Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nyx
Sirens– Fleurie
The Duvals' mansion in Stoneview is something straight out of a movie. Achilles is an only child, and he doesn't even live at home. What do they need that kind of space for?
Achilles is standing next to me in a black suit and black shirt.
It matches his black hair and the aura of darkness he always carries around him, but he doesn't look like himself.
I'm used to seeing him in simple black jeans and a dark purple sweater, or hoodies with bats on them. Sophie's favorite color and animal.
I'm wearing a long, silk, deep-red dress, and I've never worn anything that looks or feels so expensive. It’s the only one Achilles has ever bought me.
He isn't the kind of boyfriend who'll buy me lavish clothes when he knows I don't care for them.
He spoiled me with a priceless violin, and he spent countless hours training me and invested in my dream.
Pretty clothes and expensive jewelry? Not his style.
He just wanted me to have one pretty dress if we ever had to go to a formal event. Well, here we fucking are.
The black heels are hurting my feet, but I don't say anything. All I do is toy with the gold-chain choker around my neck with the lotus flower pendant. Trying to ease the tightness, as usual.
"Can I take this off sometimes?" I ask shyly as we get out of Achilles's Range Rover.
"No," he says simply, without an ounce of emotion.
His bored voice drones on. "You're going to wear that for the rest of your life.
We're going to move into a mansion in Stoneview and see my father and his wife more often.
Men in the Circle will pretend to respect you in front of you because you're a Hera, while encouraging me to treat you like shit behind your back, just because we can.
We'll be married before we finish college. I’m kissing goodbye to psychiatry and going to have to pursue other routes in medicine because they want to use me as a doctor and an expert in their big pharma scheming.
In a few years, we're going to have some heirs because we have to.
I won't get attached to them because they came out of coercion, and I'll always love Sophie more. "
The despair that clings to my heart must be palpable because he turns to face me.
"That's the consequences of your actions. No more fairytale for us. Now, let's have you officially meet everyone."
I gulp down my surfacing emotions as a butler opens the front door, and Achilles puts a hand on my lower back to guide me in.
There's something off about Achilles. I wonder if it's because I've never seen him in his family setting, or if it's how he's choosing to behave toward me now that we're ruined. Either way, I don't recognize this man, and I don't feel safe in this house.
The butler takes our coats, but his father and stepmom aren't here to welcome us.
"Your father and his guests are in the reception room, Mr. Duval," the butler tells him politely, eyes cast down.
Achilles mumbles a thank you and guides me across the vast entry hall.
The flooring and walls are painted in unwelcoming neutral tones.
Everything is sparkly clean but has no semblance of life or personality whatsoever.
The second we enter the reception room, everything changes.
The style feels like we're entering Louis XV's living quarters.
It clashes completely with the entrance hall that calls for boredom and discretion.
This has floor-to-ceiling arched windows draped with long curtains that stay open since the privacy in Stoneview comes from the grounds their mansions stand on.
Most houses are hiding down long-winded roads, behind chunks of forest in the hills.
The walls are covered with famous paintings that make me wonder if they're real or copies. If they're real…fuck me. I have no capacity to process that kind of wealth.
We’re surrounded by Rococo-style decoration.
The painted ceiling looks like we're in Versailles, scenes colored with soft blue, pink, and framed with gold and beautiful ornaments.
A grand chandelier of a thousand crystals bathes the room in a soft golden light.
The whole ambiance is to entice folly and playfulness. Something that worries me to no end.
I'm at odds with everyone around me. Not physically.
The men are all dressed in full black, like Achilles, and the women are wearing elegant yet sensual gowns.
But in behavior, the other couples are buzzing, excited for whatever is coming tonight.
Achilles and I are clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.
It feels like we're fresh meat at a swinger's club. Everyone’s observing us from afar, not approaching, as if not to scare us, but their eyes are devouring us.
The only difference is that even a new couple at that kind of club goes willingly. We aren't here of our own accord.
I'm offered a coupe of champagne by a waiter, but Achilles shakes his head.
"No alcohol for us," he says pointedly, silently warning him not to try again.
"I could use the alcohol," I say with a dry throat.
I expect him to ignore me, but his behavior still shows he cares.
"You want to be sound of mind in this environment, believe me."
It hurts more to know that he's still trying to protect me from them. We only have each other now, stuck in a world where I don't belong, a world he wanted to avoid at all costs.
There are about twenty people in this room.
Ten couples. No one’s here on their own.
The women are like me, wearing a lotus flower pendant.
The necklaces differ, but the sign of being a Hera is always clear and visible.
They're seemingly happy to be here but discreet in the way they carry themselves. The men take space, their deep voices the ones creating the hubbub in the room. Whenever they roar with laughter, their Heras smile politely. Wherever they walk, their Heras follow. And wherever their hands wander, their Heras don’t blink.
Around their waist? Fine. On their covered ass?
That's okay. Sneaking under their low-cut dress and uncovering a nipple while the other couple delicately eats canapes? No problem. The conversation continues.
The moment I see that one behavior, my eyes pick up on the others. This is no dinner. It's a reception with food and alcohol, yes, but not for the sake of reuniting with friends. It's a full-on sex party about to happen.
"Achilles," I whisper. "What is this?"
"This is a typical Friday for the Silent Circle," he answers, emotionless.
I don't recognize anyone but the two board members that were in the forest the night I betrayed Achilles. It was two nights ago according to what he told me in the car. That's it. That's how quickly my life turned upside down. What worries me the most is finding Eugene Duval.
I don't have to wait long, and I know exactly when he shows up, even if I can't see the door where we've moved to a corner of the room. When the crowd stills, the chatter stops, and everyone turns expectant, I know he's walking in.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Shadows, Heras." I still can't see him, but his voice booms through the space.
"Thank you for coming to celebrate my dear son finally initiating into our intimate circle.
Some of you doubted my role as your Zeus.
You told me, 'what’s an heir for if they don't join our glorious cause? ' But no more."
My gaze shifts to Achilles, and I catch the moment he crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, being the exact man everyone always expects him to be. It has such a different meaning to me now.
"Achilles," Eugene calls. "Come and show yourself and your Hera."
Lazily, he clamps a hand at the back of my head. I can feel the Circle's signet ring on his finger.
"I need you to know something, Nyx," he murmurs as the crowd starts parting to let us through. "I could’ve warned you about what you're about to see. But you cut me too deep for me to protect your heart from the ways in which fate loves to fuck with our lives."
I have no understanding of what he means, but I don’t ask, too focused on trying to put one foot in front of the other. But I don't miss it when I see it. Or rather her.
My heart sinks, my breath stolen from my lungs. This is…impossible.
She's exactly the same, just with more years and Botox.
Her brown eyes were never warm, despite being as wide as mine.
It should give her some innocence, but they're still glacial to this day.
Her hair is in a tight French chignon at the back of her head, with two strands falling on either side of her face.
It used to be a deep brown like mine, but it's almost white-blonde now, bleached and dyed.
Around her neck, she wears a short silver necklace with a lotus flower falling in the hollow of her neck.
My mother stands next to Eugene Duval with a straight back, shoulders squared, and a tilted chin, showing the arrogance she feels toward the people around her. Yet her behavior is meek when his hand travels up and down her back.
There isn't a word that could possibly come out of my mouth in this instant. Moments of my childhood are flashing through my mind. The way she’d put my plate of food on the table, practically throwing it there.
The smell of the expensive perfume she'd stolen at the mall on the South Bank.
And the look of disgust in her eyes the day she told us she was leaving.
She didn't sneak out or pretend to go to the grocery store. She took time to pack a bag while my father begged her to stay and pretended he was going to change. I watched it all with my lion teddy in one hand and my thumb in my mouth.
You're too old to suck your thumb, Nyx. It's ridiculous.
I remember her saying that to me all the time.