God of War: Chapter 7

“Don’t touch it!”

I swat Sam’s destructive hand away before she murders my beautiful dahlias more coldly than her favorite master would.

“Then you should do it properly.” She gives me her usual blank expression that I’m sure means murder in at least one language, then sits on the vintage recliner in the greenhouse, nestling a crochet yarn on her lap.

“I am doing it properly.” I cut the stem and carefully bury it in the pot, then cover it with the soil we ordered.

“Those flowers will die within the week. Maybe you should leave it to the professionals.”

“Stop being a buzzkill. Why are you here if you disapprove of everything I do?” I hike my gloved hand on my hip. Everything is pink—my gloves, wellies, and cute little off-the-shoulder Armani dress.

“I have nothing to do.”

“Pish posh. You’ve been following me around for days, Sam.”

She crochets with the precision of a surgeon, and considering how awfully mysterious she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was one in a previous life.

All I know about Sam is that she’s been with the King household longer than I’ve been alive, and although she has Asian features, she has no Asian name, accent, or given any indication of her heritage. She certainly doesn’t offer up the information. I’ve heard her give different answers to different people depending on the occasion. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Filipino all came into the conversation.

I nudge her foot with my cute boot. “I’m talking to you. Is Eli ordering you to babysit me or something?”

“Or something.”

I narrow my eyes. “If that piece of shit thinks he’s my warden, I will⁠—”

I cut myself off because she glares up at me at the audacity of me badmouthing her lord and master. Besides, I’m so livid, I have no idea how to finish the sentence.

If I had any misconceptions about this marriage before, then it’s long forgotten. Or, more accurately, confirmed.

The day after I got here, Eli took me to meet my new therapist, a serious woman named Dr. Blaine. Apparently, my doctor was changed and something tells me it was all his doing. When I asked about my previous psychiatrist, Dr. Wright, Henderson said he’s out of the country.

I didn’t probe further, mainly because I was embarrassed. It’s one thing for Eli to get a whiff of my mental state, but it’s entirely different for him to supervise it.

Due to my psychosis and constant mental breakdowns and fugue episodes, I’m legally required to have a guardian who’ll be able to supervise and stamp-approve any major decisions, including, but not limited to, opening a bank account, having access to funds, and any administrative processes.

And while that part has always bothered me, Papa never made me feel like he was my owner, and he gave me more freedom than most patients like me could dream of. In fact, he was accommodating and never stepped on my toes, partly because my parents aimed to give me as much of a normal life as possible.

But the truth is, I’m not normal.

And finding out that Eli, of all people, knows that in full detail and has complete control over approving my treatment programs left me in a foul mood.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to face him, considering he completely ignored me for an entire week afterward. His driver took me to a previously approved session with my therapist, to visit my parents—who keep insisting I go back to live with them but I refused, hang out with Cecily, and pay a visit to his parents.

Let’s say I’d rather live with his mum and dad than with him.

Aunt Elsa spoiled me shitless, had the cook make all the desserts I love, and made me feel as if nothing has changed despite missing a two-year chunk from my life. Uncle Aiden told me in gloating detail how he won a one-million-dollar bet against Papa and also how he’s my and Eli’s number one supporter for no other reason than to piss Papa off.

Honestly, I stay out of whatever bad blood my papa and my father-in-law have. I’m just glad Mama and my mother-in-law get along. In fact, the three of us and Ari had a spa day yesterday and we spent it pampering ourselves and talking about everything and nothing.

I was relaxed and content for the first time since the amnesia hit, but that was only until I came back home and was faced with Eli’s closed office door and his incessant avoidance and religious disregard as if I were the plague.

The only time he looks at me is to shake his head like I’m a liability he’s stuck with.

Well, no one held a gun to his head and forced him to marry me. Besides, he’s the one who needs me, probably to polish his rogue image.

I might be a clusterfuck internally, but I’m the epitome of a social butterfly and the media’s darling. So, of course, I’m an asset.

“Hey, Sam.” I finger some tulip seeds after I lay them on a plate. I’ve been told not to even attempt to grow them as an amateur, but I’ve never liked being told what to do and I’m always up for a challenge.

“Yes?”

“How long are you going to hide the alcohol from me?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Her eyes are zeroed in on her crochet, which gives no clue about what she’s trying to make. Maybe a witch’s cloak for her Halloween costume—sorry, I meant everyday clothes.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed there isn’t a drop of alcohol in the house.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that’s a problem because?” She drags her eyes to mine, pinning me down like I’m a petulant child.

I narrow my eyes back. “I need to loosen up. You know, considering I’m living with an absent husband and all.”

“I thought you were, and I quote, ‘So happy I didn’t see the devil’s face this morning. Made my day. I should celebrate.’”

“Were you eavesdropping on me when I was in the wardrobe?”

“I was there to collect your clothes and you made sure I heard your musings. Which I repeated back to him as you intended, miss.”

My cheeks warm up and I growl softly. If Eli doesn’t drive me insane, his precious Sam definitely will.

“You know what? Forget it. Have a lovely time making your entry ticket into the witch coven.”

I remove my gloves and dump them in the box at my feet, then turn to leave the greenhouse.

Henderson mentioned this place was my idea, but I have no clue why. Yes, it’s pink and I can practice my gardening skills, but as I shimmy out of my apron and wellies, I realize its purpose could’ve been to allow me to kill my only passion in life.

Music.

I feel like I haven’t touched my cello in years.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks.

“Out. And stop acting like my warden!”

I put on my cute pumps with crystal jewels on the heels. Six inches. All ready to be shoved up the arse of anyone who tries to stop me.

My strides are determined as I go to the house, freshen up, change into a skintight silver dress, grab a purse that matches my shoes, and stroll to the huge car garage.

I tried to take it slow over the past week even though Cecy was still in town, and now I’m a bit heartbroken that she left yesterday since, boo-fucking-hoo, her stupid fiancé can’t cope without her for a whole week.

What a baby.

Anyway, I told them to keep my fall down the stairs a secret from everyone else because I didn’t want to worry them.

Now, I regret it big time because my only genuine company is my little sister, who’ll snitch to Papa if he as much as glowers at her. She’s such a daddy’s girl.

Oh, and Sam.

I smile at the image of her dancing in a club while wearing a witch cape.

I pause upon seeing the garage that’s filled with a dozen cars you’ll never see on the market. Sports, luxury, and…oh, my heart! A soft-pink special edition Mercedes!

My feet take me to the beauty and I snap a few pictures and then snap some selfies while hugging the distinguished lady.

“You also feel out of place here, sis?” I pat the car. “Don’t worry, I’ll save you.”

Maybe I can take this to my parents’ house. Surely, Eli won’t notice the loss of one car when he has so many of them. Besides, he’s usually driven around, so I bet he never comes out here.

“I will drive you, Mrs. King.”

I startle at the ghost of Henderson appearing out of nowhere. Considering all the times he materializes out of thin air, one would think I would’ve gotten used to the man’s silent attitude and forgettable presence.

“Do you and Sam have trackers that give away my location?” I peek at him. “Because this is starting to become creepy.”

“Please follow me.”

“I will drive myself.”

“Mr. King wouldn’t approve of that.”

“Then you go to your Mr. King and ask him to tell me so himself instead of using middlemen. Not that I’d listen.”

I stride to the key cabinet, grab the one for the Mercedes, then slide inside and take a few pictures of the beautiful off-white interior. Once I’m satisfied, I start the car and kick it into gear, but as I approach the garage door, it remains closed.

Gritting my teeth, I roll my window down and stare at Henderson. “Open it.”

He’s standing to the side in his smart casual suit, no tie, with both his hands clasped in front of him. “If you could come out, I will drive you.”

“I said I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m afraid you’re not allowed to drive.”

“Let me guess. Mr. King’s orders?”

He nods once.

Trying and failing to keep my temper in check, I pull out my phone and dial the number titled ‘Tin Man.’

“Tell Henderson to open the damn garage door,” I say as soon as he picks up.

“Hello to you, too, Mrs. King.” The lazy amusement in his voice pisses me the hell off.

How dare he be nonchalant when my mind has been in shambles over the last week? Every time I put my head on the pillow, I think of him on the other side of the house, naked or half naked, or doing fuck knows what.

Whenever I sleep, I dream of him talking about business on the phone and being an insufferable autocrat.

There’s no such thing as out of sight, out of mind when it comes to him. If anything, it’s the exact opposite. I find myself snooping in his office as if I’ll find a secret letter or passage like in those mystery films.

Alas, all I’ve found is work and a boring office library. The house library is fun, though. Probably because I filled it up with my spicy books.

Inhaling deeply, I say, “Open the door, Eli.”

“Let Henderson drive you.”

“You mean let Henderson babysit me outside while Sam does so inside.”

“You figured that out?”

“Didn’t take much effort.”

“You’re not that daft, after all. I’m impressed.”

“What will impress you more is my heel in your face, twat. I’m your wife, not your pet. Don’t you dare try to control me or you won’t like the outcome.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“Are you going to open the garage?”

“Not unless you let Henderson drive.”

He hangs up without an attempt at a goodbye. I curse him a thousand times with a dozen colorful names.

This bastard will send me to an early grave if I don’t control my emotions.

You know what? I’m in the mood to mess with him.

I step out of the car. “Hey, Henderson. Which one is Eli’s favorite car?”

“The pink Mercedes.”

“Be serious.”

“I’m always serious.”

I narrow my eyes. He probably sensed my plan and is trying to sabotage it. “Second favorite?”

He motions at a monster of a slick black Bugatti. Now, this one makes more sense.

With a smile, I search for the key in the display, then I slide into the driver’s seat.

“Mrs. King, this is pointless as the door won’t open.”

“Well, either it opens or…” I rev the engine, slightly shivering at the force of the vibration. Jeez. This thing could be used as a sex toy.

“Miss!”

I hit the accelerator as hard as I can. My whole body flattens against the seat, and I really, really underestimated the power of this beast, because it sends me straight toward the garage door.

Yes, I meant to smash his car, but I don’t want to die in the process. I slam the brakes, but thankfully, the garage door opens.

I still hit the bumper, but it’s a win, considering I did damage his car.

The front gate also opens before I smash into it. Good. Henderson and his precious boss should know I mean business.

My breathing is more relaxed as I blast music and fly through the streets. Hello, speeding ticket.

But at least I’m alone for the first time since I woke up in the hospital. I can breathe properly without professional babysitters.

After I stop for a cup of coffee, I shoot some feeler texts in the group chats I’m in. Instantly, people fawn over me since, apparently, I haven’t been around for months.

Hi, stranger.

OMG, she’s alive.

We haven’t seen you in months, love!

What the hell? There’s no way I’d withdraw from my social circle for months. It’s that bastard Eli, isn’t it? What the hell has he been playing at these past two years?

I get invited to three gatherings, so I opt to meet my uni crew at a members-only club in Mayfair.

My phone rings, flashing ‘Tin Man.’ I hit Ignore, and since I’m feeling petty, I use his card to buy everyone at the club a round of drinks. Make that three rounds of the finest liquor they have. Also, the gentlemen get expensive cigars because, why not?

Caviar? Yes, please.

The waiter quotes me three hundred thousand quid. I tip him thirty thousand.

He tries to remain cool like all the professional peeps in exclusive clubs, but I can see the tears in his eyes.

“Are you sure, miss?”

“My husband is very generous.” I pat his hand as I place the black card in it.

“Ava!”

I turn around, beaming at the familiar face. Gemma, the one who called my name, runs toward me, her slick strawberry-blonde hair shining under the lights. She interlaces her scrawny arm with mine and digs her pointy nails into my flesh. “You look stunning.”

“So do you. Love the sparkles, Gem.”

“Aw, thanks. I thought they’d be too much.”

“Nothing is too much, sis.” I wave at our group of friends, who are sitting at the biggest table, sipping martinis I’m desperate for and wiping traces of coke from their noses.

My favorite mindless existence.

“Hi, guys. Miss me?” I pose as if I’m doing a shoot and accept hugs and kisses.

As I sit down, something feels off. Their smiles, welcomes, and…well, everything seems weird.

Granted, I ghosted them for months, and honestly, they’re the blow friends. They’re get-drunk-until-passing-out friends. They’re not as genuine or caring as Cecy and my childhood friends. Which is why I prefer this bunch now.

They don’t really know me and don’t stop me from being as reckless as a rock star in the nineties.

They also don’t make me feel guilty for seeking out escapism. Gemma is probably the sanest of the bunch and never goes overboard, probably because her papa is an important member of the government’s think tanks and she can’t afford any scandals.

In reality, I can’t either, but I’m desperate to feel something.

Anything.

As long as I keep believing I’m alive, I’m open to unorthodox options.

“So how’s life?” I ask in my cheery tone as I reach for the bottle of alcohol. Gemma grabs it at the last second and fills everyone’s glass but mine.

“Hey, rude.” I laugh it off and snatch Zee’s glass and she startles as if I murdered her baby. “Relax, I’ll order us another one. The bill’s on me.”

Zee’s dark-skinned fingers wrap around the glass and snatch it with more force than needed. Alcohol spills on my hand and the table.

“Jeez.” I laugh, wiping my hand. “Since when did you become stingy?”

“You can’t drink with us, Ava,” she says with a note of…fear? No. Panic?

“Why the hell not? Of course I can. Anyone got a line?”

They all shake their heads.

“Okay, this is weird. Your noses are testifying against you, by the way.”

“It’s just…” Gemma starts, clinking her nails together.

We’re all public/boarding school nepo babies. And while we have different ethnicities, we share the same posh white-collared, trust fund upbringings.

Shallow on the outside, broken on the inside. Or, in the case of some, absolutely hollow.

I’m some. Some is me.

“It’s just that we heard you had an accident recently,” Gemma starts. Forever the mediator, the people pleaser with a big capital P.

“I’m fine.” I go for her glass, but she smoothly keeps it out of reach.

“Gemma said you lost your memories,” Raj, a politician in the making, points out.

“Just two years. Changes nothing.”

“We don’t run in the same circles anymore,” Ahmed, a tall man with olive skin and dark facial hair, who’s been leaning back and smoking a hookah, says bluntly.

“Med!” Gemma scolds him.

“What?” He blows the hookah smoke through his nose. “None of us want to deal with her psycho husband.”

“Eli threatened you?” My voice shakes with every word.

“Not exactly,” Gemma starts.

“He threatened our families, investment funds, and futures if we let you drink or use with us,” Raj says.

“And he made sure to hold incriminating evidence against all of us, except for good-girl Gemma over there.” Zee snaps her fingers in our friend’s direction.

“I’m going to kill him,” I mutter under my breath. “Is he the reason we haven’t hung out for months?”

“Nope. That was all you,” Raj says bitterly. “Apparently, you’re too big for us now.”

“I…said that?”

“In no uncertain terms.”

“Come on. You know I care about you guys.” I pause. “Wait. Where’s Ollie?”

A daunting silence suffocates the table before Gemma smiles. “He’s traveling around South America.”

Ahmed mutters something under his breath that I can’t hear with the chaos and chatter around us.

I blow out a breath. “Gem, do you remember that night when we were going to Raj’s house after the club? Two years ago? Before graduation?”

“Oh, yeah.” She smiles. “Zee and Sailor puked all over his Persian carpet and he was livid.”

“Did I make it?”

“No. I believe you went home.”

“Did something else happen?”

She frowns. “Something like what?”

An accident.

But I don’t say that again, because it seems it was all my imagination. The last thing I remember is a hallucination.

A rush of panic lunges through me. If I lost time then and also during the competition that day, what else did I lose?

According to what Gem confirmed, the club and the after-party happened, but what about the time in between? If no accident took place, then what did?

I steal a drink from a passing waiter’s tray, then tell him to give whoever ordered this a bottle of their finest liquor on me.

Before the flute can touch my lips, a rough hand covers mine and subtly removes the glass from my fingers.

I can smell him before I see him, and when I look up, Eli stares down at me with carefully tucked rage. His eyes shine a dark gray under the dim light and his black suit gives him an intimidating, sinister edge.

“You leave my sight for one minute and you’re already wreaking havoc, Mrs. King.”

I meet his glare with one of my own. “All thanks to your fortune, Mr. King.”

“Ava just wanted a change of scenery,” Gemma says in a honeyed tone. She’s slipping her hair behind her ear and batting her eyelashes. Anyone from a continent away can see she’s flirting.

With her friend’s husband.

On paper only, but they don’t know that.

Yes, Eli is an infuriating bastard who’s not worth my attention, let alone this fire that’s burning in my chest, but that’s only because she’s disrespecting me.

Gemma, the good girl with better morals than religious leaders, doesn’t find it amoral to flirt with my husband in front of my face.

Unless she knows it’s all one big sham? Or he encouraged her? Did they have sex?

The fire burns hotter and wilder than the volcano that wiped out Pompeii.

I smile sweetly at her and then at Eli. “You don’t have to speak for me, Gem. My husband and I are excellent communicators.”

He grins back. “Precisely. Which is why she needs to be excused as we have an engagement this evening.”

“Do we, now? It must’ve slipped my mind, darling.”

“Your forgetfulness is one of the many things I adore about you, beautiful.”

Dick.

“You go first, babe,” I coo with a fake-as-hell tone. “I’ll be right with you.”

“We go together, sweetheart.”

“Aw, can’t breathe without me, hon?”

“I’m positively dying,” he says and offers me his hand, and when I keep staring, his slightly rough voice drowns out all other noises. “I insist.”

I take it reluctantly, but when I stand up, I swipe Gemma’s drink and raise it to my lips.

“You don’t want to do that.” His concealed anger bursts at the seams.

“Or what?” I glare at him over the rim of the glass.

All of a sudden, it feels like we’re the only people in the midst of a chaotic, faceless crowd.

“Or you’ll pay the price. Put the drink down. Now.”

The haughty order does it. He expects me to fall to my knees before His Majesty like Gemma has been itching to do since he walked through the door, but he obviously hasn’t met my trouble-wired brain lately.

Keeping eye contact with the devil, I let a victorious smile lift my lips as I down the drink in one go.

Martini.

His eyes burn hotter than the liquor washing down my throat.

“Since you insist.” I let the glass drop to the floor with a shatter.

He doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like it one bit. And for a fraction of a second, I wonder if riling him up is worth the frosty coldness in his eyes. The promise of something sinister and terrifying.

I yelp when the world tilts from beneath my feet.

Eli carries me in his arms, bridal style, and walks out the door, not giving a single fuck about everyone’s attention zeroed in on us.

“Put me down,” I hiss.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Ava.”

The anger in his tone makes me zip it.

I definitely, absolutely, and without a shadow of a doubt hit my head during the time I’ve been married to this man.

Or else I wouldn’t be so terrifyingly excited at the promise of danger in his eyes.