Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy
Ariadne
The world threw up all over my marquise cut ruby engagement ring in zero point five seconds after Saint and I went public with our decision. I was flooded with calls from every single living relative and friend, and I bet even the dead ones were rolling in their graves.
Irena wouldn’t speak to me for a week because I hadn’t told her anything about it. The longest she'd ever held a grudge, and she still wasn't completely over it. I didn't blame her, but I didn’t trust myself not to break down and spill the truth if she’d cornered me.
My confidence and rationality were mere caricatures of what they used to be. Fear conquered my ink-black sky, and with nowhere to flee, I kept to myself, drowning in doubts. Irena was my bouncing board, my sister and best friend, and I didn’t want to ruin her naive view of our family. Mom also begged me not to tell her anything, and I agreed as long as Irena got to choose her own future.
Grandma was, of course, floating on cloud nine. Right along with my mother, that was finally getting her blood back, living vicariously through me. And Dad almost burst a vein when I told them, looking at me like I'd grown a second head that took over the decision-making.
Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to explain my "relationship" with Saintto the rest of the family, seeing as we knew each other for years beforehand. We played our hand with the whole rekindling of our friendship story when we stumbled across each other at a bar and eventually fell in love, iterating the same thing over and over again whenever someone asked.
Our front was fragile though, not many bought it.
Unplanned pregnancy was the resounding winner of explaining our rash decision, and I was sure Irena thought I’d cheated on Harry. In six month’s time, my cousins, news outlets, and eighty percent of my comment section under my posts expected to see me with a swollen belly.
I shivered at the mere thought of babies. They were cute, don't get me wrong, but having one at my age? Hell fucking no. My giagia would have to live sordidly disappointed for a while longer. Or maybe forever.
My marriage was a sham, and my fiancé didn’t give a shit about how I got off as long as it didn’t have anything to do with him. I never thought I’d see the day where a guy didn’t expect sex from me when I was pressured about it for most of my adult life.
As if my sick mind needed any more ammunition to think there was something wrong with me. My constant need for validation was my biggest flaw, but I was working on it. So, who cared if Saint avoided me like the plague, threw the engagement ring at me as if I was diseased, and didn’t help me with moving whatsoever?
His loss, not mine.
I took my sweet time transferring my belongings to his hulking mansion, soaking in the last few moments I’d have with my beautifully decorated two-bedroom apartment.
Saint’s house stood on a ten-acre lot, surrounded by wrought iron fences with spiky ends that made you think twice about trespassing and ivy crawling between the long black stakes, providing the privacy that the main building lacked. Windows and exposed structural elements like metal plates and turnbuckles linking huge wooden beams added to the unique architecture of the home. Still, it blended in well with the landscape of the North Ridge neighborhood, mostly filled with the homes of local politicians, celebrities, and athletes.
Rolling my last suitcase behind me, I tried not to linger on the fact that the asshole wasn’t even here to welcome me and joined the pudgy, gray-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Adkins, at the entrance below the sky bridge. It connected the main house to another section of the home he’d instructed his staff to show me to. In essence, we had whole separate wings. So the only way I’d ever catch a peek of him inside of the house would be if I developed a finely honed X-ray vision.
“Miss Fleur, how are you this evening?” She greeted me while the engine of my Prius cooled in front of the garage.
“A little bit tired, but this is the last of my luggage finally.” I motioned to the bag, and she was already on her way, tugging it away from me. My arms and legs felt like jelly after hauling bags around for the whole day, so I didn’t protest.
“You go ahead to the kitchen and have some lemon soup while it’s still hot. There’s some banana bread in the oven too. I’ll take care of sorting your clothes and run you a bath,” she instructed as we both stepped inside the wide staircase.
Thank God for miracles like her. My mom didn’t like having help around the house. She was old-fashioned in that sense, so we were taught to do everything ourselves, but after driving around all day, I was grateful for the helping hand.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Adkins. You really didn’t have to do anything,” I expressed my gratitude, once we reached the threshold.
It was split in three different directions. The left side leading to the kitchen, judging by the sweet aroma that made my stomach grumble, the right to the living room, and behind us, there was the suspended pathway that led to my wing. Warm lights decorated each edge of the aisle, spilling outside of the double-pane glass walls.
“You don’t have to thank me, Ms. Fleur. I’m just doing my job. After all, Mr. Astor instructed the staff to accommodate you as best as we can.”
“He did?” I smoothed the hem of my knitted dress, glancing at my feet.
“Yes!”
Of course, he did, assigning his responsibilities to other people like a proper brat. A six-foot-five inch, two hundred and ten-pound brat that was used to getting his way. I wouldn’t make it easy for him, wouldn’t let him know how much his aloofness bothered me. If Saint Astor didn’t care to climb my walls, I wasn’t tearing them down so he could stroll inside.
“Now, go.” Mrs. Adkins pushed my aching body towards the kitchen. “Your plate is on the table.”
With one last smile, I took to the adjoining hall, my ears buzzing with the aftermath of a busy day. I could probably fill up my daily quota of steps by going from my room to the kitchen in this monstrosity of a house, but for all of its impracticality, it was gorgeous.
A secluded haven tucked in the outskirts of the suburbs, with pine trees and rolling mist as a backdrop, massive stone gas fireplaces, and windows in every corner bringing in tons of natural light that showered the industrial-inspired interior with warmth.
When I imagined Saint’s place, I always envisioned something cold and impersonal to match his personality, but I was pleasantly surprised. I liked small places. They made me feel safe, and while the house was big, the wooden beams on the ceiling gave it a homey feel.
“So, you’re really in love with this girl? You haven’t talked about her once, not one time, and all of a sudden, you expect me to be fine with the fact that you’re getting married in two months?” an unimpressed voice spoke from the kitchen as I neared the threshold.
I caught two built shadows lining the walnut flooring, and one was pacing back and forth. I didn’t recognize who it was, so I stopped, palming the wall as I leaned forward.
“You don’t have to be fine with it. You’re not the one marrying her.” Saint’s familiar dry tone made a comeback as he finished his sentence off with a loud yawn.
It was well after twelve a.m., I didn’t know what they were doing still up. They certainly weren’t waiting for me since they were talking about me.
“Stop being a cunt, you know what I mean. When did you two meet? How long have you been together?”
I couldn’t count on both hands how many times we were asked that question the past week, and because I was tired of being discussed behind my back, I made my presence known, tackling the cliche inquiry as I stepped into the room.
“We met at Carrousel du Louvre in Paris, during a Céline show. I was twelve, Saint was twenty-one and too busy chasing after every model in a skirt, so it’s safe to say it wasn’t love at first sight. That would be very illegal.” I scrunched my nose, and both men in the room snapped to attention.
They were separated by the granite kitchen aisle, Saint with his back to me sat on a metal stool, and the other guy had stopped pacing, his eyes, blue with specs of that signature Astor gold, honed in on me. He looked exactly like a young version of Saint, save for the tattoos peeking beneath his loose, black button-up. I couldn’t see them in full, but I caught lines of intricate illustrations curving over his wrists.
“Also, very disgusting,” he said huskily, his rasp sending shivers of unease down my spine.
I felt outnumbered as I stood in a room with the Astor brothers. They had definitely made a name for themselves in Astropolis. The manwhore and the delinquent. The latter being Killian, seeing as he had the innate talent of getting into fights every other day while we attended high school.
Fine company I was keeping these days.
Threads of panic resurfaced in my brain, a constant companion of mine, causing my stomach to knot painfully whenever the topic of my future breached the conversation. I wasn’t a person that lived in the moment, I was a planner. I had goals, dreams, visions. And none of them included getting married to a guy nine years my senior.
“Ariadne,” Killian caved first with a greeting.
“Killian.” I smiled tightly as I walked over to Saint, who stiffened when I set my hand on his broad back.
A second later, a reflex reaction kicked in, and he wrapped one thick arm around my shoulders, crushing me against his side. We’d been through the motions what felt like a thousand times by now, but a jolt of heat traveled down my belly at his touches. Even sitting, he was taller than me and had to bend down to kiss the top of my head. His warmth was comforting, fostering a false sense of protection because we shared the same secret.
“You two know each other?” Saint asked his brother as I burrowed myself into his chest, playing the role of the dutiful wife.
“We attended Crestview around the same time,” Killian clarified, raking a hand through his dirty blond hair. His eyes shifted between us as if we were a puzzle piece he was trying to solve, the idea of love at first sight, being exclusive to fairytales in his mind. “I didn’t know you were here, Ariadne. Your fiancé failed to mention that too.”
Like he did your existence.
The unspoken words shifted in the air, bouncing off my mental shield as if they were solid, like the fabricated charm Killian was hiding behind.
“I just got here, actually. I set my own work hours, and tonight I was running a bit late.” The lie flew off my mouth like butter.
“Aria was in Vogue’s best-emerging designers list; her work’s amazing,” Saint butted in, saying all the things a supportive significant other should.
Except… I’d never told him that.
My head snapped up to find a smile pasted on his face, a seemingly genuine one, no sarcasm hiding along the dimples in his cheeks. It was gorgeous—everything about Saint was gorgeous as if he was tailor-made for seduction and greatness. A golden boy, enamoring crowds of thousands, be it with his athletic abilities or for more simple-minded folks like me—his face.
I clutched on to that slight indication that he wasn’t as indifferent towards me as I thought he was. Saint’s breath bearing down on my face began to feel like a cooling stream, carrying my juvenile infatuation with him to the surface.
Our web of deception was rooted in the truth, and the story of our first meeting wasn’t a lie. He didn’t see me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Saint Astor was a forbidden crush that came to life in the form of a nightmare.
“Gee, that’s amazing,” Killian said extra loud. “It’s not as if she’s a Fleur and has connections.”
The last half of his sentence was barely audible, and I wished my ears were playing tricks on me. I glanced down before looking at Killian’s unapologetic face, swift and brutal in his judgment. My mouth dropped open, a reply I couldn’t take back on the tip of my tongue, but Saint beat me to it.
“And you’re an Astor, but that hasn’t stopped you from failing almost all of your classes this semester,” Saint argued on my behalf. “No one likes a champagne socialist, despite what LA might lead you to believe. Apologize to Aria.”
My gaze bounced between the two of them as they stared each other down. Saint’s arm tightened around me when I started to retreat, but Killian took his sweet time turning to me, his anarchical nature pleading him not to back down.
“Sorry, Ari. Seems like my brother’s sense of humor is keeping company to the stick that’s shoved up his ass,” he bit out a hybrid mix of an apology and insult that had my lips tipping up.
Killian Astor was really something. You couldn’t help but admire his ballsy nature even when he was offending you.
“That’s all right. The joke was lost in translation. It happens,” I cut in before this could continue any further, a breath of relief leaving my lungs when the brothers averted their eyes from each other. I idly drew circles over Saint’s shirt as I tried to salvage the situation. “Did you fly in from California today?”
I migrated to a safer topic, and it worked as Killian’s shoulders loosened and he nodded. “I got here like an hour before you. So, on that note.” He grabbed his phone, placing it in his back pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m off for the night. I’m dead tired.”
“Of course.” My smile was tight. “You should go lie down.”
The atmosphere was tense as we wished Killian good night, and he departed down the hallway. As soon as he was out of sight, Saint dropped his hold on me as abruptly as Killian had left, all part of the act. My heart fluttered in my chest, but I didn’t pay it any mind, keeping my back straight as I faced him.
“Please, don’t speak on my behalf again. I had that under control, and I’m pretty sure your brother hates me right now.”
Talk about a first impression.
Feelings were like drugs, deceptive in their glory. While it felt nice that Saint took my side, I didn’t need him fighting my battles. I had enough open fires in my life as it was.
“If someone disrespects you, they’re disrespecting me, Ariadne. I defend what’s mine, even against my brother.” The nonchalant look was back, his face a painting of apathy as he twisted his phone in his hand.
“Yours?” There was that weird flutter again in my womb.
“Mine,” he replied curtly, getting on his feet. “However unorthodox our situation is, you’re a reflection of my character. You do know the saying ‘show me your friends, and I’ll tell you who you are,’ no?”
One step forward, ten steps back. It seemed to be a theme with Saint, and me. All the happy bird chirps in my head turned vicious, their off-key melody flooding every crevice of my brain.
He was concerned about what light my reputation would paint him in?
A burst of crazed laughter spilled from my mouth as I strained my neck to look at his face. “I do. What about all your other female friends? Are they a reflection of you too?”
“They’re not my friends. They’re tight holes for my dick to sink into.” He shrugged. “And vice versa for them. I’m nothing but a walking, talking orgasm.”
My lip curled.
This guy had some serious issues… and so did I, for lusting over him. It was his good looks, plain and simple, but they wouldn’t last him forever.
“I think your vanity says a lot more about you than people’s opinions of me.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” A glimmer of anger broke past his facade of boredom, and I took a step back when he advanced forward. “Have you talked to your boyfriend at all lately? Asked him about the scene he caused outside of Ares’s home yesterday?”
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
I hadn’t heard from Harry ever since he abandoned me in front of Siren’s Grill, which was two weeks ago but seemed like a whole lifetime. I didn’t tell Saint we’d broken up, but I also never reinforced that we were in a relationship. I didn’t want him thinking I was home alone while he was out sleeping with everything that walked.
“He went there looking for me, Spitfire, drunk off his ass calling both of us, especially you, very colorful names.” A shiver of shock pinched between my shoulder blades, and I cowered when he bent his legs so he could drop closer to my face. “Larry should be grateful I wasn’t there, because instead of nursing him back to sobriety like a very patient Ares did, I would have given him the fight he so desperately wanted and bashed his teeth in like he deserved.”
I was at a loss, trying to find the right words and failing like a fish out of water, so Saint took it as an indication to continue talking. “I’ll give you one more chance to leash lover boy. If he harasses my friends again and takes both of our names in his mouth, it won’t be pretty. Am I clear, Spitfire?”
We stared at each other, Saint’s face backing his cold-blooded statements, mine a mask of stupefaction at the turn things had taken.
“Crystal,” I whispered, my brain still playing catch up.
This felt like a karmic intervention, telling me to run before the engagement party tomorrow, officially binding my life to this frustrating male for five years. Ever since I met him, it had been one bump after the other and potholes filled with humiliation on my end.
My god, his friends must think I’m such a mess.
A chill spread down my arms, and I rubbed the length of them as Saint straightened his spine, blinking at me. I thought I saw surprise gleam in his expression, but it was gone when he nodded at me. “Good. Have a good night, Ariadne, and make sure you use all of the layers Emily laid out for you. We’ve had some issues with the heating on the east wing, but it’s being fixed tomorrow.”
With a last glance, Saint ate up the distance to the exit in seconds with his long strides, and I didn’t digest his words until after he left, cursing under my breath.
Despite everything, I tried to eat, but I couldn’t hold more than two bites down, anxiety already filling up the empty space in my stomach. So, I retired to my new room, barely taking it in, in the darkness, and collapsed on the bed, feeling cold, hungry, worried, and utterly alone.
The first night in Saint Astor’s home set the tone for the days yet to come.