27. Willow
27
WILLOW
Damien brings out the worst in me. His presence ignites a raw, and uncontrollable weakness.
Vincent stumbles, blood dripping from his nose, and fury burns through me. I grab his face, not out of concern, but to keep everything from unraveling.
"You alright?" My voice is sharper than I intended.
Vincent winces, grinning through gritted teeth. "What do you think?" He glares towards a pacing Damien. "What the hell’s his problem?"
I exhale hard, pulling away. "He thinks he owns me," I spit, the words cutting deep. "Like whatever we had gives him some fucking claim?—"
Vincent’s brows shoot up. "Wait—he thinks you belong to him?"
I hesitate, everything crashing down—Damien’s punch, Vincent’s arrogance, my mother’s abandonment.
“Fuck him," I mutter, hands trembling. "He thinks he can just ruin everything because he feels like it.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpens. "He has no right. But neither do you. You’re engaged to me, Willow. You made that choice."
The words land like a slap. My breath catches.
"Do you really want to do this right now?" I hiss, stepping back.
Vincent’s voice is cold. "Maybe I do."
My anger boils over. "Then let me be clear—I’m not yours. I am not anyone’s, I belong to me."
Silence. Vincent wipes his nose, his eyes filled with determination. "Not true, Princess, you know where you belong and who to."
“She belongs only to you now?” Damien’s voice cuts in, eyes wild.
“Yup.”
Damien points at Vincent, anger pulsating as he speaks. "You’re lucky I didn’t do worse to him." He looks right past Vincent to me. "But if you’re playing games, we’re done. Understand?"
I meet his gaze, my voice shaking. "Done with what, Damien? You think I’m playing games?"
His jaw clenches, rage simmering. "Yeah. I think you’re fucking playing games with all of us."
The words shatter something inside me. Tears spill, unbidden. And I can’t stop them.
He stands there, seething, his jaw clenched tight as he glares at me like he's seeing right through me. “And you didn’t believe me, Willow?” His voice is venomous, a growl that feels like it’s meant to tear me apart. “Tell me for one second you believed I didn’t want you. Tell me you believed Cast didn’t want you.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in my throat. Did I believe it? Did I really think they didn’t care? The truth is, I knew . I knew they wanted me. They made it so fucking obvious, even in the moments they tried to push me away, to force me to believe I wasn’t worth the trouble.
I knew they loved me, even though I couldn’t let myself believe it.
I had spent so long convincing myself that I didn’t deserve love—that no one could possibly love someone like me, someone who had been abandoned, broken, and left to fend for herself. I convinced myself that it was better to push them away, to run before they could hurt me.
But now, standing here, the truth crashes in on me, raw and unrelenting.
“Damien—” I whimper, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming. The air around us thickens, charged with a vulnerability I’ve never seen from him. His hand reaches for my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek to wipe away the tears that have fallen freely.
“Tell me you didn’t know that we loved you, and I will forgive you, Willow.” His voice cracks, so soft and heartbreaking that it breaks me all over again.
I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but I feel like I’m drowning in everything—his words, the guilt, the ache in my chest. I want to say something, anything, but the truth is that I did know. I knew from the start.
I knew Cast wanted me in his own way, with his quiet intensity, his gaze always lingering a little too long. And Damien... Damien wanted me with all the fire and rawness that burned inside him, a fire that both terrified and fascinated me. I knew they loved me, but I couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t strong enough to believe it, to trust it, to trust them.
I take a shaky breath, my heart racing. “I knew,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I knew... but I couldn’t let myself believe it.”
I didn’t mean to hurt you, I want to say, but the words stick in my throat, trapped by all the unspoken things I’ve buried for so long. My eyes drop to his shirt, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of everything—the love, the hurt, the regret—feels too much. I can’t look at him. Not yet.
Damien pulls me in close, his hands strong but gentle as they grip my waist. I feel his breath against my ear, warm and heavy, and for a second, I think maybe he’s going to say something comforting. Maybe he’ll tell me everything’s going to be okay.
But when he speaks, his words shatter me in ways I didn’t expect.
“We’re done,” he whispers, his voice low, clipped, and filled with finality.
Every muscle in my body locking up. My heart skips a beat, and the world around me seems to come to a grinding halt. The words hit me harder than I could have ever imagined, like a punch to the gut.
“W-What?” I gasp, pulling back just enough to look at him, my breath catching in my throat.
Damien’s jaw is set, his face composed, but there’s a storm brewing in his eyes, an intense, boiling rage that’s fighting with the hurt he’s trying to hide. “I can’t do this, Willow,” he says, his voice trembling with restraint. “You heard me. I am done. We are done.”