A Vow Of Hate by Lylah James

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

Julianna

 

I sat on the king-size bed, hands on my lap. The shower turned off and a few minutes later, Killian walked out with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

This was my first time staying at the Spencer Manor. While I thought I would have my own bedroom, like on the island, I had been wrong. Because the butler brought my suitcase to Killian’s room.

I waited for my husband to kick me out, but when he didn’t, it became clear that my suitcase wasn’t brought here by mistake.

Killian’s bedroom was elegant and immaculate. While I was used to something brighter and livelier, his room was all black and grey. Moody. But it suited him well.

The only thing fancy about the room was the crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling and the painting of a black horse running wild and free, attached to the wall over his headboard.

“We’re sharing a room?” I questioned, licking my dry lips.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, without elaborating further on that.

“Why?” My eyes followed him around his room as he stalked into his walk-in closet.

He came back out, wearing grey sweatpants. His chest was bare and his hair was still damp from his shower. “Because it’d be safer if you stay close to me,” Killian finally responded to my question.

He took a seat on the chair, on the opposite end of the room, and he stretched out his legs in front of him. We sat facing each other, the tension in the air thick and palpable.

We still haven’t acknowledged the fact that last night, after our midnight sex, we had somehow fallen asleep tangled together. It was a first and, coincidentally, that was the same night my memories came back to me.

As if it was meant to happen that way. For Killian to be there with me when I woke up from that horrid nightmare – to soothe me.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “The accident… I wasn’t drunk that night. It wasn’t my fault.”

This whole day had been a mess and I never got a chance to think or to acknowledge the emotions I had buried inside me.

The harsh realization was that… for three years, I bore the heavy burden of guilt and allowed it to stain my life because I thought I was the culprit – the one who killed my sister.

“But I was still the reason why we sneaked out that night.” I wiped my tears away. Hot anguish burned through me. “Maybe if… we hadn’t…”

“Come here,” Killian ordered, beckoning for me to come closer.

I went to him and his arm snaked out, grasping my hand in his and tugging me onto his lap. His body was strong and warm. Both dominating and comforting. I burrowed my face into the crook of his shoulders, inhaling his fresh and natural manly scent.

His lips brushed against my temple, so tenderly, it surprised me. “You have to forgive yourself first and that’s when you will find true salvation.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back the tears. “I don’t know how.”

“Guilt is toxic, Julianna,” he said. “As long as you carry that burden, you will continue to relive the past over and over again. You’ll never be able to forgive yourself then. We’re humans and we’re severely flawed. You and Gracelynn innocently sneaked out that night. Like most young adults do. So, forgive yourself because you can’t see the future. You didn’t know this accident would have happened.”

I fell silent, considering his words. Tears flooded down my cheeks and I sniffled, quietly. Killian could probably hear me since I was doing such a bad job at being quiet, but he allowed me to have this moment.

Everything he said made sense, but there was an ache burrowed deep inside my chest. I didn’t know if I’d ever be rid of it. I might forgive myself one day, but I would never be able to forget the look of death on my sister’s bloodied and mangled face.

I had lost three years, tormenting myself. Atoning for a sin that wasn’t mine.

Self-destructing because I thought I deserved it. Because I thought it was all my fault.

But I wasn’t Gracelynn’s killer.

And once that realization dawned to me, it was like a whole burden had been lifted off my chest. My shoulders slumped and I felt… weightless.

Killian and I sat like this for a long time, finding comfort in the silence. And in each other’s arms. I half-expected him to initiate sex, but when he didn’t, I found myself surprisingly relieved. Because I wanted more than just something physical.

Atleast for tonight.

I wanted tenderness and intimacy.

“Do you still hate me?” I whispered, when I started to fall asleep. I blinked hard once then twice, forcing myself to say awake so I could hear his answer.

His fingers stroking down my bare arm paused. “Just like pain is subjective… hate is all grey areas, no black-and-white certainties.” His hand brushed over my breasts, cupping one heavy mound, before pinching my nipple. Hard.

“I hate you but I crave you. I hate you but I need you.” As if to prove his words, he bucked his hips up, his hardness digging into the curve of my ass. “Hate is too simple a word to describe what we have, what I feel for you. It’s not hatred, Princess. It’s so much more. It’s chaos,” he rasped in my ear.

Julianna

One month later

My phone rang, rousing me from my dead sleep. I picked up the call without looking at the screen, already knowing who it was. “Good morning, Mirai. Isn’t it too early?” I greeted her, groggily.

“Too early?” she scoffed. “It’s almost noon, Julianna.”

My eyes snapped open and I sat up on the bed, startled. I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand, gaping. Mirai was right; it was almost noon. How did I sleep through the morning without even rousing once? I didn’t even remember waking up when Killian left the bed.

My husband had a habit of waking up, an hour before the sunrise. His routine was going for a quick run while it was still dark outside and then coming back to his home gym and doing a thirty-minute intensive workout.

Then it was shower and breakfast, before he sat down for work.

While I hadn’t left the Spencer Manor since we got here, Killian found a few ways to entertain me. We had all our meals together and we were very active, when it came to sex. This relationship most definitely didn’t lack physical intimacy.

During the day, I chatted with Mirai over the phone and then I would browse through my kindle, looking for my next read.

Some days, I’d find myself in the kitchen, trying a new recipe. But I didn’t enjoy baking as much as I enjoyed horseback riding.

Spencer Manor was cold and boring. The staff was welcoming and pleasant, but they kept their distance. It was a solid boss and employee relationship, nothing more than that.

I missed the island. Mirai and Emily. Ragna and Cerberus.

But it was safer here, at the Spencer Manor. We were surrounded twenty-four-seven by security and I knew Killian was doing his best to keep me protected. And it was a duty he took very seriously.

Even though he was good at hiding his feelings, always wearing that cold mask – I could tell he was stressed and frustrated.

So far, all of their investigations had led to dead ends. That made the situation even more dangerous, because we were completely blind when it came to whoever was the culprit. We had no idea who was behind the accident and who was still hunting me, three years later.

“Julianna?” Mirai said, her chirpy voice breaking through my thoughts.

“Hmm. Yes, I’m listening.”

“Remember the unopened letters we found? From Elias?” she asked.

Right, those. After putting Arabella’s letters and poems back into her drawers, I decided against opening the letters from Elias. The past should be kept in the past, where it belonged.

I no longer felt the need, the insistent pull toward Arabella’s tragic tale. Maybe it was because I had somehow broken the invisible chains that kept me shackled to the past stories of the castle when I decided to give my own tale another chance.

To re-write my own story, without the tragic ending.

“I left them unopened,” I said to Mirai. For specific reasons that I didn’t have to tell her.

“Yes, about that. Don’t be mad at me,” she started, practically pleading. “I was just so curious and I couldn’t stop myself. So um, I opened those letters and read through them.”

“Oh.” I shook my head, half-smiling. “Why am I not surprised?”

“But Julianna, you have to see this!” Her shrill voice came through the phone and I winced. “All this time, we thought wrong. You have to read through Elias’s letters. It gives you a whole new perspective of things.”

My chest squeezed at the thought of going back down that path. Obsessing over that cursed story, like it was my own. “I don’t think I should.”

“Fine,” she said, quickly relenting. “You don’t have to read through all of them. I’ll send you the only important one. It’s short, but it tells you everything we need to know. The details we were missing in Arabella’s story.”

To appease Mirai and her pure enthusiasm, I agreed. “Send me a photo.”

“Yes!” I imagined her pumping her fists in the air. She really was a ball of innocence and joy. Though her story was also tainted by the cruelty of fate, Mirai didn’t allow it to deter her from finding joy in the little things in life.

Two seconds later, my phone vibrated with a notification. I opened the message and tapped on the photo that Mirai sent me. “Did you get it?” she questioned.

I hummed in response. “Yes, give me a minute to read through it.”

Arabella,

I have thought of how to start this letter more times than I could count. Though every time I begin to write the first sentence, I find myself without words.

I did not know when it started or how it started.

Maybe it was the first time when you openly wept in my arms after the loss of our first child. Or maybe it was the time when we waltzed at Appleton’s Ball and you had worn that emerald dress, matching the color of your eyes. I remembered your shy smile when I had complimented your looks.

And I still do remember the taste of that peach tart on your lips.

I do not know when but somehow, you have started to take over my thoughts.

Your shy smile. Your tender touch. Your soft lips.

I now noticed things I never did before.

The way your fingers glide over the piano with sweet precision.

You prefer peaches over strawberries.

You prefer reading Shakespearean tragedies over watching an opera.

Your favorite color is pastel-blue, specifically.

I notice the way your lips curl with a gentle smile at Charlotte’s laughter. I can see how much you adore my sister’s baby and I can feel how much it pains you.

What I had with Rosa was young love, pretty and immature. Reckless. For the longest time, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. But I had not even scratched the surface of it.

Until my feelings for you matured over the last four years of our marriage. It started slow, burning through me, but I was too foolish to understand it.

Now that I do, I fear it has taken me too long and that I might have lost you forever.

I hope you can forgive me.

I hope you allow me another chance.

Our marriage is more than a ruse, my sweet Arabella.

When I return from this expedition, I vow to woo you the way you deserved to be wooed from the very beginning.

Your husband,

Elias.

My heart stammered in my chest and I reread the letter again, to confirm that what I read was indeed correct.

“Have you read it yet?” Mirai asked.

“Yes.” How cruel could fate be?

The only thing Arabella ever wanted was to have her husband’s love and adoration. She craved Elias’s undivided attention. She waited for four very long years, while her husband loved another.

“His letters didn’t reach her on time,” Mirai whispered, sounding quite heartbroken. “While Elias was cutting his trip short to surprise his wife, Arabella died thinking she was unloved.”

Arabella persevered through her marriage and when it was finally time to reap the sweet fruits of her patience, fate decided to play a twisted joke on her. How unfair that her story was written with such cruelty and tragedy.

“Elias died two months after Arabella, right?” I asked Mirai for confirmation.

“Yes. The rumors were that he died of heartbreak when he found out that his ex-lover had married another man.”

“The rumors were not true,” I muttered.

“No. There are more letters written by Elias after the passing of Arabella, detailing his distress and heartache over his wife’s death,” Mirai said, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s true he died of heartbreak. But not because of his ex-lover. He mourned Arabella’s death and the pain was too much for him to bear. He died of heartbreak…”

“For Arabella,” I finished.

“A lost love story, based on misunderstandings and too much wasted time,” Mirai sighed.

Arabella’s life was a tragic tale and I was almost convinced that the castle was truly cursed. There were no happy endings for any of the four couples who lived there.

I wanted my own love story to be different, cursed castle or not.

Killian and I were not going to be a tragedy.

After all the pain and sorrow – despair and heartache – we deserved our own happy ending.

My love story might not have been a perfect fairy tale.

It was messy and ugly, stained by guilt and tarnished with grief. Killian and I were a tale of flawed love.