Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
Ayanna
Afew days pass. Days of learning the shape of this new thing between us—whatever it is, whatever we’re calling it.
Days of waking with his arm draped across my waist. Days of stolen moments in hallways, against walls, once in the library when I was supposed to be reading, and he was supposed to be working, and neither of us managed much of either.
Days of his hand finding mine at the breakfast table.
Vidar watches that hand like it’s treason.
Like his son has failed every lesson the old man ever carved into him.
I can read all of it in the way his eyes narrow over his coffee.
When I’m with Aric, it feels something like a honeymoon. But when he has business to attend to—which is most of the time—I am catastrophically, soul-crushingly, climbing-the-walls bored.
“You’re staring at me.” Aric meets my eyes in the reflection of our bedroom mirror while he fixes his cuffs in front of it.
“I’m not staring,” I say from my spot on the edge of the bed. “I’m observing. There’s a difference.”
“The difference being?”
“Staring implies I have nothing better to do. Observing implies intellectual curiosity.”
He turns to face me, one brow arched, the ghost of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“And which is it?”
“Honestly?” I shift, tucking my legs beneath me. “I have absolutely nothing better to do. I’m losing my mind, Aric.”
“Explain.”
“I’m bored.” The word comes out with more force than I intend.
But God, it’s true. So painfully, desperately true that I’ve been biting my tongue for days to keep from saying it.
“In Monsera, I had duties. Responsibilities. Charity work, diplomatic functions, educational initiatives. I sat on boards. I attended meetings. I had a purpose.” I gesture vaguely at the room around us.
“Here, I have a wolf who tolerates me and a wardrobe full of clothes I have nowhere to wear.”
Aric studies me for a long moment. “You want responsibilities.”
“I want to feel like I exist for a reason beyond warming your bed.” I glance at him, realizing how the words sound. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did.” He lowers himself in front of me. “And you’re right.”
My brow twitches.
That’s… not what I expected.
“I’ve been focused on keeping you safe,” he says slowly. “I didn’t consider that safety without purpose feels like a cage.”
“A very beautiful cage.” I smile.
“But a cage nonetheless.”
“Yes.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Thinking. I can practically see the gears turning behind those ice-blue eyes, already ten moves ahead, fitting every possibility into a plan only he can see.
“What if you hosted something?”
I frown. “Hosted what?”
“A charity gala,” he says casually, like it’s just occurred to him—but I know Aric better now.
Nothing just occurs to him. Everything is calculated.
“The Vold name carries weight in Norway. A gala hosted by the new Mrs. Vold would draw significant attention. Donations. Press, if you want it. The chance to establish yourself as more than just my wife.”
My heart stutters.
“You’d let me do that?”
“Let you?” His brow arches. “I’m suggesting it. The execution would be entirely yours. Guest list, theme, venue, whatever you want. I provide the resources. You provide the vision.”
I swallow past the sudden tightness in my throat.
“A charity gala,” I repeat, the smile broadening on its own. “I could do that. I could do that well, actually. Back home, I organized the Royal Children’s Foundation benefit three years running. Raised more than any—”
I stop myself because I see the way he’s looking at me. Like my childlike excitement amuses him. But I get to see those dimples when he keeps smiling while watching me like that, so no complaints.
“How long would you need?”
The question stops me—him already treating it as real, already moving to logistics. “Six weeks. Eight, to do it properly.”
“You’ll have eight.”
A commotion in the hallway cuts off. Raised voices, Ingrid’s gentle tone, then Eero’s sharper one—and then my blood goes cold.
I know that voice.
I’m on my feet before I’ve made the conscious decision to move. Aric is faster, already standing, already between me and the door, one hand reaching for something I can’t see but can definitely guess at.
The door bursts open, and I see my sister.
Naomi.
My eighteen-year-old baby sister, who is supposed to be safe in Monsera, supposed to be protected by our parents, supposed to be anywhere but standing in the doorway of my bedroom looking like she’s just run a marathon through hell.
Her brown hair is tangled. Her hazel eyes are red-rimmed and wild, and there’s a bruise on her wrist that makes my stomach knot.
“Ayanna.” She sobs, shaking. “Ayanna, I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go, I—”
I step out of the bedroom and pull her into my arms without thinking.
She collapses against me. Trembling. Crying. My composed, gentle sister who always smiles, who was supposed to be safe—shattered to pieces in my arms.
“I’ve got you.” I hold her tighter. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Over her shoulder, I see Eero leaning against the wall.
He’s staring at Naomi with an expression I’ve never seen on his face before.
Gone is the easy smirk, the careless charm, the boy who treats everything like a joke.
In its place is something raw. Something fierce.
Something that looks a great deal like the way Aric looks at me.
Oh.
I shake the thought off. Right now, my sister needs me.
We head to Aric’s office. It takes twenty minutes to calm Naomi enough to speak. Ingrid brings tea. Eero hovers near the door like he can’t decide whether to stay or go, but he stays the moment Naomi’s eyes flick to him, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Aric watches from his desk.
Finally, Naomi pulls back from my arms. Wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and takes a shaky breath.
“Father broke his promise.” Her voice is still cracking. “A man came to the house. Three days ago.” Her brows knit together. “Older. Maybe fifty. I don’t know his name, but I know his face. He’s been to Father’s meetings before. The kind of meetings we’re not supposed to know about.”
My heart lurches.
“He looked at me like—” She swallows. “Like I was something he’d already purchased. Father introduced him as my future husband.”
No.
The word screams through my head. No, no, no.
I married Aric to prevent this. I signed that contract, bound myself to a stranger, left my home and my country and everything I knew—all so Naomi would be free. All because Father promised she would be free.
“I refused.” Naomi’s chin lifts, a flash of the Almaviri stubbornness we share. “I told Father I wouldn’t do it. He said I didn’t have a choice. He said—” Her voice breaks and she takes a deep breath before she continues. “He said what happened to you was proof that daughters do as they’re told.”
The rage that moves through me is white-hot. Incandescent.
What happened to me.
Like my marriage was a lesson. A warning. A demonstration of what becomes of women who think they have a choice.
I gave up everything so this exact moment would never find her. I walked down that aisle so she would never have to. And he took that—took my surrender, the hardest thing I have ever done to myself—and sharpened it into a blade to hold against her throat. My obedience turned into her cage.
“How did you get out?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears—too calm and controlled considering the rage flowing through me.
“The bodyguard.” Naomi sniffs. “Hassan. He’s been with us since I was twelve. He came to my room that night and told me I had to leave. Said he’d arranged transport to Norway. Documents, everything. Said someone had paid him to protect me if things went wrong.”
Slowly, I turn to look at Aric. He meets my gaze. “You,” I breathe, pieces clicking into place.
He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t confirm it either—just holds my stare with that infuriating calm, that perfect control, that face that gives nothing away unless he chooses to let it.
“When we were in Monsera,” I say slowly. “For Luca’s funeral. You met with someone.”
“I met with several people.”
“You met with Hassan. You paid him.” My brows knit together. “You paid my sister’s bodyguard to help her escape if our father broke his word.”
“I made arrangements.”
“Why?” The question comes out raw. “Why would you do that? You barely knew me then. You didn’t—we weren’t—”
“I didn’t trust Leandro,” he replies. “I saw the way he looked at you in Monsera. The way he spoke about the arrangement. The way he treated the contract like a transaction and you like currency.” Aric leans back in his chair, resting his jaw against his knuckles as his expression hardens.
“I had a feeling he wouldn’t keep his word about Naomi. ”
“So you just… planned for it. Without telling me.”
“Because it mattered to you. Naomi. Her safety. Her freedom. I could see it every time you spoke about her, every time her name came up. She was the reason you agreed to this marriage in the first place.” His eyes flick between mine for a moment.
“And I wasn’t going to let your sacrifice be for nothing. ”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel.
He paid a bodyguard to watch over my sister without saying a word. Without taking credit. Without using it to make me grateful or indebted or anything else.
He just… did it. Because it mattered to me.
Naomi is watching us with wide eyes, her gaze bouncing between Aric and me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Thank you,” she murmurs to Aric. “You don’t even know me, and you helped me.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“You’re Ayanna’s sister. That makes you family.”
Family.
My heart warms, but before I can fully process it, Eero steps forward.
“She needs rest. And food. And somewhere quiet that locks from the inside.” His voice has none of its usual lightness in it. “I’ll see to it.”
Naomi looks at him, and some of the rigidity goes out of her.