Wicked God (Forbidden Fruit #3)

Chapter 1

Olivia

P erched on a hill, my childhood home overlooks the city.

On the outside, it blends in seamlessly with the other extravagant mansions in the neighborhood—huge, white, and imposing.

But inside, the place rots. The sins of the past seep through the cracks in the walls, whispering their dark secrets to anyone who cares to listen.

I used to adore this house. From the moment I first stepped into the entrance hall at the age of five, I was enamored with its gleaming windows and intricate moldings.

The grand staircase leading up to the upper floors felt like a pathway to a world full of endless possibilities.

And the garden, with its sweet aroma of lilacs and delicate roses, made me dizzy with hope.

But now, twenty-two years later, I can no longer pretend that the fragrant scent of the garden reminds me of happy times. It’s too cloying, almost sickening, like a cheap, out-of-date perfume. Each visit to Carter Manor is a chore I endure for my sister’s sake.

“Miss Olivia, Mr. Carter is expecting you in the library.” The butler’s voice, smooth as ever, greets me at the door; he bows, silver hair shining in the afternoon light. He waits for me to follow, guiding me through the foyer that always makes me feel small, no matter how old I get.

The most sacred room in the manor was my stepfather’s library.

Thick velvet curtains always shielded its large leaded glass windows from the outside world.

Dusty leather-bound books lined the walls, their pages filled with rigid words of law and regulations.

Unlike the bright and colorful books we played with in the nursery, these were forbidden to my sister and me.

Yet, I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at them every now and then.

My mother would caution us about entering our father’s study and making as little noise as possible, as if she feared we would disturb some ghostly presence within the house.

While Carter Manor may have its share of ghosts, they pale in comparison to the living roaming its halls.

The most daunting one sits behind his sturdy oak desk.

“Olivia, come in.” Uncle Dean looks up from his work. “Take a seat.”

Dean Carter is the head of the Carter family, a respected member of the community, and a successful businessman.

After my stepfather passed away ten years ago, he took over both the manor and the family business.

Even at his age of fifty-five, he still commands a powerful presence, dressed in a tailored suit with only a touch of grey at his temples.

I can’t help but wonder why I’ve been summoned here.

Our mandatory monthly brunch isn’t for another two weeks, and otherwise, my uncle has shown little interest in me.

That he felt compelled to invite me here is concerning, especially since I cannot think of any plausible reason he would want to see me.

And Dean is not a person who does things without a reason.

I make my way across the room and sink into one of the plush armchairs in front of his desk. The leather squeaks as I settle into it, trying not to fidget.

“You wanted to speak with me, Uncle?”

He reclines in his chair, linking his fingers together beneath his chin. “Indeed. I have an important matter to discuss.”

He takes his sweet time, letting the tension mount.

Dean delights in the dramatics, reveling in the uncomfortable silence and increasing tension.

He sees it all as a game, one that he takes great pleasure in playing.

It’s this quality that makes him a formidable adversary; he possesses both the patience of prey and the instincts and intelligence of a predator.

I interlock my fingers and wait patiently for him to continue.

At last, he leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face. The only comforting thing about him is his blue eyes—identical to my sister’s. My own eyes are brown, the ultimate proof that I am not a true Carter.

“I have arranged a marriage for Tiffany,” Dean announces nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. “To the son of Senator Hawthorne.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe.

The elegant library spins around me, shelves of leather-bound books blurring into a dizzying whirl of color. I grip the arms of my chair, fingernails digging into the rich mahogany.

“What?” I choke out. “Could you please repeat that?”

“Tiffany is getting married. It’s a strategic alliance. One that will benefit both our families immensely.”

The initial shock fades away as a surge of protective anger rises within me. I think of Tiffany—her bright laughter, her kindness. How can he reduce her to a mere pawn in his political game?

“And what about what Tiffany wants?” I ask, my voice rising. “Her dreams and her future? She just graduated from college! She should focus on her career, not be forced into some kind of loveless political marriage!”

Only last month, Tiffany turned twenty-three.

She is five years younger, a finance graduate, and the most intelligent person I know.

She has her entire future ahead of her. To arrange her life according to the needs of others and pressure her to marry someone she barely knows, someone completely unsuitable—it’s just not right.

Dean can’t be serious.

“Forced?” His eyebrow arches. “My dear, this is a tremendous opportunity. The Hawthornes are one of the most influential families in the country. This union will open doors for Tiffany that she couldn’t even imagine.”

“At what cost! Her happiness? Her freedom to choose her own path?”

“You’re being overly dramatic. This is how our family has always operated. It’s a tradition that has kept the Carter name synonymous with power and prestige for generations.”

“But not with my stepfather or you,” I argue. “And times change. There have to be other ways to maintain our status without sacrificing Tiffany’s future!”

Dean’s patience wears thin as his jaw tightens. When he speaks again, there is a dangerous edge to his voice. “The decision has been made, and the arrangements are already in motion. Your sister will fulfill her duty to this family, just like countless Carters before her.”

To him, Tiffany is nothing more than a pretty porcelain doll.

A beautiful ornament for him to flaunt amongst his powerful friends and a means of bringing connections and prestige into the family.

But she is so much more than that. She’s ambitious, driven, and has dreams of her own that shouldn’t be crushed under our family’s expectations.

Tears of frustration burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall in front of Dean.

“And what if she refuses?”

A chilling smile spread across his face. “She won’t.”

And unfortunately, he’s right.

Tiffany doesn’t see how our family is using us for their own gain. She’s too good for this family. Kind, sweet, and na?ve—partially because I’ve been shielding her for far too long. It’s high time I wrestle her away from this snake nest. The sooner, the better.

“When will you tell Tiffany?”

“It stays between us for now.”

I tilt my head. “Why are you telling me first?”

“Because I know you. You’re the troublemaker. The one who will fight this tooth and nail.”

“Of course, I will! Someone has to protect her!”

“That’s exactly why I’m warning you,” Dean’s voice drops to a menacing whisper. “You will act supportive. You will not interfere with this union. If you do anything to jeopardize our arrangement, I will crush your budding business. And I promise you, you’ll never see Tiffany again.”

My blood runs cold. I know Dean has the power and willingness to make good on his threats. Losing Tiffany, with her golden curls and soft heart, is a thought I can’t even entertain.

“You can’t do this,” I say, but the fight has drained from my voice.

“I can and I will. Do we understand each other?”

I nod numbly, my mind racing for a solution. How can I protect Tiffany without incurring Dean’s wrath?

“When...” I swallow hard and force the words out. “When do you plan on telling her about this... arrangement?”

Checking his Rolex, Dean says, “In three weeks, when I return from my business trip. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Three weeks. It’s not much time, but it’s something.

A thought occurs to me, and I lift my eyes back to Dean, my heart hammering in my chest.

“If you’re so insistent on aligning our family with Senator Hawthorne’s, why am I not your first choice for this marriage?”

My uncle stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment, his face impassive and unreadable like stone. “An interesting question, Olivia. I’m almost impressed by your audacity.”

Refusing to back down, I hold his gaze. “Well?”

“My dear, I wouldn’t be opposed to such an idea. However,” he pauses, his lips curling into a cruel smile, “who would want you?”

I clench my hands into fists.

Dean continues, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re not even a true Carter by blood. And your... career choices ? Let’s just say they’re unconventional.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I doubt Senator would find you a suitable match for his son.”

I feel the familiar sting of rejection, of not belonging. It’s a wound that never heals, merely scabs over until moments like this tear it open anew.

My last name.

The real one.

Jackson.

When I graduated from high school, I reclaimed my mother’s maiden name as a way to rebel against the toxic ways of the Carters. It was my first step towards breaking free from their expectations and living life on my terms.

And yet, here I am.

It seems like a cruel joke. My mom’s last name only serves as a reminder of how much of an outcast I truly am.

“You’re right. I may not be a Carter, but Tiffany is. Doesn’t she deserve better than being traded like a commodity?”

Dean’s face hardens. “That’s enough. Know your place. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run.”

He stands up and taps his finger on the table, signaling the end of our conversation.

My legs are shaky as I stand up, desperate to escape this suffocating room and figure out what to do next.

I can’t refuse Dean’s orders, and unfortunately, he knows it, too. I’m trapped in this situation, at his mercy. This family always controlled me, but I’d foolishly hoped my sister would have a different life.

I must protect Tiffany and soften the blow for her. It’s my duty to relieve her of this burden. All I can do is go along with Dean’s plan and try to buy some time to come up with a solution.

I have no other choice.

“Remember, Olivia,” Dean tells me as I reach the door. “Keep this between us. Be the supportive sister I know you can be. There is too much at stake here; don’t make me regret this.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“Of course.”

A smile spreads across Dean’s face. “Glad to have you on board.”

I force a tight-lipped smile in return.

Telling Tiffany about our uncle’s plans is out of the question. It’s up to me to get her out of this mess. I won’t let anyone else dictate her future.

Stepping out of Carter Manor and into the warm early September air, I inhale deeply, letting the fragrance of fallen leaves and distant wood smoke clear my mind. The perfectly manicured grounds of Carter Manor lay before me, a symbol of wealth and power that had never belonged to me.

Three steps down the gravel driveway, I freeze mid-stride.

I know exactly what I have to do.