Chapter 31
Violet
My mind reeled as Roman’s words sank in.
Wife hunt.
So… Julian wanted to marry me? The man who'd stalked me, hunted me, imprisoned me… he'd done all of that because he wanted me as his future bride?
It didn't make any sense. We'd barely even spoken before the hunt, and to add to that, I was actively investigating his Club.
No. No way.
Clearly, I was missing something.
“Did you say a wife hunt?” I asked.
Roman smiled faintly, almost wistfully. “Yes. Or More accurately, a future wife hunt. Like I said, it’s a long story.”
“Well, you also said that we’ve probably got several hours before Julian finds us,” I said dryly. “So go ahead.”
Roman’s smile twitched, then faded. “All right. Here goes,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard that members of the Dionysus Club tend to come from certain… backgrounds.”
I let out a derisive snort. “You can just say ‘rich’. Or ‘utterly obscene levels of wealth’ if you’re really concerned about accuracy.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. It’s a club of rich men, originally created by other rich men,” he said. “And rich people, as you’ve probably noticed, tend to marry within their own circles. It’s not just about the money. It’s about social class, pedigree, and image.”
I nodded warily. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Well, centuries ago, the Dionysus Club founders realized that kind of approach created a problem. Wealthy upper-class families are a rarity, and marrying within their ranks over and over again could make things… complicated.”
“Incestuous,” I said bluntly.
He inclined his head. “Exactly. So they decided to bring in new blood by creating the Selection,” he said. “Every Reaper is offered the chance to participate in their senior year of college. They each choose a woman they believe could be an ideal partner, regardless of her background, and she’s—”
“Hold on.” I lifted a hand. “Sorry to cut you off, but what the hell is a Reaper?”
Roman went still. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered after a beat. “You’re not supposed to know that term yet. Selected girls are only told after the Eleusinian ritual, when the Club is sure they can be trusted.”
“Well, if you want me to trust you right now, you need to give me a reason,” I said, arching a brow. “That means telling me everything.”
He let out another sigh. “Fair enough,” he said. “Like I already said, the Club is made up of very wealthy men. They want to protect their own interests, for obvious reasons, but there are often people who get in the way of that. Or at least try to get in the way.”
“Erm… what do you mean by that?”
Roman shifted his weight, the wooden stool creaking beneath him.
“The Club's members aren’t just rich businessmen. They’re extremely powerful people.
Senators, CEOs, judges, diplomats. They control massive amounts of wealth and influence,” he said.
“But with that kind of power comes enemies. People who want to take them down, expose their secrets, ruin their businesses, or blackmail them. Sometimes they even try to kill them.”
I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.
“That's where Reapers come in,” he went on. “In our first year of college, we undergo heavy training. After that, we're the Club's enforcers. Protectors. Problem solvers.”
“Problem solvers,” I repeated, my voice flat. “You mean… assassins.”
Roman didn't flinch. “Sometimes. Not always. But yes, when necessary, that's what we do. We eliminate threats to Club members and their interests.”
My stomach churned. “You kill people.”
“We remove dangerous people who threaten the lives and livelihoods of our brothers,” Roman corrected. “Blackmailers, criminals, corrupt officials who've turned on us, traitors within our own ranks. The kinds of people who wouldn't hesitate to destroy everything we've built. Or to kill us first.”
“That's a convenient way to justify murder,” I said.
“Maybe. But it's the truth. And that’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is,” I murmured.
Roman held my gaze. "Every Club member serves as a Reaper for three years during college. It's our... second initiation, I guess you could call it. Our way of proving loyalty to the Club and learning what it really means to protect the brotherhood.”
“Three years of killing for the Club,” I said, still trying to wrap my mind around it. “And then what?”
“Then you graduate. Move on to your career. Law, business, politics, whatever. But you remain a member for life, protected by the current generation of Reapers. It's a cycle. Everyone serves their time and pays their dues, and they benefit from that service later.”
I thought about Julian once again. About the way he'd moved through the forest with such deadly efficiency. About Kane disappearing without a trace after Julian caught him hurting me.
My stomach turned, but a traitorous part of me was already whispering: He killed Kane for you.
I went quiet, letting it all sink in. Then I looked up again. “This Selection thing. Every Reaper does it?”
“They have the choice to do it, and it’s highly encouraged.”
“As a way of bringing in new blood.”
“Through the women,” he replied, nodding. “Once the process is over, the Reaper marries his Selection, and they later have children. Any boys become future Club members.”
“What’s this ‘process’ I keep hearing about?” I asked. “Julian mentioned it too. But he wouldn’t tell me anything about it.”
Roman leaned back slightly, as if bracing himself for my reaction. “After a girl is caught in the hunt, she's brought to the estate. She stays here for several months, undergoing intensive training.”
A cold shiver slid down my spine. “Training in what?”
“Everything she'll need to know to be the wife of a powerful man,” he said. “Politics, social graces, etiquette. How to navigate high society, how to handle the media, how to protect herself and any future children. It's comprehensive.”
“Sounds a little like brainwashing,” I muttered. “Like some sort of Stepford Wives thing.”
“It's not brainwashing. It’s preparation,” he said. “These women marry senators, CEOs, diplomats. Sometimes even future presidents. So they need to know how to survive in that world. The training gives them the tools to do that, and to wield their own power within it.”
Once again, I wished Julian was here to answer my most pressing question: why the hell had he put my name on the List? Did he think he could train me into compliance so I’d stop investigating my sister’s death? Turn me into some polished robot of a political wife who'd forget that Cal ever existed?
Over my dead body.
My brows rose. “What if a girl doesn't want to be trained? If she refuses?”
“Refusals are extremely rare, because once the girls understand the incredible future that’s being offered to them, most of them want to stay.
But if one of them truly can't adapt and wants out, or if she fails her training...” He paused.
“Well, she's removed. She signs an NDA and returns to her old life.”
I blinked. “So when someone says a girl is removed… that’s all they mean? They’re not killed?”
Roman frowned. “No, of course not. We don’t kill Selection girls if they fail their training or simply decide the life isn’t for them. They’re just dismissed and sent home.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that this Club wasn't as monstrous as I'd imagined. But everything I'd learned about them told me not to trust a single word from a member’s mouth.
“I’ve heard all the stories,” I said in a low voice. “Girls who come back… changed. I even met one who ended up in a psychiatric hospital.”
“Well, think about it. Imagine spending months being convinced that you’re going to marry a billionaire or future president.
You build it all up in your head; this life of unimaginable luxury and status,” he said.
“Then, somewhere along the way, you do something that makes your Reaper realize that you’re not a suitable partner after all, and you’re removed from the equation and put back in your usual world, which suddenly seems so small and quaint.
” Roman paused for a beat, tilting his head. “How do you think that would feel?”
“I guess it would feel like a huge loss,” I murmured.
“Exactly. Not all of the women feel that way after they leave. Some genuinely believe it’s not the life for them, and they’re happy to accept their return to the real world,” he said.
“But a lot of them react very badly. They’re humiliated or even haunted by their failure.
They feel that the life they wanted was dangled in front of them and then cruelly snatched away.
And that takes a long time to get over.”
“Some never get over it,” I said stiffly. “The one I met, who ended up in the hospital… she had a major breakdown.”
“That’s unfortunate, but we can’t really predict or help someone else’s mental state,” he replied. “And that girl’s Reaper couldn’t possibly have known that would happen to her.”
“Right.” I frowned, mind still spinning. “But how can you be sure the failed girls will honor their NDAs? What if they get angry or upset enough to break them and expose the whole thing?”
“It’s a possibility, but it’s never happened. They’re too afraid of repercussions from the Club.”
“I see.” I cocked my head. “And what happens if a girl tries to escape during training? Before she’s signed any kind of NDA.”
Roman's expression darkened slightly. “That's... strongly discouraged.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the estate is heavily guarded. The grounds are monitored. There's nowhere to run that we won't find you.” He leaned forward. “But like I said, most girls don't want to leave once they understand what's being offered to them.”
“Right.” I nodded slowly. “Tell me something else. Why does the hunting part of the Selection exist? Why can’t you guys just date women and propose to them like normal people?”
“The hunt proves the Reaper is capable of claiming and keeping his woman,” Roman replied. “And it’s tradition. A fun one too, if you ask most of them.”