Endgame

Chapter 9 Everett

EVERETT

My wedding is a joke. A farce.

But no matter how I feel about the ceremony, I still chose the most exclusive venue for it, the Royalty’s mansion. The perfect backdrop for the show I intend to make of this day, surrounded by the people I hate most.

It’s also the perfect way to solidify this union. If I’d taken Aurora to city hall, people could whisper. Winston could spread the word she was forced.

Here, in front of our so-called friends, in a place that screams wealth—screams that I care about Aurora—it’ll be much harder to refute its legitimacy.

That’s why I didn’t settle for just marrying her here.

I hired a wedding planner to drench the space in crimson and black flowers.

Antique stone pews were delivered this morning, slender candles flickering between them, casting a golden light that does nothing to soften the hearts of the cruel bastards in the seats.

The Royalty. Their families. All dressed in their finest suits and gowns, watching.

At my side stands Stafford, my best man.

The priest is in attendance as well.

Everyone’s waiting quietly for my bride to walk down the aisle.

My. Bride.

And then there’s me, in a tux, standing at the altar.

Our marriage will be as fake as this ceremony. I know that. Aurora and I are drawn to each other, and we hate each other just as much. The rare moments when our animosity cools are probably just a trick of my imagination.

If I gave her the chance, she’d run as far from me as she could.

But I won’t give her that chance. I won’t let her go.

This is happening.

We’re getting married.

And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, not even the man who ruined my life, the father of the bride.

Earlier, he sent me a menacing glare when he got here. He’s furious, but he’s giving her to me, nonetheless.

Me, her future husband.

Fuck. That word. Husband. I’m still working hard to wrap my head around it.

Happiness. Marriage. Having children, bringing another life to this godforsaken world.

Once upon a time, that was the dream.

That dream is long gone. In its place, there’s emptiness. Bitterness.

I’m forced to marry my enemy.

I clasp my hands in front of me, listening to the soft, melodic classical music humming in the background.

This endless wait, it’s dangerous. Thoughts rise to the surface. Thoughts I shouldn’t have.

She was beautiful today.

Beautiful when she let me take care of her.

Beautiful when she screamed.

Exquisite when she frowned.

Exquisite? Fuck, I’m being ridiculous.

These thoughts are even more ridiculous.

What matters is hurting her. Making her cry. Punishing her and her parents through her first, and eventually taking them down.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Stafford whispers.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” My teeth are clenched so the monsters in front of me won’t read my lips. “You’ve helped me plan this.”

“I know, but now, looking at these people…” A sigh escapes him. “Doesn’t feel like we’re accomplishing anything. And…”

“Spit it out.”

“I don’t like it.” Another sigh. “I was wrong before. There have been enough casualties in this war, mainly you. Just let it go, man. Fuck them.”

From where my friend is standing, it makes sense.

They’re vultures, this group of people. Every last one of them.

Starting with Molly Clarke, my future mother-in-law. She sits in the front row, her blonde hair pulled back. Her gown is as green as the hateful gaze she aims at me.

Next to her is her best friend, Lina Bernard. Brown hair, blue eyes. Nothing memorable about her or her husband, Henderson.

Behind them sits Ivy, their thirty-five-year-old daughter.

A six-foot-tall woman in a bright pink dress, her blonde hair cropped short like her father’s.

Tanner, her husband, has his bald head glistening with sweat.

This event, along with everything that has to do with the Royalty, excites him.

That’s why, though he came from old money, he took her last name.

Some people can never have enough power. Or wealth.

Much like Stafford’s family. They’re on the other side of the aisle, sneaking glances behind them. Whispering in each other’s ears.

His mother, Susanna, wears a beige gown. His father, Grey, is in a blue suit. Red hair freshly trimmed, his green, narrowed eyes are aimed at me. He doubts me.

Rightfully so.

When I’m done with my revenge, there’ll be nothing left of this little group.

Two out of the four families won’t be able to sustain it.

Let it all fall apart. See if I care.

Which brings me back to Stafford’s point.

These people shouldn’t matter. I don’t even need them.

The wealth I’ve inherited and gained throughout my career could last me a million lifetimes. A fresh start in another state, country, or continent is within reach. It’s as easy as snapping my fingers.

But no, I’m not done here.

“Your family wouldn’t have wanted this for you.” Stafford is closer, quieter. He loved my family. He also cares about the living, and that’s me. “Call it off. We’ll go get wasted together.”

“No.”

“Everett. I’m begging you to reconsider.”

On the outside, he might be a carbon copy of his dad and older brothers, Arnold and Maverick, who sit behind their parents.

On the inside, he’s the polar opposite. Less cutting. Far less cruel and calculating.

They hated it when he broke his trust fund at twenty-one and started a non-profit organization to help runaway girls.

They didn’t understand why Lotus’s disappearance affected him as profoundly as it had.

I did.

Someone killed the girl he loved and he couldn’t do anything to save her. She probably died alone, and some stray dog or wild animal dragged her body off to feed its young.

Whatever pity I’d had for Aurora gets swept away by these gut-wrenching memories and speculations.

I’m the world’s biggest joke for ever feeling anything but contempt for her.

“You know what my family would’ve wanted?” Other than the bright future that was ahead of us. “Really wanted?”

“Each other’s love.” Safford’s desolation twists my heart.

“That. And to live.” God, all three of them were good. Kind. Humble.

I miss playing tennis with my dad. The dry thwack of the ball hitting his racket. The way he’d call me “champ” when I got a shot past him.

I miss listening to Mom tell stories about our family history. How she’d tease me about having her stubbornness.

And Lotus, my only sibling. She trusted me. She trusted all of us.

I miss them.

I’ll never have them again.

“Of course, but—”

“Can I give them that, Stafford?” I turn to him fully. “Can I show them how much I love them? Can I hug them?” The tightness in my chest is infuriating. It burns. “Can I bring them back somehow? Turn back time and save them?”

His shoulders slump. “You can’t.”

“That’s right. So for the love of God, shut up,” I hiss.

And then, right on cue, the “Wedding March” starts.

Aurora steps into view.

She’s in a lace bridal gown with a subtle overskirt. A sweetheart neckline. A corset. Delicate straps. The dress hugs the soft curves of her body like it was sewn onto her skin.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She wasn’t supposed to pull it off like this, to be this mesmerizing. But she does. Even in the most understated gown my stylist could find.

Yes, I ordered her a designer dress. If I’d chosen something cheap, people would talk. They’d think I lost my fortune. These sharks can smell blood in the water from a mile away.

I didn’t want her to feel special though. The dress itself was supposed to be minimal. Unremarkable. At least that’s how it looked in the photos my stylist sent.

But now? Now it looks nothing close to understated.

Aurora stands out brighter than she ever has. The longer I watch her, the more I realize she could never fade into the background.

And her hair…soft, loose. Motherfucker, it’s perfect. She left it exactly how I styled it. Didn’t change a thing.

My teeth clench. Anger pulses through me.

I still don’t understand why I felt the urge to learn how to do her hair this morning.

Why I went through with it.

Why I softened during that call with her parents.

Ugh, fuck me. That’s a lie.

I do understand.

It wasn’t pity.

It was a need.

A need to touch her. Fuck with her.

Ruin her.

I’ve acted on these needs and gotten what I wanted. That sadness in her gaze is evident. Her slow steps tell me exactly how she feels about this wedding.

She’s wrecked, her dad too. He scowls and huffs all the way down the aisle.

“Last chance,” Stafford insists.

They approach us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than my revenge.

“Respectfully, Stafford, fuck you.”

When they’re six feet away, my eye catches something that has me seeing red. Winston holds Aurora’s arm too tight. He could be hurting her.

Aurora doesn’t flinch. Her face isn’t contorted in pain. It’s the marks on her skin that gives Winston away. Her arm is darker around where his fingers bruise her.

She’s going to be mine. I’m the only one allowed to do that. The only one who’s earned the right.

The only one to make her come after taking my anger out on her.

A vein pulses in my neck.

I’m two seconds away from charging forward and ripping her out of his grip.

Winston beats me to it. He drags Aurora faster over the last couple of feet. Practically throws her at me, the prick.

A collective murmur ripples through the pews.

She stumbles on her high heels, cursing, “Dammit.”

Heat pulses in my ears. A voice thunders inside me, shouting, “Nobody touches what’s mine.”

Without thinking, I jump forward to catch her, wrapping a hand around her forearm. Pulling her close.

The fall wouldn’t have killed her. My revenge wouldn’t have ended over a few bruises and a broken nose. Still, every instinct in me fought against letting Winston hurt her.

I don’t have an answer to that. Don’t care about it either.

“Thank you,” she says.

My eyes cut to her grateful ones. I drag her even closer and take a step forward.

“Don’t you dare come near her again.” There’s no mistaking the venom in my voice. Even Aurora gasps.

“I suggest you don’t either.” His lips curl into a cutting smile. I won’t think about who else could’ve witnessed this vile expression on his face. “She belongs to us. It’s only a matter of time until I get her back. I’ll be very upset if you break her somehow.”

Feelings I’ve never experienced before now stab at my chest.

I’m bleeding all across the mansion’s floor.

Hate. Disgust. And…no, never love.

You’re territorial about getting your revenge. You ache over your past. Not her.

Right.

“Sit the fuck down, Winston.” Rapist. Fucker. His blue eyes shoot daggers at me. The people behind him murmur, and I ignore them all. “She isn’t yours. She’s mine.”

“Everett.” A small hand clutches my forearm.

Heat surges at the simple touch. I hate that this feels like comfort. Like after all these years, I have someone other than Stafford at my side.

“Aww, you got the dumb little girl to fall for you?” Her dad cocks his head to the side.

He’s lucky there are witnesses surrounding us. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself. I’m this close to ripping his heart out of his chest for talking and treating her this way. He never has, not in front of us, and he’s not going to start now.

Arnold, one of Stafford’s brothers, chooses this moment to step up.

“Come on, buddy.” He tugs at Winston’s arm, pulling him back to his seat across from Molly. Neither Winston nor she seems to mind it. “It’s just a wedding. You’ll see your daughter again.”

Over my dead body.

No one’s taking my revenge from me.

I’ve earned that right.

You’ve earned her.

The voice inside my head is too soft to be grating on my nerves. The voice is wrong.

“Come on. We have our wedding to go through.” Aurora, of all people, urges me to resume the ceremony. “He isn’t worth it.”

But she is.

Shut the fuck up.

Rearranging my features, I return to my bride. Her cheeks turn bright red the moment my attention fixes on her. Her blush spreads down her neck, her chest.

“This, putting him in his place, it wasn’t for your benefit,” I whisper, my lips at her ear. “Wipe that satisfied look off your face.”

“I know, you selfish prick,” she breathes out. The words aren’t audible to anyone but me. “You want to be a big fucking man. To be the only one to hurt me. I. Know.”

My dick jerks in my pants. I want to bend her over the altar and spank her raw. I would’ve taken my beautiful bride right here too. Made her bleed. Put a goddamn baby inside her.

A baby I’ll steal. A baby I’ll use against her.

Her pain will be mine, never theirs.

I wrap my hand around her waist. “I was going to go soft on you today—”

“Liar.”

“—but since the spoiled princess has a filthy mouth, guess what? You’re going to get pounded.”

“Fuck you.” The scent of her arousal is sweet and venomous. Her desire is an aura enveloping us both.

I almost drown in it.

Almost.

Instead, I guide her to the altar.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest starts after clearing his throat.

When I step away, Aurora lets go of my arm. My fingers lace through her delicate ones. A romantic gesture that’s supposed to be fake.

And yet the thought of ever releasing her hand twists something in my chest. Except that’s impossible. I don’t love her.

I could never.

“Before we begin.” The priest starts.

What the fuck?

I shoot him my most intimidating glower for this bullshit he’s about to pull. I told him beforehand that I want it short and to the point.

Before we begin wasn’t a part of the plan.

“I have to,” the idiot apologizes. I open my mouth to silence him. Ignoring my murderous glare, he rushes ahead. “If anyone has something to say, speak now or forever hold your peace.”