Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

Ispent the morning of my engagement party working on a wedding dress that wasn’t mine. I put together a Pinterest mood board for inspiration and started on some sketches, ignoring the way my hand trembled around the pencil.

Drawing was the best therapy to get rid of any residing anger, and I held a lot of it lately. At my fiancé, my grandma, my mother, my fucking ex.

You’re a slut. Who gets engaged a week after breaking up with their boyfriend?

It’s because he’s rich, isn’t it? Nothing gets a girl spreading her legs faster than a rich dick.

I could pay you if it would convince you to suck my cock.

The second I got my phone out, cocooned by my comforters yesterday, Harry beat me to it with an onslaught of angry texts that had my blood boiling. By the way he was acting, you’d think I was the one that dumped him and not the other way around.

The joke was on Saint though. I preferred the cold last night and early this morning because I was ready to burst. It was as if I was on a submarine trying to climb out of a trench by being agreeable and passive, but it was only sinking me down deeper, crushing me with its immense pressure.

I wasn’t going to let assholes with egos bigger than their dicks ruin my life. Making a sacrifice for my family didn’t mean I needed to lay down my soul for everyone to walk over.

So after I was done with work, I got in the shower, shaved, scrubbed, moisturized, and made sure I spent enough time in there, so the hot water supply ran out. Saint was going to need a cold shower after tonight, anyway.

“My God,” Mrs. Adkins breathed as we both looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror by the closet. “You look absolutely stunning, Ms. Fleur.”

I smiled at her compliment, a boost of confidence making me sit up straighter. In all honesty, it was the dress I had on that was absolutely amazing. The A-line number had a plunging neckline that made my boobs stand out, a cinched waist, and a flaring skirt featuring individually stitched on feathers. Actual flecks of gold sewed into the fabric, glimmered as they caught the artificial lighting of the room.

“It’s a vintage Fleur dress,” I said. I couldn’t stop petting the cloth that tightened around my waist and skimmed perfectly over my hips. “My mom wore it to her own engagement party.”

“The dress is pretty, but on you, it looks sensational.” The middle-aged woman laid it on thick. “Gold is your color. It complements your skin tone well. You look like a Greek goddess with your black curls,” she said as she gathered my hair, throwing them over my shoulder, so my back was exposed.

Warmth dug its way into my heart as I released a breathless laugh. I did look good. After all, I had a shit ton of make-up on, perfectly highlighted cheekbones, and a sharply contoured nose. It was hard to go wrong with this much reinforcement.

I could see her vision… behind a thick cloud of smoke, but still, I could, and I wouldn’t beat myself up over it today. My body wasn’t perfect, my chest not as full as I would’ve liked it to be, my hips too round, my belly not flat enough, but I didn’t let myself linger on my flaws. Not tonight.

Instead, I focused on the things I did like for once.

My skin glowed with a healthy flush, my eyes looked huge, bracketed by heavy lashes and smokey eyeliner, and my lips were plush, painted a light baby pink. Also, the six-inch heels I had on made me feel powerful.

Not quite an Aphrodite, but I’d take Hera.

Her husband was far from monogamous too, so we had a lot more in common than just looks.

I had to suck in my stomach a little as Mrs. Adkins tried to zip me up, but she stopped halfway when a cool voice sounded from the closet’s entrance, making my exposed skin prickle.

“I got it from here, Emily.” Saint swaggered into the room, his eyes rapt on me. “You can leave.”

I clutched the low front of my dress, catching where his gaze had dipped in the mirror and tried not to blush at the way Mrs. Adkins left with a pep in her step, thinking this was a case of a taken broom.

“Did no one teach you to knock before entering a room?” I questioned, raising a brow at the designer-clad devil. “I could’ve been naked.”

It was unfair how well he filled out his navy suit. It should be illegal for football players to even wear suits and for husbands to be more attractive than their wives, but oh-fucking-well, here we were.

He didn’t bother answering immediately, slipping closer until his pine-needle scent tickled my nose. His fingers found the zipper, and my spine straightened at the skin-to-skin contact.

Light amusement danced on his face at my fidgety nature, and he shook his blond head. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Of course.

“Fucking Zeus,” I mumbled under my breath, and his brows knotted in confusion.

“What?”

“I… it’s an expression Greek people use. They usually replace God with Zeus. My mom does it, and it’s something my sister and I picked up on as well,” I rushed to explain.

If my extremely religious orthodox giagia was hearing the bullshit I was spewing, she’d smack me over the head, but I’d literally die of mortification if Saint knew I referred to him as Zeus. Even if it was for all the wrong reasons, I knew the cocky bastard would find the positive in it.

“I’ve been to Greece multiple times. I’ve never heard anyone say that.” He shook his head, fingers still fumbling with the zipper.

“Are you zipping or unzipping the freaking dress?” I changed the subject before I made a fool out of myself—any more than I already had—almost breaking my back when his pinky caressed my spine.

His answering laugh was a touch amused and a ton mocking as he finished fastening the dress. A whoosh of air escaped my mouth as the confining fabric forced my insides to relocate in order not to burst at the seams. My mom was a lot slimmer at my age, and we didn’t have time to tailor the dress to fit me.

I bit my lip when the mirror started resembling the enemy again, filling my head with dark thoughts and shuddered when Saint’s hands molded around my waist. He stood tall behind me, like a dark looming figure as we looked at each other’s reflections.

Future husband and wife.

We were like yin and yang—polar opposite appearances, a virgin and a manwhore, a confident man, and a woman that could use some of the poise that dripped with his every movement. Perhaps the single thing that tied us together was our similar upbringing.

“What’s eating away at you, Ariadne?” he asked in a rare moment of ceasefire.

Everything. I wanted to reply.

I fear that I’m making the worst mistake of my life. That you’re going to ruin me from the inside out before our first year together is even up. That I’m attracted to you, even though I shouldn’t be, because you’d never want anyone like me.

I had so much to say, but I felt muzzled. The merger was already signed, my fate already sealed by my own doing. I couldn’t complain now, not when I had everything to lose.

One more tricky clause Noah Astor insisted on having in the contract?

If either one of us requested a divorce before our five years were up, we would not only be opting out of the marriage but also the company. And I knew Saint wouldn’t miss an opportunity to get rid of me, so I shut my mouth, slipping away from his drugging hold.

This was a game of survival I intended to win at any cost. For my family.

“I didn’t give you my engagement present,” I exclaimed, and he arched his brows, placing his hands in his pockets.

“I think you’re confused. It’s other people that are supposed to be giving us presents.”

I shrugged, reaching for the black-tie box on the wooden closet shelf next to me, and extended it to him. Curiosity sparked in the upturned tilt of his lips, and I realized even Saint got excited for gifts when he grabbed it from me.

“Since I have your family’s ring,” I ran my thumb over the ruby stone subconsciously. “I wanted you to have something of mine tonight. I sewed you this black and gold tie, so we can match.”

I played with my skirts as he opened the box, taking a peek at the tie. The contrast between the colors made for quite a statement piece, as the bold gold flowers sat on a black subtly striped background.

Saint ran one long finger down the middle before pulling it out and curving an inquisitive brow. “You made this?”

I nodded, and my stomach clenched when he smiled, his dimples coming out. A rush of boldness worked its way through my body, and maybe it was because Mrs. Adkins had compared me to a Greek goddess, but I wanted to touch him, and I didn’t hold back.

Running my hands up his chest, a delicious ache spread inside my womb when Saint’s breath quickened, and pupils dilated, tracing my movements. Taking the tie from his hands, I worked it around his neck, forcing him to look up as I tightened it… maybe a smidge too much when his hands dropped on my waist again, until our bodies were flush, the tie caught between our torsos.

“I can’t have my fiancé looking basic.”

Saint pierced me with a satirical look, and I worried if he could feel my heart almost beating out of my chest. Sugar, spice, and all things wicked, his scent was intoxicating, and I wanted to taste the mint in his mouth when his teeth came out like a predator.

“Let’s go then, Ms. Fleur. We have crowds to woo.”

* * *

Saint

“What is your fiancé wearing?” Mom magically appeared by my side at the edge of the dance floor, a blue silk number dripping over her body and clashing with her fair hair.

A rancid cloud of perfume hung heavy in the air, Mugler, Dior, Falco, and a bunch of other high-end brands tickled my nose. I’d sneezed about five times since we got to the glitzy hotel we'd booked the reception at, and was developing a mean headache.

The latter wasn’t only due to the mixed aromas.

I didn’t do people, least of all the people that were in attendance today.

All the blue bloods of Astropolis were invited, and their veneered teeth shone as they cross-examined rumors the entire night. Weddings and funerals were the place to spill the tea in our society. Everyone showed up because the gossip would be too hot to miss, not because they gave a shit.

I glanced at Ariadne, dancing with her friends under the sparkling chandeliers in the middle of the marble, checkered floor. They were a breath of fresh air amidst the stiff Barbies surrounding them, possessing more rhythm in their pinkies than everyone else here did in their entire body.

I couldn’t stop looking, even though I really should. No one could. She had about a dozen gazes fixed on her, from lusty men to envious women. It was that dress that made her look as if she’d descended from the heavens, the finest damned jewel in the room.

I snatched a champagne glass from a passing waiter to cool off before replying. “Clothes.”

Unfortunately.

Celia Astor gave me a blank stare, raising her manicured hand so she could steal my alcohol away. I heaved a heavy sigh, knowing there was nothing I could do. I was on probation whenever she was around. I had a murky past with my amber-colored bottles at home, and mom freaked out whenever I drank in her presence.

“Cut the sarcasm, Saint. Her boobs are almost popping out. Aren’t you embarrassed that she went out like that? At your engagement party, no less?”

My eyes flew to Aria again, but nope her boobs were still very much tucked in.

Unfortunately times two.

You could still tell they were there, perky and perfect like two pears waiting for a bite. I bit my lip instinctively, imagining it was something plumper.

Fuck, I was suffering from a case of blue balls. It’d been more than a month since I last had sex, seeing as problems sprouted like mushrooms wherever I went, and I was feeling the drawbacks like a recovering addict.

A recovering sex addict. It was ironic since my need for it had severely diminished the past few years, but Miss Ariadne showed up, and I was gearing up and ready to go.

Jesus, I understood why women often said we men were predictable. Give us a girl in a skimpy dress, her makeup pretty, but natural, skin soft like butter and bouncy curves, and our entire assessment shifted in seconds.

Shaking my head, I flushed the thoughts from my brain. The last thing I needed was to get hard in front of my mother. “What do you want me to do? Police what she wears? I have no problem with what she has on, this is her day, and she looks the part.”

Her mouth dropped open to fight my statement because a world where mothers didn’t fight their kids even when they were thirty was impossible, but she was interrupted before she could.

Lydia Fleur, Ari’s mom, popped up on my other side, smiling warmly at me as she caressed the length of her red gown. “She does, doesn’t she? My Ariadne has great taste.”

My head started pounding harder when I recognized the incoming battle of the exes that was about to commence.

Holding back a groan, I smiled back at my mother-in-law, who Ariadne had an uncanny resemblance to, and brought her hand to my lips for a kiss. Even though I was picturing railing her daughter four ways into heaven since I saw her in the closet, my manners were still stellar.

“Mrs. Fleur.”

“Saint, darling.” Lydia’s smile was calculating as she acknowledged and bypassed me just as quickly, latching on to my mother, and layering her words with an extra touch of frost. “Celia.”

“Lydia.” Mom replicated her tone next to me, shuffling closer.

“You had something to say about my daughter’s dress?” Ana continued when I dropped her hand, her features frozen.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, I was in the middle of two scorned women, and I couldn’t even get some alcohol to chase down their bitterness for one another.

“I just don’t think recycling material is classy. Wasn’t that the dress you wore in your own engagement?” The crease between my mother’s blonde brows got deeper when she looked at Ariadne again.

“You mean the one where my fiancé actually showed up?” Lydia chirped, and even I could feel the burn.

Sighing, I scrubbed a palm down my scruff when my mom gasped. Not only had they both been with the same guy, but Ari’s dad also abandoned my mom cold turkey on their engagement day.

There was nothing incestuous about it, but it still grossed me out.

“He already got you pregnant out of wedlock. I’m guessing abandoning you too would’ve damaged his reputation beyond repair,” Mom seethed, giving as good as she got.

I noticed a few women had stopped dancing and started staring, waiting for the impending showdown. Taking a step forward, I inserted myself between them before this escalated to scratching or hair-pulling.

“Ladies—” I intervened but was cut off by the subject of their decades-old beef.

“What’s going on here?” Darian Fleur swaggered in, looking at his wife for clarification.

Lydia glued herself to her husband and answered at her leisure, waiting to see if my mom would say anything. “Celia doesn’t like Ariadne’s dress,” she eventually snitched.

Darian’s eyes widened in surprise, oblivious as a mule. “What? Why? It’s a vintage Fleur, there have been thousands of articles written about it.”

“Well, it’s a bit tacky. I see Celia’s point.” My dad popped up behind me too. Not one to miss out on all the action, and I was closed in from all directions.

“Did you just…” Lydia gasped in outrage, looking at all of us. “Did he just call my daughter tacky?”

“I said the dress was tacky. In my opinion, the gown Celia and I sent over for her to wear was more appropriate for a setting like this.” Dad kept it going, enjoying the thunderous atmosphere.

It was game time whenever Darian and he took opposite sides in a fight.

“Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself,” I suggested, my mouth set in a cruel sneer. “Insulting the host is not going to do you any honors unless you’d like to find yourself kicked out.”

His neck flushed as I berated him in front of Ari’s family. Mom had said some petty shit too, but at least her words came from a place of hurt (and fuck, okay, maybe I had a bit of a soft spot for the person that carried me for nine months), Noah Astor just loved to see the world burn.

Lydia Fleur gave an uppity huff behind me, and Mom had betrayal painted on her face, wondering why I didn’t join them in bashing my fiancé. I didn’t have a particular attachment to Spitfire, but bashing my future wife wasn’t my idea of a good time, no matter how unwanted she was.

“Now, I trust you’ll be able not to kill each other if I leave you alone for two seconds.” I swung my head sharply on either side, satisfied once I received nods from both of them.

Leaving the Brady bunch behind, I made my way past the dancing bodies in the ballroom, treating everyone that tried to talk to me like air. Ari’s hips had stopped swinging hypnotically when a slow pop song burst through the speakers and everyone paired up.

She rubbed her arm, unbeknown that a guy was approaching from the left, but he made a U-turn when he found me glaring at him, ready to break his limbs if he touched her. It was fascinating how she could pull such possessiveness from me.

I’d never been in a serious relationship. I’d fucked around plenty, had some steady partners, but we were never exclusive. If they could blow my world out in under five minutes, they stuck around. That was my rule of thumb. Since it hadn't happened in a while, there had been no one.

Maybe it was the fact that she was going to be my wife in a month’s time that had animosity crawling through me. Ariadne was forced on me, but I didn’t refuse. A sense of responsibility hummed under my skin, some primal male fondness that craved to own and protect.

“Spitfire.” I caught her arm when she tried to slip away, turning her around, her dark tresses settling in unruly waves around her. “Care to give me this dance?”

Her eyes narrowed in question. “You want to dance? I assumed standing rigid like a marble statue the whole night was more up your speed.”

“You inspired me,” I drawled, pulling her close.

Aria went stiff as a board in my arms, suspicions swimming behind her browns as if I’d dip her and drop her on the floor. I hedged on, ignoring her distrust, and placed her arms around my shoulders, raising her slightly off the ground so she could reach up.

Her minty breath hitched, blowing a surprised puff over my neck when our bodies went flush. I could feel the heat of her exposed valley through the crisp linen of my shirt, and the break-off of her raised peaks crested against my pecs.

“Is this really necessary?” she hissed, tightening her hold on me so she wouldn’t fall flat on her ass. “People are watching.”

“Let them.” I clamped my hands over her hips, reveling in the sweet curves I found there, and ducked my head to whisper over her lips. “Half of the married couples in here wouldn’t touch each other with a ten-foot pole. You have wives that have most probably slept with more pool boys than you can count, and men blowing through prostitutes left and right. A show is all they want, lust after something they can’t have.”

Ari’s lashes fluttered over her pretty eyes. I didn’t know what it was, but the lid I was keeping over my attraction for her was cracking open the more we were in proximity. I couldn’t stop thinking about licking that pink lipstick right off, discovering if it tasted as it looked. Like strawberry cream, waiting to be lapped up.

“We don’t have it either. I don’t know if you realize, but what you just described is about to be our future.” She kept her voice low as we spun about the rest of the dancing bodies. “A slightly altered version, of course. I wouldn’t sleep with any pool boys, and I’d don’t think you need to pay for sex.”

No, I didn’t. Sometimes it sickened me how readily available it was.

“I might not have a ten-foot pole, but I think my eight-inch one would suffice, and I guess touching you with it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

To fuck with her, my hips dove ever so slightly forward as I dipped her out. Aria trembled, catapulting forward sooner than the beat required, and stared at me with her jaw almost hitting the floor.

“What are you saying?”

“That I don’t find you repulsive. Take the compliment, Spitfire.”

“Well I’m honored to be part of that ninety-nine, point nine percent of the female population in Astropolis that you find attractive, Saint,” she said, sickeningly sweet, a faux smile pasted on her face as she waited to gouge my reaction.

“You're welcome,” I mocked.

She held her head high as I moved us around, our bodies closer than socially acceptable. We’d garnered a ton of attention, everybody waiting for a sliver of affection between us.

Ariadne’s breaths came out in short pants once I spun her out, the air around her filling with golden halos, and slammed her back into me, my hands cupping her face.

The ember between us grew more vicious.

“We’re going to make quite a few headlines tomorrow,” she whispered, but stayed put, letting me lead.

“Kiss me then.” Her eyes flared up at my words, and I didn’t know where the fuck I’d pulled them from. “Give them something to talk about, because if we don’t they still will, for all the wrong reasons.”

“Like what?”

Proximity drew sweat from her palms. She clutched my dress shirt tight, creasing it in her little fists, one side of her wanting to throw me off, the other begging to delve into the wild.

“Like we’re a weird fucking couple that didn’t exchange a single touch on their own engagement party. You flinch every time I get close to you, Spitfire. The world is watching, not only our family and friends. Everything you do and say is going to be picked apart for bored housewives to spread rumors about.”

Her chest caved with the realization that her life wasn’t hers anymore. That was what marrying everyone’s favorite headline got you. Scrutiny by the buckets. The Fleur’s were better at shielding their kids, so I was sure this seemed alien to Ariadne. Having to measure every word before it left your mouth, think about every movement and gesture was no easy feat to get used to.

“So we have to kiss to prove that we’re in love?” She spat the last word out as if it was blasphemous. There was a deer caught in headlights look in her eyes, that sprouted a burst of laughter from me and a scowl from her.

“Could you relax? It’s just a kiss, you’re acting like I’m gonna eat you out on the table for all the guests to see.”

Her teeth pierced her lower lip. “Stop being so crass—”

My hand traveled to her hair, and I gripped it near the base of her head. Instead of going through multiple rounds of insults, I tilted her head up and slammed my lips onto hers, shutting her up with my so crass mouth.

Ariadne froze in my arms, and our bodies suspended for a few moments as we got a feel of each other. Ample softness beaconed my teeth to sink in her lower lip, and when her breath met mine it charged the air with electricity I could taste. Cinnamon and oranges bloomed on my tongue when she let me blow past her defenses and into the crevice of her mouth.

My ears rang, a vicious symphony that distorted all the noise around me until all I could hear was her. I wanted to make it good for her, so good she felt guilty at night when she imagined my face between her legs as she masturbated to the thought of what she craved. The hot-blooded male in me had a silent but palpable competition with her boyfriend, and took pride in knowing Larry didn’t make her as flustered as I did.

Ariadne’s tongue tangled with mine, giving back tenfold once she was out of her stupor. Her body trembled as she held on to me, her fingers tangling on the nape of my neck, causing our teeth to clash as our mouths battled each other.

I felt her fight spreading from my head to the tips of my toes, paying special attention in between my legs. Heat filled my dick, and I pressed her belly to the swell on my trousers, my other hand shackling her tulle-covered hip.

“Saint,” I ate up her gasp with another thrust of my tongue, exploring the stormy sea that was Ariadne Fleur.

A spitfire with hackles of steel.

No match for the fire that built in my gut though. A slow aching burn ravaged through tissue and bone as I kissed her like I was starved, not giving a shit that everyone had their eyes glued on us like a bunch of shameless perverts.

My fake fiancé was a closet freak. Despite her resistance at first, her body trembled with adrenaline as she palmed my jaw in her shaking hands. There was no way Spitfire had a ton of experience. She kissed like a schoolgirl after her first date, sloppy and just filthy enough to make removing my mouth from hers a struggle.

I dragged the kiss out, lessening the intensity, and when I was finally sated, I pecked the corner of her damp mouth before pulling away. Her eyes were slammed shut as I allowed for some distance, but I still reveled in her flush and the rawness of her lips. They were bright red, and I was wearing her lipstick on my mouth like a goddamn fool that needed to get his priorities straight.

“Spitfire, are you okay?” I asked when she still hadn’t opened her eyes.

The song changed to a fast-paced beat again, but we stood unmoving, catching our breaths. Her lashes split after she released a loud sigh, rewarding me with a molten brown color of her irises.

“Perfect.” She nodded, running her gaze down my face as she stripped my hands from her body. I let go, reluctantly. “I’m… I’m going to go sit down for a while. I’m a bit tired from all the dancing.”

I nodded, needing my space to memorize the sentence look, but don’t touch. We went in opposite directions, and I downed two champagne glasses, now that I was free of supervision. On my third, I took a peek at where she was sitting, her eyes glued to her phone, and I knew immediately who she was texting.

She was biting her lip, shielding her screen so her nosey cousin wouldn’t see, and acid burned down my throat. If there was something that turned me off more in this world was desperate girls, chasing after dangerous dicks for a thrill.