Demonic Addiction (The Awakening Duet, Part 1)

1. Willow

Willow

I’m ruining my wedding dress.

The thought passes briefly through my mind as I crash through the brush, my vision blurred by the tears pouring from my eyes.

The dress was a gift from my soon-to-be-mother-in-law, costing more than I make in a year.

I had fallen in love with it at first sight, and cherished it once it was in my possession—often waking up in the middle of the night just to stare at it and watch the hand-sewn gemstones glitter in the moonlight.

Now, it’s ruined—just like my wedding day. With each step, those beautiful, tiny diamonds clatter to the forest floor, leaving a trail of tears in my wake.

It feels like my world is ending. Someone is twirling a rusty blade into the meat of my heart, and my blood has been replaced by acid, searing through my veins and burning the back of my throat with each pained gasp.

In the distance, I can hear the frantic calls of my fiancé—a voice that used to give me so much peace, and now fills me with pain.

I keep seeing those horrible images in my mind whenever I close my eyes. Hear the sounds they were making as they committed the ultimate betrayal. My best friend and my fiancé. Together.

Just that simple word running through my mind makes my heart break all over again, and I stumble as a fresh wave of agony pulses through my body.

Falling forward, I brace my hands out in front of me, and when I connect with the ground, sharp, physical pain flares in my palms. I hold on to a tree trunk for support as I stand, cringing at the sight of my blood staining the bark.

I squeeze my eyes tight, attempting to stem the flow of tears. As I do, the memories take over, and I’m stuck in a hellish spiral I can’t escape.

Then…

I walk down the hallway in my too-tall Jimmy Choo heels. They hurt my feet like nothing else, but Nathan said he loves how my calves look in them.

Despite the searing pain, I can’t keep the grin from my face as the tulle of my wedding dress swishes with each step. I’m getting married!

In just a few minutes, I’ll walk down the aisle and say I do to the man of my dreams. To Nathan Vanderwallow.

When Nathan walked into The Salted Bean three years ago, I never expected him to give me any notice. I was exhausted, sweaty, and frazzled from my earlier shift at the diner, and he was a dream come true in his Armani suit, Tom Ford loafers and thousand-dollar haircut.

So frazzled by Nathan, his charming smile, and his dimples, I ended up making his coffee completely wrong. Three times.

Instead of getting upset like I expected, Nathan just laughed, reached into his wallet, and stuffed a wad of hundreds into the tip jar. Then he sipped his ruined coffee, gave me a heart-stopping smile, and asked for my number.

The first date turned into two, then three. Before long, we were celebrating two years as a couple. The week after, Nathan surprised me with a trip to Monaco, where he asked me to be his wife.

In just twenty-four months, I had gone from a struggling artist living paycheck to paycheck, to the fiancé of the city’s wealthiest bachelor.

Nathan moved me into his penthouse, set me up with my very own private art studio space in a prime part of the city, and convinced me to quit my jobs so I could focus on my art between planning for the wedding.

Although, now that I think of it, I can’t remember the last time I touched a paintbrush…

I reach up to fiddle with my earring—a habit Nate despises—but quickly drop it to my side, not wanting to accidentally dislodge the large diamond from my lobe.

The earrings were an early wedding gift from my mother-in-law, and I can’t afford to be careless with such an expensive present.

They’re not exactly precious—like the gold pendant hanging over my heart that was gifted to me by my late mother—but I will cherish the gift all the same.

The earrings are a sign that she’s finally accepted me into the family. I just know it.

For three years, Mrs. Turner fought against the idea of her son dating someone so—in her words— “low-born.” She never approved of me, my love of art, or the fact that I only had one living family member. “It’s fishy,” is a phrase I often heard whispered to her son across the dinner table.

Really, Mrs. Turner had a problem that my great-aunt Greta was an elementary school teacher whose annual salary was below the national average. But she couldn’t outright say that.

The worst part is, I’ve caught Nathan nodding along sometimes. Like a part of him agrees with her. Like my great-aunt was someone to be looked down on, and me by extension.

I shake my head, clearing them of those nasty, dark thoughts. This is just the pre-wedding jitters. Everyone gets cold feet and thinks about the troubling way her soon-to-be-husband has treated her. It’s normal.

I have to remind myself that the past doesn’t matter. Not the past, or the way I’ve been treated, or that little pit of dread hardening my stomach. No. Today matters. Because today, in my beautiful dress, with my hair and makeup done to the nines, I feel like a princess. Today, I belong somewhere.

Today, I am loved.

Taking a deep breath, I pull my shoulders back and continue my journey to the restroom, careful to hold my train up so it doesn’t drag across the floor.

I think that normally, one of my bridesmaids would help me with this task, but none of my friends could afford the ungodly expensive trip to the private resort in the Wyndridge mountains, and no matter how I pleaded or promised to pay him back, Nathan refused to help me pay for their fare.

Except for Kimberly, that is. My best friend who I would be lost without.

I met her three years ago at one of Nathan’s company galas, and the two of us became fast friends over our mutual love of fine art and iced matcha lattes.

She was a Type-A, high-powered lawyer on the fast track to make partner like Nathan, and I was a struggling artist with a dream and no concrete plan—but somehow, it just worked.

Today, she’s going to be at the end of that aisle, waiting for me with a smile and a tear in her eye. She’s going to be my strength. My light when I feel so damn gloomy.

If only I knew where she ran off to…

I hoist my dress up higher, wishing I had my cell phone so I could call her and ask for her help.

I know she’d come running if I could get a hold of her for my last-minute, unsanctioned pee, but she excused herself from the dressing room thirty minutes ago, and without my phone, I have no way to find her or get in touch.

“This is why wedding dresses need pockets,” I murmur.

The other bridesmaids that I do have—Nathan’s three teenage cousins—hate my guts for no reason.

Like the rest of the Turners, they despised me as soon as I rolled up to their family home and parked my used Honda next to Mr. Turner’s Rolls Royce.

Sarah, Darla, and Josie are probably too busy whispering mean-spirited insults about me to each other to notice I need assistance. And it’s probably for the best.

Hopefully I’ll find Kim in the bathroom. She’ll be able to cheer me up.

Sighing, I turn the corner, working to shove all my negative feelings into that little box deep in my soul. Recently, it seems like there’s less and less space there. Like it’s at capacity, and fit to burst.

But I can’t worry about that now. I need to focus on my impending wedding. Happy thoughts. Like… the way Nathan will look when he sees me walking down the aisle.

I doubt he’ll cry—Nathan never does—but I just know his eyes will fill with pride and love, and it will be a beautiful moment neither of us will forget.

The voice in the back of my mind screaming that I’m making a horrible mistake is just a figment of my imagination. I want to get married to Nathan. I love Nathan. All of this is just normal, pre-wedding jitters.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself so I’m able to go through with this.

Finally arriving at the women’s bathroom stall, I push the door and step inside, my heels clicking softly as I make my way toward the stall—but then I hear it. A sound that makes me freeze.

Slap… slap… slap…

The pit of dread in my stomach deepens, and I’m overcome with the need to vomit as I try to stuff the lid of the box closed. Only, I fear it’s far too late.

I cover my mouth, holding my breath so I don’t interrupt the two people clearly having sex. It’s not him, my mind lies. He would never do this to you.

“Oh yeah. Fuck, you’re so tight, Kim.”

My knees buckle.

“I’m coming, Nate! I’m coming!”

Oh my God, no… It can’t be…

The blood drains from my face as I step slowly toward the bathroom stall, unable to believe it, needing to see it to confirm that my worst fears are true. The stall is unlocked, open just a crack, allowing me to see inside, and I peer in shamelessly. And… oh God…

There, sitting on a toilet seat with his dick inside my best friend, is my fiancé.

In the throes of ecstasy, Nathan’s eyes open wide, and they meet mine through the space, widening ever so slightly with recognition.

“Fuck,” I whisper, backing away from the door now that I’m caught. Unfortunately, I’m so shaken by what I just witnessed, I misplace my step, and my heel wobbles, sending me off-balance and tumbling to the floor.

“Holy shit! Willow?” Nathan’s voice echoes off the bathroom walls, filled with panic. “Willow, is that you out there?”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, red-hot betrayal running through my veins and making my head pound. I try to push myself off the floor, but my legs are shaking too hard, and I end up right back where I started.

Nathan and Kim stumble out of the bathroom stall in various states of undress, Kim’s red lipstick smeared across my fiancé’s cheek—damning them both.

“Willow, baby, it’s not what you think—”

“Shut up,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I drop my eyes to the floor, unable to look at either of them as the weight of their betrayal threatens to choke me. “Just shut the hell up.”