God of War: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 6)
God of War: Chapter 22

It’s not a surprise when I wake up to find myself alone in the vast, cold bed.

For a moment, I believe everything was a cruel dream. However, the soreness between my legs negates that thought.

I did, in fact, lose my virginity to the man I vowed to hate for the rest of my days.

And I loved it.

Kill me now.

Seeing as it’s eight in the morning, I change into the first dress I get my hands on, put on some makeup, and start to run down the stairs.

That’s the worst idea ever. My sore pussy aches and my legs shake with every little movement. So I walk slowly, grabbing onto the handrail for balance like a toddler who’s learning how to walk.

My heart shrinks behind my rib cage when I find only Sam in the kitchen, going about her cleaning rituals.

She doesn’t hide her surprise upon seeing me. “Morning. I didn’t think you’d be up this early. I’ll prepare your smoothie in a minute.”

“It’s fine, I’ll do it myself.” I open the fridge and grab a banana and a bowl of strawberries.

“I insist.” She smoothly pulls them from my hand.

“I can handle a smoothie. I won’t break your precious blender.”

“Doubtful.” She doesn’t even sound sarcastic.

With a sigh, I slide onto one of the stools across from her, cradling my chin on my palm. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yes?” She’s turned away, washing the strawberries and then puts them in the blender.

“Were you the one who bathed me and changed my clothes last night?”

“Who else would it have been?” she says absentmindedly.

My lips part.

She’s lying to my face.

Makes me think about the times she might have concealed the truth from me. Why would she? Why would Eli? He also lied about the rehab.

Additionally, Ari and Mama lied about that and said I decided to get clean, so Eli helped. He didn’t help. He forced me to get clean, and while I’m thankful for the lack of alcoholism in my life, that doesn’t negate how it came to be.

Unless they didn’t know? I wouldn’t be surprised if he hid the facts from them so they wouldn’t interfere with his madness.

Cecy is the only one who said she was just happy I got over it, without providing details.

Why is everyone lying to me?

Frustration bubbles in my veins with the lethality of a ticking bomb.

I’d expect that from my family, from Cecy even, because they all love to be overprotective, but not from Eli. I thought he was the only one who didn’t pity me.

The thought of him being with me, marrying me, just because he decided to be a philanthropist all of a sudden makes me sick.

I’ll lock myself in the psychiatric ward if he so much as feels sorry for me.

I won’t be able to handle it.

Not from him.

Not after everything that’s transpired between us.

I can’t handle feeling small in front of him, of all people.

“Are you sure Eli didn’t help?” I ask Sam with a calm I don’t feel.

The sound of the blender echoes in the air before she stops it and pours the smoothie in my cup, taking her time as if she didn’t hear me.

Finally, she slides the cup in front of me and wipes her hands with a napkin. “What makes you believe that?”

“My memories, maybe.”

Unless…they were my imagination. The thought of that sends a tremor through me and I take a huge gulp of the smoothie to stop myself from hyperventilating.

Are my hallucinations getting more real now? I swear I could feel his hands all over me, his lips on my forehead, his gentle care.

“Please tell me they’re real memories,” I say in a small, panicked voice. “Please, Sam.”

“They are,” she says simply. “He carried you and refused my help to get you to bed.”

“Oh, thank God.” I breathe heavily until my rhythm goes back to normal, then narrow my eyes on her. “In that case, why did you lie?”

“I figured it’d make things simpler.”

“Well, it doesn’t. I want the truth, even if it hurts.” Which, in this case, it doesn’t.

She offers me a small smile, then turns around to disassemble the blender while I wallow in the truth that everything from last night was real.

No idea which I liked better. The sex or everything that followed.

“Did Eli leave early?” I ask.

“Yes.”

As always, Sam doesn’t elaborate and never will even with a gun to her head.

“Can you give more detail?”

“Like?”

“Why did he leave early?”

“You’ll have to ask Henderson. I manage the household, not his schedule.”

“Speaking of the household, why don’t I see half of the staff? The men, in particular?”

“They were sacked. The replacements will be women.”

My mouth hangs open. “Don’t tell me Eli did that?”

“Who else has that type of authority here?”

The fucking tyrant. He really kept his word about the male staff.

“By the way.” Sam reaches into her apron and retrieves a small box. “He left this for you.”

I clutch it with a questioning look until I see the label.

The morning-after pill.

The ticking bomb reaches the explosion point, and the burst shocks me to my bones.

That’s it.

I’m going to unleash all hell loose on the bastard.

That afternoon, I change into the raciest, most revealing black mini skirt I own that barely covers my arse and pair it with a deep V-neck pink top that reveals a generous portion of my breasts. Just to be extra, I finish the outfit with knee-high pink boots.

Then I head to King Enterprises, armed with pettiness, rage, and my husband’s least favorite theatric—drama.

I walk into the company’s grand reception hall, smiling and waving at anyone who looks at me. Once I’m by the reception area, I demand family access. The guy ogles my chest for a solid ten seconds.

His colleague, a black woman who looks young enough to have freshly graduated from uni, stares at him uncomfortably.

I knock the counter. “I’m over here, Mr.…” I trail off and read his tag, “Tyler.”

“Certainly, Mrs. King.” He looks at the girl, who smiles at me shyly. “Do your job properly, Hailey! Call the security team and ask for an access tag.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She falls over herself with apologies and grabs the phone with a shaky hand.

I narrow my eyes on him. “You do it, Tyler.”

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“Did I ask you to talk back? Pick up that phone and do your job.” I stare at him, unblinking.

“Certainly.” He cowers and takes the phone from her still-trembling hands.

Pricks like him only bark at those lower than them. It makes them feel grandiose about their miserable lives.

As he speaks on the phone, I lean over to Hailey and smile. “Love your earrings. They’re so pretty.”

She blushes and smiles tentatively. “Thanks. They’re actually my late gran’s.”

“Your gran had fantastic taste.”

“She did. She was a fashionista.”

“Badass.”

“I love your boots,” she says in a low voice, surveying her surroundings. “You look like Barbie.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Thanks, Hailey.”

Her smile widens, but it soon disappears when Tyler speaks. “I’m afraid Mr. Eli King and his assistant joined Mr. Aiden King and Mrs. Teal Astor for a site inspection today.”

“I didn’t ask you to inquire about his whereabouts. I only need the access. Or do I have to repeat that slower so you’ll understand?”

He purses his lips, but he nods again. “Certainly.”

Soon after, a big buff security guy smiles at me and gives me a tag that he says gives me access to the management floors. Sweet.

I start to walk, then stop and smile at the girl. “You look after yourself, Hailey. It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too, Mrs. King.”

“Call me Ava. We’re about the same age, girl.”

I offer Tyler a disappointed shake of my head and saunter to the lift. Naturally, I go to snoop in Eli’s office. Leo’s assistants—he has two—don’t even attempt to stop me.

If anything, the middle-aged woman and the young guy stare at me with unmasked fascination as if I’m an exotic animal.

I smile, compliment the guy’s tie and the woman’s beautiful lipstick shade and ask her for the brand’s name. After I make a mental note to add it to my extravagant shopping cart, I walk inside.

My husband’s office is as cold as his soul. Neutral beige colors, a skyline view of the City of London, and rows of horrific books about management, finance, and things he can bullshit his way through better than Machiavelli.

I walk to his desk and stop when I find a framed picture from our wedding. Lifting it up, I sit in his chair and stare at it.

He’s kissing me at the altar, a possessive arm wrapped around my waist and his lips almost eating my face.

My eyes are closed and I look happy. I think.

For some reason, I don’t like that I don’t remember that kiss. It seems vital to.

A question nags in the back of my mind. Why would he have it on his desk? He has no pictures of our wedding in his home office.

Not ones that I’ve seen, at least.

After what seems like half an hour of useless pondering, I slide it back to its previous position.

Hmm. What can I do to inject some life into this mechanical space?

I mess up the pens on his desk, mix the papers together, and wish I’d brought my candy floss to dirty his sofa.

I leave his office, a new idea popping into my head. There’s nothing my husband hates more than other men. He made that clear way before he married me.

To this day, I have no idea why he became my watchdog after I started attending uni. He made it impossible for me to go home with any guy. However, I did the same, so it seemed like a little game we played.

Pathetically, driving away each other’s romantic interests was the only thing we shared at the time.

Who knew there’d be a day where we’d have a legitimate claim on each other?

Anyway, Remi is a perfect candidate to ruffle Eli’s feathers. As I leave, I tell Henderson’s assistants, “When Mr. King comes back, can you tell him I’m catching up with Remi at Steel Corp?”

They nod. I thank them and then head to the other unnecessarily huge corporation my husband holds a role in.

This time, it’s easier to get in since the receptionist isn’t as insufferable as Tyler. Instead of going to Eli’s office, though, I go to Remi’s.

His secretary, a tall redhead, stands up and tries to stop me. “Mr. Astor is…rather preoccupied, miss.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll love this.” I place a forefinger to my mouth. “I ordered his favorite sushi. When it arrives, please bring it in.”

I open the door to Remi’s office and stand in a dramatic pose. “Surprise, Rems!”

My jaw nearly hits the floor when I find Remi kissing a girl against the wall. And it’s not just any girl.

It’s my headache of a sister. Ari.

Upon hearing me, he immediately wrenches himself away from her, but the little shit wraps her arms around his neck. “Go away, Ava.”

“Ariella Jasmine Nash!” I stride toward them with big-sister rage radiating from me in waves.

“What’s up, Ava Dahlia King?” she asks with visible annoyance.

“You think this is funny?”

“Nope. I thought we were calling each other by our middle names.”

Remi has the decency to appear a bit ruffled and even gives me an apologetic look. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like.” Ari slides her arm around his and leans her head against his bicep. “We’re getting married in maybe six months.”

“No, we’re not.” He gently pushes her away.

“He’ll come around.” She continues smiling at him like an idiot, then gives me an exasperated glance. “He’d come around sooner if you hadn’t interrupted. Thanks for nothing, sis.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“Duh.”

“I can’t believe this.” I catch her by the ear. “Shouldn’t you be at uni?”

“I have two hours free.”

“And you chose to spend them here?”

“I do that every day. Let me go.”

She manages to release herself while I’m distracted with glaring at Remi.

“Don’t look at me. I never encouraged her.”

“Your tongue down my throat certainly did,” my sister says with glee.

“Ari!” I shout.

“Ariella,” Remi scolds at the same time.

“Don’t care. I’m going now. Try not to miss me too much, I’ll text later.” She attacks Remi in a hug before he can dodge it, then she kisses my cheek once and whispers, “Don’t pussy-block me again. That’s totally against the girl honor code.”

Then she saunters outside, humming a happy tune and probably planning to broadcast what just happened to the entire world.

“What the hell did I get myself into?” Remi plops on the sofa after she disappears.

“One word.” I join him. “Trouble.”

He stares at the now-closed door. Remi is classically handsome. Straight, high nose, slightly curly brown hair, whiskey-colored eyes, and sharp, unforgettable features. A European prince through and through. He literally has aristocratic French and English blood, as he likes to remind us.

A heavy sigh rushes out of him. “Is there a chance she’ll give up?”

“Not when you encouraged her. Besides, seeing as she’s had a major crush on you since she was thirteen, I don’t believe giving up is on the menu.”

“Sort of like you, huh?” he jokes.

“Yeah, well, if you break her heart, you’ll have me to answer to.”

He smiles with no apparent humor, then seems to sober up. “What brings you here?”

“Your company?”

He finally notices my outfit and his brows shoot up to his hairline. “Does that include my funeral? Because if Eli sees you dressed like this beside me, he’ll have my head.”

“Don’t be a wuss. Why are you scared of him?”

“I’m not scared of him. I just value my life.”

I roll my eyes. “Honestly, all of you seem to be my friends until he tells you to back off.”

“Hey! I refuse to take part in any fight. Especially a nonsensical one like this.”

“Nonsensical?”

“Come on, Ava. Everyone knows you love him.”

“I do not.”

“You surely look at him like you do.”

“You mean as if I hate him?”

“There’s a fine line between love and hate, and you’ve been teetering it for a long time.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“And you’re still in denial. But anyway, bugger off before he comes back. He’s graced us with his tiresome presence today and is hell-bent on turning everyone into insufferable workaholics like himself. I don’t need to give him incentive to up the wanker behavior a notch.”

“You’re just jealous because he has a better position than you even though you only have to work for one company.”

“If you want us to believe you don’t love him, you might want to tone down the protectiveness.”

I raise my hand to pinch him when the door nearly flies off its hinges.

My husband stands there, his glare seeping into me so deeply, I struggle to breathe.

He looks at me with renewed intensity.

Nefarious intent.

My own God of War.

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