.

“I can feel her,” she whispers. “I can feel Mom in my head, screaming. But I can’t remember why.”

I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. “We’re going to find out.”

“Damien, take her to the safe house.”

She hesitates but lets him guide her away.

I pull out my phone when I hear footsteps approaching. My hand moves instinctively to my gun.

Vincent appears in the doorway. His suit is wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes. But there’s no blood on him. No signs of a struggle.

Our eyes meet. Silence stretches between us.

"I need to talk to you," Vincent says. "And I need to know you won’t try to kill me."

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