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

Fuck.

Bloody fucking hell.

Fuck!

Henderson brings the car to an abrupt halt right across from Ava’s, and I fling the door open before it properly stops and jog to the vehicle.

She went completely silent on the phone after I told her to pull over, so I had Henderson follow her phone’s GPS and bring us here at the speed of light.

The last thing my wife should do is drive. She’s not fit to do so by any stretch of the imagination. Worse, it’s a triggering factor.

Mum and Dad should’ve made sure she got into the car with a fucking driver, not on her own. If Landon hadn’t told me, I would’ve probably found her in a ditch by now.

The tightness in my steps matches that of my chest the closer I approach the car. I pause by the door and inhale a large gulp of air, readying myself for the disaster Sam, Henderson, Ariella, Cecily, and even Dad told me was coming.

The disaster of my own making.

Cold air bites into my skin as the residential area’s faint lighting casts an ominous halo on the black car.

I dip my head and pause when I find Ava slumped on the steering wheel, turned away from me, her blonde hair spilling in silky waves that mimic a fallen angel’s.

The faint sound of a cello filters through the closed window with the smoothness of a haunting lullaby.

I pull on the handle. Locked.

Fuck.

This is the worst case of déjà vu.

The last time she was slumped and unresponsive by a car was when I tethered her to me and bound her to my side forever.

I told her she had no choice, but that was far from the truth.

She’s slipping between my fingers with the persistence of sand despite my attempts to trap her sickness. Asphyxiate it.

Fucking dismantle it.

I built an hourglass, but it’s been cracking for months and I refused to see the damage. Not in the late-night walks or the mindless existence of her ghostly version.

However, this incident is prone to shove her to the point of no return and decimate any hourglass remnants.

I couldn’t care less.

If everything spills over, I’ll find a way to trap her in again. Even if I have to buy every fucking desert and shove the sand back inside.

My jaw clenches as I tap on the window gently to avoid startling her, even if part of me feels she’s too far gone to hear anything.

I do it again, injecting more strength behind the knock.

My wife stirs and I pause, my hand suspended in midair.

Slowly, she lifts herself and turns in my direction, her stiff movement no different than a robot’s.

Fuck.

Her eyes are clouded, not empty, but also not present either. It’s a mysterious mix of lethargy and alertness.

She clicks a button on the dashboard without my having to say anything.

I carefully pry the door open and lower myself so my face is level with hers in an attempt to reduce the threatening factor.

The smell of seafood fills my nostrils, but a hint of sweet flowers continues to emanate from her.

My wife gapes up at me with those deep-blue eyes that are floundering between life and death.

Like a shadow of her former self.

“Hey,” I say with as much softness as I can muster.

“Hey,” she mutters back, a shine gathering in her eyelids as they gradually clear. “You came.”

“Of course.”

“I think I had a panic attack.”

“Did you take your meds?”

She frantically searches in her spilled bag, and some makeup products fall out before she produces her bottle of pills and hands it over.

“I took two. Swallowed them dry.”

“Good girl.” I stroke her cheek, sliding my fingers to her throat and pressing on that steady pulse point.

She leans into my touch, her lips dropping open before she sucks the bottom one between her teeth.

My gaze follows the motion and my dick definitely takes notice, failing—as usual—to read the damn situation.

She releases her lip and pushes it forward in a small pout. “You yelled at me. I didn’t like it.”

“Won’t happen again.”

“Thanks. I had fun with Aunt Elsa today and the dinner with Uncle Aiden went well.”

“Good.”

“She sent you food.”

“I see.”

“It’s actually for me, but I’ll share.”

“I’m grateful.”

“Lan came back and he was talking shit as usual.”

“It’d be shocking if he wasn’t.”

“He could use being brought down a peg or two.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Her lips twitch in the tiniest smile and I release a long exhale. It’s her.

My wife is back.

I release her throat, but only so I can guide her out of the car. But she insists on picking up all the things that fell out of her bag and the food containers.

“Hey, Leo.” She waves at him as she places the containers in the passenger seat. “Be careful with these, please.”

He nods.

“I’ll strap them in just in case.”

I tilt my head, watching her movements. They’re still slightly robotic, her fingers moving in a jerky manner due to the residual tremors, but she’s speaking without the haunting edge.

She’s also behaving normally, so that should be a promising sign.

After she makes sure the bag of containers is strapped in, she narrows her eyes on me. “You won’t object?”

“About?”

“Me calling him Leo.”

“Do you want me to object?”

“Nope.” She smiles and kisses my cheek. “You can be so adorable when you’re compliant, babe.”

And then she slides into the back seat.

I remain rooted in place, resisting the urge to touch where her lips burned my skin.

Did she just call me adorable and babe in the same sentence after kissing my cheek?

Jesus fucking Christ.

Maybe I should be the one who sees a doctor because I want her to repeat what just happened in that exact order.

Better yet, perhaps I should have her checked in case the brat behavior underwent some dangerous mutation.

I catch a glimpse of Henderson trying to hide his creepy smile. It disappears as soon as I narrow my eyes at him.

Maybe it’s time to chuck him over a cliff. I don’t appreciate his recent bonding with my wife or the way she keeps buying him stuff and making sure he eats. She’s not his mother last I checked.

I’m the only one she needs to make sure eats.

And no, I’m not being dramatic. This is perfectly normal behavior, even according to my father.

Mum said I shouldn’t listen to him, but she’s wrong in this instance.

I join my wife in the back seat, subtly searching for any red flags. As soon as the car moves, she faces me, a cryptic look casting a sheen over her expression.

Ava has always been an open book, including her attention-seeking behavior and over-the-top hatred during the past couple of years. I recognized what she wanted to accomplish with those and I often smashed any opportunity where she could’ve moved on to smithereens.

Again, and again, and fucking again.

Until she fell to her knees and could only see me as her savior.

Not anyone else. Me.

And yet, right now, she feels foreign. Not that ghost version of herself, but something different whose fine print I can’t read.

“Why can’t I drive?” she asks in a low, barely audible voice.”

“It’s not that you can’t.”

“It’s that I shouldn’t,” she finishes. “I figured that out from your uncharacteristic anger. You were worried about me because you anticipated the panic attack. Will I get one every time I drive?”

“Most likely.”

“Is that why you didn’t let me drive that time when I, uh, damaged your car?”

“Correct.”

“It’s a trigger?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t a trigger before I lost my memory.”

“It is now.”

“Why?”

“It’s not important.”

“According to you?”

I nod.

“Okay, but do you want to know what I think?”

“Go ahead,” I say, even though I don’t appreciate where this conversation is heading, let alone her apathetic tone and expressionless face.

“I think you don’t want me to know about an accident that I believe could have traumatic effects that could interfere with my state.”

I drum my fingers on my thigh, exhibiting nonchalance that’s the exact opposite of the roar of alarm igniting in my brain. My voice is calmer, more controlled than hers. “Have you remembered something?”

“Only a few images of me slumped by a car and staring at blood. You were there.” Her cloak of neutrality slips as she gapes at me with a trembling chin. “Is it true?”

“Does my judgment on what’s true and false in your memories count?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you saw me at my worst and stayed.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m not an idiot, Eli, and I also have enough self-awareness to know you must’ve seen the version of me that’s riddled with so many issues, it shouldn’t be allowed outside, and yet you neither threw me back at my parents nor locked me up in a psychiatric facility. You never treated me as abnormal, and I’m grateful. No, I’m beyond grateful. I owe you and, therefore, I trust you in this regard.”

“Don’t do that. I can’t trust myself most of the time, so neither should you.”

A small smile tilts her lips and I want to sink my teeth into that cushion and suck her blood through it. I need her to stop smiling or else she won’t like the consequences of her actions.

“I still think you’re more trustworthy than my head,” she whispers. “Lan mentioned things about my ex-therapist and abnormal behavior, but I’ll ignore that and my unreliable memories if you tell me so.”

My jaw tightens. That motherfucker Landon seems to be back for his funeral. A wish I’ll grant him sooner rather than later.

“What else did Lan say?”

“Nonsense as usual.”

“What type of nonsense?”

A red hue covers her cheeks and I don’t like it one bit. Why the fuck is she blushing when thinking about that slimy little bastard?

She clears her throat. “Nothing important.”

“Tell me and I’ll decide whether or not it’s important.”

“It’s really nothing.” She eyes me carefully. “What about everything else I just mentioned? Is it also nothing?”

I can see the hope in her bright blue eyes and the need to believe in this dark fairy tale that I built for her.

I can see the next crack in the hourglass, and instead of letting nature take its course, I place one more bloodstained plaster on the pending dust devil.

I let my hand curl around her smaller one as I say, “It’s nothing.”

A shiver rushes through her as she releases a puff of air and flips her hand, interlinking our fingers. “Thanks.”

I stare at the contrast of her fairer skin against mine and the sparkling pink nails that she often drags anywhere she can touch me. I might leave marks all over her throat, tits, and arse, but my wife never fails to leave hers as well. Even if I tie her up, she somehow finds a way to claw at me.

My phone vibrates and I ignore it, probably because it means letting her go to check it.

When it vibrates again, however, I retrieve it with my free hand.

DAD

I expect you in the meeting for the Ansil project tomorrow.

Despite the absolute awkwardness of typing with one hand, I do so anyway.

ME

Since when are outsiders allowed in strategic meetings?

You’re not an outsider. You’re back on the roster.

Why? Pressure from Mum?

And your wife.

I stare at the screen, then at Ava, who’s watching me expectantly. Pressure from who, now?

My wife?

Since when is she able to pressure my dad?

Are you sure you don’t mean YOUR wife? Last I checked she’s the only one able to pressure you into anything.

Ava told me the reasons why you walked out of the meeting and stabbed Robert are both related to her. Is there a reason why you haven’t shared those details yourself?

I don’t like to offer excuses.

I’m your father, Eli. You can use excuses with me.

I don’t like it and I don’t want to be reinstated in the project because of my wife.

Well, you are and you should learn how to be grateful.

I lift my head to find my wife still watching me, her fingers tightening around my hand as if predicting my next move.

“What did you tell my dad?” I wrench my arm away.

She doesn’t let me go easily and one of her nails slashes against my skin.

Ava doesn’t hide her look of disappointment. “The truth.”

“What gave you the impression you could tell him anything?”

“The fact that you’re being blamed and kicked out of a project without him knowing the truth.”

“If I’d wanted to tell him, I would’ve.”

“But you didn’t, so I did it for you.”

“You did it for me? Should I offer a standing ovation? I don’t need my wife to offer excuses for me. Due to your unnecessary actions, he won’t even take me seriously.”

“Hey. He’s your dad, not your keeper, and he definitely takes you seriously.”

The car comes to a stop in front of the house and I grind my teeth. “Don’t be a busybody, Ava. Are we clear?”

“I’m sorry I tried to help.” Her chin trembles as she shoves the door open and gets out before she jams her head back in. “And for the record, a thank you would’ve sufficed.”

She rushes to the entrance as Henderson opens my door, and I swear the bastard glares at me.

“What?” I bark. “She was getting her nose in my business.”

“You’re married. It’s both of your business.”

“I can’t believe this. You’re taking her side now?”

He merely looks away as if I’m the one being unreasonable.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“For the record,” Henderson says as I step out of the car. “She was stressed about the fact that she’s the reason you got kicked out of the project twice and has been brainstorming ways to help. Do you believe it was easy for her to go to your father and out herself as the reason? Do you believe a proud person like her wants to be seen as your weakness by your parents?”

My jaw clenches. “You’re talking too much today. Is this your two weeks’ notice?”

“No, it’s my humanity notice,” he says with a blank face before he turns around and leaves.

My steps are long and stiff as I barge through the house. The moment I go into my room, I find Ava there, her bag on the floor and a hand on her hip.

This is the first time she’s come into my room. I’m the one who usually goes to hers.

“What now?” I ask in an impatient voice as I shrug off my jacket and place it neatly on the chair.

“I want to move in.”

“Move in where? We live in the same house.”

“I want to move into your room.”

I loosen my tie. “You’re the one who wanted separate rooms.”

“Well, I changed my mind.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe in privacy.” And not triggering the fuck out of her.

“Oh, I see.” She steps in front of me, forcing me to look at her. “In that case, I believe in space.”

“You have all the space you need. In your room.”

“Will you come over to fuck me tonight?”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood after everything.”

“I am. Angry sex is my favorite.”

My cock hardens against my trousers, being a literal dick and not reading the power dynamic going on here.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. You happen to be decent at fucking me.”

“Decent? You scream the fucking house down when my cock is filling your cunt, Mrs. King. I reckon I’m more than decent.”

“I said what I said.” She studies her nails. “Well? Will you be coming? Pun intended.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Consider it faster.” She stands on her tiptoes and strokes an invisible crease on my shirt. “And while you’re at it, consider whether or not you’ll look at my face while being inside me, because that’s the only way I’ll allow you to touch me.”

She goes back down and flashes me a sweet smile. “You’ll have to share my bed, too. I’m not your whore, Eli. I’m your wife and you’ll treat me as such.”

I let my lips pull in a smirk. “What’s the reason for this sudden change? I thought you agreed that we didn’t need intimacy.”

“I changed my mind. So either you give me what I want, or I’ll find someone who does. Think about it, okay?”

I grab her by the elbow, my fingers digging into the skin. “There will be no someone else, Ava. That ship has long sailed for you.”

She kisses the corner of my mouth. “Then you better think fast, babe.”

And then she waltzes out of the room, swaying her hips and flipping her hair.

And I know—I just know I’ll fuck up everything for this woman.

Her lifeline included.