Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

“Hey, are you okay?”

The words barely registered in my brain as I downed my fifth shot of the night. The burning liquid traveled down my throat, lighting up my insides and making the betrayal that lingered in my heart pale in comparison.

“Aria, I’m talking to you.” A hand wrapped around my upper arm, tugging me back.

I hissed as half of the amber liquor ended up missing my mouth and found the low neckline of my black dress more appealing. Cursing under my breath, I set the glass on the bartop and turned to face my cousin.

“I’m fine, Daphne. Gosh, this was supposed to be a fun night out, but you’re acting like a mother hen,” I said, grabbing the handful of napkins she shoved my way.

“Well, excuse me for being concerned. You’ve been downing shots like they’re water ever since we got to Bella’s. Is something wrong?” She pursed her red lips as she perched her ass on a clear bar stool.

Her white leather skirt made it difficult for her to sit comfortably, but Daphne prioritized her appearance over anything else. I didn’t understand why. She already looked like perfection personified with her tall and slim build, long brown locks, and warm hazel eyes. A put together version of me. She could wear a trash bag, and still catch the eye of every guy in the room.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I held back a shuttered exhale as I finished wiping my chest. Daphne wasn’t the kind of person that took no for an answer though, so I threw her a bone. “Grandma Chloe came in for a visit this morning, and you know how she is. I didn’t even have any time to drink my coffee in peace.”

I still remembered how my nostrils stung when my first sip ended up going out my nose and not down my throat. They’d ambushed me. My parents and her, my family had hand-delivered news I never thought I’d ever hear as a woman living in the twenty-first century.

“Ohh.” Daphne winced, giving me a you-poor-girl look through furrowed browsand signaling for another round of shots. The bartender eyed me wearily every time he passed alcohol my way. My stubby height made me appear younger than I was.

“Yeah,” I muttered back.

“That woman thinks she’s better than everyone. Her air of superiority could probably suffocate the royal family, I swear. I despise how she looks down on your mother just because she doesn’t have the same stuffy upbringing as her husband. Not that I have anything against Uncle Dorian, but…”

I tuned out as Daphne continued to ramble.

A flurry of squeals hit my right ear when an Ariana Grande song pounded through the speakers, and girls scrambled to dance like someone was chasing them. Over the dancefloor, lit chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and heavy Swarovski crystals decorated the metal branches. Their reflection gleamed off the shiny onyx floor, making it seem as if transparent jellyfish were floating underneath all the dancing bodies.

I honed in on a couple at the far right, mesmerized by the graceful moves of the blonde girl. Passion spilled from her limbs. Every twirl and twist was fluid, in tune with the music. She knew what she was doing. A smirk lit up her face as she ground against the curly-haired guy on her back who had his eyes closed as if he was in pain while holding her.

They looked like two stars burning bright only for each other, so in love, they captivated looks dripped in jealousy left and right.

That was what I wanted—minus the jealousy. Evil eye was a real bitch.

That something special.

A love so deep it lit up my world. I wanted a kaleidoscope of pinks and reds, not dull grays and blues. I wanted what my parents had, what this couple had, not what I was supposedly destined to get, according to my grandma, a cynical romantic and ruthless businesswoman.

“Don’t you agree?” Daphne’s voice pierced through the fog in my brain, and when I turned back, I found her waiting expectantly for my answer.

“Yes.” I nodded, the movement sending my head spinning. “Totally.”

“Really? So, I should balance a stack of books on my head and belly dance naked for a team of football players while they’re competing in the Super Bowl?”

“Well, I bet they would appreciate that distraction.”

“Ari! You’re not listening to me.” She smacked my forearm, and I hopped off the stool, laughing.

“Sorry, love.” I grabbed my clutch from the bar, hauling the silver strap over my shoulder. “I really have to use the bathroom.”

“Fine.” Daphne huffed out a breath, crossing her arms. “But don’t be too long, I don’t want to stay here alone.”

As if her being alone was even possible. I could already see potential suitors hovering nearby, like vultures eyeing their next meal. Nevertheless, I dipped my chin in agreement before turning around.

I kept my eyes glued forward as I made my way past crowds of people to the dingy hallway bathed in red light because I didn’t want to glance at the couple again. I didn’t want to be reminded of everything I’d lost.

It wasn’t like I had any claim to anyone in the first place, just girly fantasies pieced together by years of watching my parents love for one another. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought the same people that built the delicate vessel of my ideals would be the ones that'd shatter it as well.

My chest burned as emotions swelled again.

Emotions. Emotions. Emotions.

I hated emotions. I was so fucking tired of them. Everything felt heightened through your lows, plunging you deeper into a murky abyss, fully equipped with a whole separate aura that dimmed your light. It bent and snapped, in tune with the events of my life, and occasionally morphed, bleeding other people’s hurt into my character.

An empath with a flair for the dramatics. That was me and all the baggage that came with me.

I rubbed my hand over my chest as I closed in on the bathroom door. I needed to pee, down five more shots, and I’d be so wiped out I wouldn’t even remember my name by the end of the night.

With that plan in mind, I slipped inside, taking in the white-tiled walls bathed in the same neon red light that showered the hallway, and the graffitied stall doors. Loopy designs covered the entire surface, beautiful in their chaotic nature.

I was splashing my neck with some cool water when the film of silence broke, and weird sounds invaded my eardrums.

Pants, moans, flesh hitting flesh.

Sucking in the droplets of water donning my upper lip, I snapped my head to the mirror, focusing on the noise. A groan sliced through the thickened air. A very loud, very satisfied, and very male groan. The kind that was breathed into your ear as a hand fisted your hair, straining your neck, and making your body tingle in the most delicious way possible.

My nails dug into the edges of the porcelain when I noticed two sets of feet peeking through the cubicle on the far left. Shiny black Louboutins bracketed a pair of oxfords, spread on either side as the door creaked with movement.

Well, at least two people were having a better night than I was.

Snapping back into action, I finished lathering my hands and ignored the ever-increasing tightness in between my legs. What was wrong with me? I was acting like a creep, listening in on strangers getting it on.

“Oh my god, Saint.” A high-pitched voice bounced off the walls.

My feet froze on the floor, my body turning into ice at the name that escaped the girl’s mouth.

“You’re stretching me so much it hurts, but it feels so good, baby.”

“I am not your baby, Caroline. Thought I made that clear from the start. I’m using you just as much as you’re using me,” a gruff reply came, and the door started rattling harder.

A sudden wave of bile traveled up my throat when I recognized his voice. As if there were many guys named fucking Saint to begin with, but no, I needed that second seal of confirmation. The seal that tied the bow on the fucked up present named Saint Astor.

He was a walking, talking contradiction with an extended list of sins.

The self-proclaimed Hugh Hefner of our city.

Talk of his antics still painted the streets of Astropolis red, even though he was closing in on turning thirty-one.

“Did you know that Saint Astor used to throw monthly orgy parties? It was the scandal of the century, but I heard he still hosts one every now and again, and apparently, girls line up to attend.”

“I heard that he trashed his parents’ home after his six-figure football deal with the Raptors got dropped. The police had to get involved, and according to their neighbors, he got arrested. His father was even considering suing him.”

“Ever since his spinal cord injury, he’s been on a downward spiral. He bought a mansion up north, and they say he spends all of his days drowning in a bottle of bourbon.”

Obviously, that last rumor wasn’t true. He was too busy drowning in girls. The very same day, I found out my family wanted to marry me off to him. At the very same club I attended. I didn’t believe in coincidences, and I didn’t believe in letting people make a fool out of me, especially immature boys.

My exhales turned sharp as the girl's pants turned heavier, husky with pleasure. A fog clouded my brain, and I didn’t have any control over my feet as they rushed to the cubicle, and my palm smacked the abused stall door.

“What do you think you’re doing? This is a public restroom, and I would very much appreciate using the bathrooms without contracting chlamydia.” The sentence left my mouth before I had time to think it over.

The noises ceased as if I’d pulled the plug, and an equally loud stunned silence stood in the wake.

“Something you probably haven’t done in a while. There are four more stalls. Go use one of them, bitch,” Caroline replied, and blood rushed to my head.

I didn’t know why he and another girl got my soul churning.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was anger at his audacity. That instead of reaching out and talking to me, he went out of his way to show me how this would work.

Pain ricocheted down my wrist as I slammed my hand on the door again. “I’m gonna call security if you don’t get out of there, and do you really need one more scandal, Saint?”

It would be so easy to turn around and walk away, but frustration clawed at my chest. It wasn’t solely aimed at him. He was simply the last spark I needed to blow up. My power was stripped away, tied to a snotty rich boy who couldn’t get his life together.

Anxiety and satisfaction twisted my belly in knots when I heard Caroline whine and the sound of a zipper being tugged up. My words made an impact because he didn’t want to land in further shit.

That was what got us there in the first place.

That and my desperate family, I guess.

My feet hadn’t properly touched the ground when they stunned me with the announcement. After my twelve-hour flight from Europe, I found them all sitting around the dining table as if they were discussing their battle plans. Mom, Dad, and dearest Grandma Chloe.

Unsuspecting, I’d stepped into a minefield.

A whoosh of brute air hit my face, and I stumbled back as the door swung open. My heartbeat faltered when his frame filled the doorway, taking up every inch of space with his bulky body. A white T-shirt stuck over his pecs like a second skin, and black cigar pants clung to his long legs, straining over his… member.

I quickly pulled my gaze up only to find amber eyes glaring at me like they wanted to take me up in flames with the intensity of their whiskey stare. Pure, unadulterated disgust veiled the green specs breaking through the liquid gold, anger coated his curled upper lip, and annoyance bled from his pores as he ran a hand through his mussed, fair hair.

“Who the fuck sent you?”

I vaguely heard his words as I felt my body buzz in an unfamiliar way. Shivers broke down my spine when I caught the line of his jaw clenching, remnants of a red lipstick clinging to his neck like a brand. A wave of anger hit when he spoke again.

“So now you lose your voice? Isn’t that convenient?” His lips tugged up in a cruel smirk that had me blurting out the first retort that came to mind.

“Everyone loves a good train wreck, Saint. Pulling your gaze away can prove to be difficult.” I cleared my throat, masking the catch in my voice.

“Is that why your pupils are dilated? You know if you wanted to join us, you could’ve just asked. Caroline loves to share, isn’t that right?” Saint threw a hand over the blonde’s bony shoulders, crushing her body to his. His voice was flat, but his eyes were looking to ruin me. As if I was the one in the wrong.

“You’re disgusting,” I spat, letting the influx of hatred that swelled in my chest out.

Indifference swam in Saint’s gaze. “And you’re dismissed. Tell my father he can shove his curfew up his ass, and if he sends any more people like you my way, I will sue him for harassment.”

What?

I stared at him blankly as the words took a minute to sink into my brain.

He thought his father sent me?

To keep an eye on him and report back?

“You don’t remember me?”

Saint’s eyes squinted as he looked me over, from the top of my head till the tips of my strappy heels. His gaze tingled in the most delicious way possible. It was like ice spread in my veins, evaporating when he shook his head no.

“I haven’t seen you before, peeping Tom, but you clearly know me.”

My lungs expanded, and I took in a breath. “As I said, everyone loves to watch a disaster unfold. You must be on to your eighth headline of the week.”

My retort didn’t impress a bored Caroline who’d taken to scrolling on her phone as Saint and I had our verbal spar. She rolled her eyes before talking over us. “Oh my god, Saint, let’s go already. We can head to my place.”

Saint didn’t pay her any mind though; he was too engrossed in this back and forth. In pulling as much as I was pushing. He dropped his hand from Caroline’s body, and she huffed, stepping back.

“What’s your name?”

I pursed my lips, not knowing whether I wanted to laugh or cry.

I had a habit of acting before thinking things through.

I thought he knew me or at least knew of me. We weren’t strangers. Hell, we saw each other in every other fashion week. Fleur and Falco were two of the biggest fashion houses in the world. There was no escaping each other, especially now that our parents had agreed to a merger.

But why would someone like Saint care about little old me? Why look at the short brunette with curves in all the wrong places when he had Candice Swanepoel look-alikes at his beck and call?

“Brigette.” I gave him my middle name, feeling like he had to earn calling me by my actual name.

It didn’t make sense. My brain was a jumbled mess of hormones and emotions, but our playing field wasn’t level, and the game hadn’t even started yet. I’d take whatever leeway I could get because guys like him didn’t change in a day. The more space between us, the better.

Hopefully, I could find a way to get out of this before my clock ran out.

“Brigette.” He rolled my name on his tongue, his voice a touch husky and a lot seductive. Caroline blended into the background, as my world focused on him when he stepped into my space. “You can’t stand by a landslide and get out unscathed. You will eventually fall, and when you do, hope there’s someone there to catch you and not judge you.”

Two red splotches bloomed in my cheeks. I felt the heat traveling from my face and unfurling down my neck when he raised a hand in the air, curling a finger around one of my brown curls.

I stopped breathing altogether. Saint’s face was so close, I saw the golden flecks in his eyes glittering with inexplicable mirth. His annoyance bled into dry humor. Watching me squirm was too enjoyable.

Somewhere along the way, the tables turned, and I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

“Think before you speak, Spitfire. It’ll take you a long way.” He tugged on the strand, making a hiss fall past my parted lips and he let go with a chuckle.

I hated his laugh. I hated it because it made him even more attractive than he already was. Saint had dimples on both of his cheeks, giving him a boyish aura despite crossing that threshold several years ago.

“Fuck you.” My body trembled as I pulled back.

“Thanks, but no thanks, jailbait. I’m all set up for the night,” he said, and then much to my horror, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and threw me a wad of fifties. “There, that should be enough to buy your silence. You didn’t see me here tonight, did you, sweetheart?”

I bit my lip to keep from crying out as I cradled the cash against my chest.

He was rude, mean, and vulgar.

And he was supposed to be my future husband.

Resentment and irritation mixed in the pit of my stomach until a cocktail of unpredictability stood in its wake.

He brought out the worst in me in under ten minutes.

“This.” I held up the money in between my pointer and middle finger before dropping it at his feet. “Would be enough to buy anyone’s silence. Respect, though? That’s earned. I have plenty of people to catch me if I fall, but you? Who do you have?”

There was nothing more satisfying than watching his faux smile drop, his expression shattering like his fragile reality. “What the fuck do you want?”

It was my turn to smirk as I made a U-turn, giving them my back.

To be free.

“Nothing from you.”