Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
ARI
PRESENT DAY – FOUR YEARS LATER
When death comes calling for your soul, it is instinct to cry out for help, begging someone to listen. Pleading with all the entities known to man not to let it end. But it always does. The reaper comes whether we want him to or not.
Death imposes his will on the chosen corpse and shows it the door to eternity. The dark abyss is a chasm in front of them. And hope that there might be something beyond the blackness to welcome them is fleeting.
Your entire life leads up to the moment your heart stops beating, when the blood stops pumping, and your body turns to ash. The final notch on your timeline.
In the moments before your consciousness breaks, you are assaulted with flashes of memories.
The feeling of success is brief as a culmination of life’s regrets assaults you.
During the final seconds, you yearn to do it all over again as a new fear begins to suffocate you—irrelevance.
You try to bargain with the reaper to be remembered, but death slams the door behind you.
I already know what my greatest regret will be.
Him.
Brodie.
Red drips from my fingertips onto the ground beneath me. The color saturates the skin of my hands, the liquid crusting under my fingernails. Blood stains your skin like it stains your soul. Leaving an indissoluble and everlasting mark.
Unresponsive on the ground, the bullet still stuck inside him, gasping for air…
I blink in rapid succession as I clear the violent image from my mind. Bloodstains haunt me the most. The deep red coloring my vision, even when it’s not really there.
The white lace of my dress is rough against my palms as I smooth out my hemline. I wait for the dark red residue to streak across the dress, defacing it. Signifying it, and me, as ruined. My secrets visible and no longer hidden beneath the intricate meshwork of the fabric.
But in the mirror, all I see is white. A white so pure that it feels almost blinding.
The bodice is far too tight, and the corset digs into my skin, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that is just how my body functions now, with an endless feeling of suffocation. I wonder if I will ever take a full breath again.
Pain is something everyone experiences. It ebbs and flows within your life, not always there, but a presence that lurks in the back of your mind, waiting to be called forward. It crashes into you without warning and wreaks havoc before returning to the shadows, waiting to resurface.
This sort of pain, however… the pain of death tries to steal each new breath to make it your last. It may take a while, but eventually, death always succeeds.
Soft music reaches my ears from the open window, the notes soothing and gentle despite my inner turmoil.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my anxiety before it becomes another full-blown attack.
Anxiety has become my constant companion since he was ripped away from me.
I am convinced my anxiety feeds off my suffering.
His family and most of the high-ranking members of The Order wait outside for us to make an entrance. I can’t show them how close I am to falling apart, breaking into a million unconnected pieces. If only to try following him into another life.
I am fine. Fine.
I can get through this.
Walking over to the open window, I concentrate on the notes that flow through the air as I let the crisp breeze nip at the sheen of sweat forming on my temple. This is better, if only a little. It’s not cold or dark, and there is no blood in sight.
The crowd appears before me from the discreet window on the side of the house.
I prepare myself for the sympathetic looks, cordial greetings, and fake welcomes.
Snide comments will be made behind my back, of that I am sure.
Almost everyone in attendance still questions how I became betrothed to the heir of the Araneae legacy, the future leader of The Order.
I turn from the window before anyone can see me.
With one final look, I regard my appearance in the mirror.
My brown hair falls well past my shoulders, almost hitting the top of my lower back, covering most of my back tattoo.
The single line of web and dangling spider hidden beneath my curls.
Lace sleeves cover my arms, the fitted bodice dips low on my back, and the floor-length skirt adds a bit of elegance to the piece.
A few ringlets frame my perfectly made-up face.
The soft pink blush and simple eyeshadow meant to highlight my blue eyes. A natural look, something subtle.
Perfect for an engagement party.
Something to be displayed. To be looked at but not touched.
The soon-to-be Mrs. Araneae. Just not with the one I thought.
The mirror shows a vision in white. But all I see is red.
I am doing this for him. This is what he wanted.
How could he want this?
As I make my way to the veranda, I unclench my teeth and loosen my shoulders, but echoes of what once was follow me through the gilded hallway. Laughter, chases, stolen kisses. Whispers of a happiness so fleeting, I begin to wonder if it even happened at all.
“Only you would fall in love with such a silly holiday.”
“Valentine’s Day celebrates love, old and new. It’s a reminder that happily ever after exists, and given that I am yours, I deserve some fucking love on this day.”
Brodie releases a long sigh before he gives in, kissing the top of my head. “Arianna, love does not begin to describe my obsession with you. You will be my queen someday.”
“Then maybe the king should get on his knees and worship his future queen.”
Rounding the corner, I brush off the memory of the last Valentine’s Day we spent together.
Now is certainly not the time. I see people milling about with champagne glasses, chatting in small groups as they try to gather gossip to spread later.
The last thing I need is to give them more than they already have, which is what would happen if I suddenly burst into tears.
Expensive perfume lingers in the air from when the guests were brought through the house and ushered to the patio out back.
It’s a wonder no one has suffocated on their own Chanel.
One woman throws her head back as she laughs.
Vivian. The old shrew. She’s on the council of The Order, directly under Anthony, Brodie’s dad.
Other members of the council surround her: Adrian, Cole, Ryder, and Ashton.
Even Sarah has shown up to this event. I’m not sure I have even seen her since Brodie’s mom, Elena, died. She didn’t even come to the funeral.
That was only a few months before Anthony married Isabelle, Aiden’s widowed mother. Nothing like mourning the loss of your wife by remarrying before her body is cold in the ground.
We were in middle school when Aiden and Isabelle moved in. Brodie had already been shipped off to Haversham, an elite boarding school for the ultra-wealthy. Brodie and I weren’t particularly close at the time, but our mutual dislike of our new housemate bonded us.
Goosebumps form along my arms, and without even seeing him, I know he’s here.
His presence lurks in the darkest parts of the shadows, his goal to go unnoticed.
To watch people expose their secrets unknowingly.
And if they eventually end up on his table, well, he can wield blackmail almost as well as he can wield a knife.
With deadly precision. It’s how he became known as the reaper for The Order.
I try to ignore the prickly sensation beneath my skin that flares up whenever he is near. The need to crawl out of my body just to get rid of the feeling is so strong, I barely suppress my need to run away from it. How am I expected to maintain my composure by his side for the rest of my life?
Marriage. A fucking marriage.
How could Brodie have wanted a marriage for me if it didn’t include him?
I blink away the tears trying to form in my eyes and let my mask fall into place. Nothing. They will see nothing. Just a blank face. No heartbreak or sadness. Utter apathy.
If I break now, they will know how far I have fallen and try to take away everything I fought for. Dismantling my entire life until there is no trace of me left. That’s what The Order does to those who don’t fall into line. They erase you.
A large hand settles on my lower back and guides me to the French doors. I attempt to shake off his touch, but he pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist.
“Let the games begin,” Aiden utters the words under his breath so that no one else can hear. His voice scrapes against my already too-tight skin. As if I could forget this is all just a game to him.
As the doors open, I fortify my armor. Heads turn, and conversations slow as they take in the two of us together. Aiden, in an all-black suit, and I, in bridal white, painting the perfect picture as heads of The Order.
Two opposites forced together through a tragic turn of events.
The silence is overpowering as they watch us, waiting. Heat blooms on my face, and I curse myself for giving them that. All eyes are on us, and they almost all narrow in synchronicity, searching, hoping to find fractures in the tale they were told. Searching out an untold truth.
But we hold firm.
Anthony clears his throat and raises his champagne glass, “To the future Mr. and Mrs. Araneae!” Two glasses are produced and given to Aiden and me. We clink them against each other, and each take a sip. The champagne cools my throat as I take a moment to eye everyone over the glass.
Every bit of energy I have is being used to hold me upright.
His hand has not left my waist, and I can’t tell if I am thankful.
His touch feels like it is searing my skin, even through the fabric.
I want to throw up. But at the same time, I catch myself leaning into him.
Like my subconscious knows that deep down, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.
Not for me, that’s for damn sure, but for Brodie.
Giving him some more of my weight, I anchor myself to his strength and hold on. Just this once.
Congratulations and well wishes are being sent our way. Questions about save-the-dates and locations. Dresses, flowers, and a honeymoon.
A honeymoon. For fuck’s sake.
I don’t have any answers to give, but Aiden’s mom jumps in and takes over for me.
I am surrounded by people planning my future while I drown in my grief.
How can these people even stand here and pretend that nothing has changed? Their fake sincerity makes me want to pick up the crystal centerpiece on the table next to me and throw it at the damn wall. Shattering this illusion of happiness and plummeting everyone into the darkness with me.
Vivian walks over with her husband to express her congratulations personally. “We could not be happier for you.”
I scoff at that one. Happy. As if happiness exists anymore. As if there is even one goddamn thing on this earth that could make me smile anymore. No, that feeling was ripped away from me when he died.
When Brodie died.
And in his last will, he gave me to Aiden.
To be his lawfully wedded wife.
And now I find myself at my own engagement party. Not the one I ever thought I would have. Not the one I had ever dreamed of, no, because now I was engaged to his stepbrother.
In a matter of months, Aiden would be my husband. To have and to hold, till death do us part…
If I can just get through the next few hours, pretend this is who I am, then I can escape into my misery. Because misery loves nothing more than company, and I am its favorite victim.
I said I would bargain my soul with the Devil to fix this. Turns out, I bargained with someone much worse, and even the Devil himself can’t save me now.