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

My life is built around well-traced lines and impeccably connected patterns.

I’m a man of reason, strategy, and, most importantly, control—though the latter is often accompanied by the seductive taste of manic fixation.

Some might say I’m just…sociopathic. A perfect representation of plot holes and uncertain outcomes. A bit too black to be gray. Too gray to be black.

I’m nothing short of a conundrum for most people, which is exactly how I prefer it.

Dad taught me that people fear you when they can’t figure you out. They respect you, fawn over the merest hint of your attention, and grovel at the weight of your authority.

Which is why I’ve made it my mission to remain as clear of the public eye as possible. The eldest heir to two of the world’s largest empires is a mystery by all important accounts.

A handsome mystery.

A seductive-as-sin mystery.

Still a mystery, though.

They see my outer self and the persona I choose to adopt in public, but no one can tell what I’m planning until it’s too late.

Those details haven’t deterred their attention, though. Far from it.

Heads turn wherever I go. Men envy my charm, charisma, and ability to get things done. There hasn’t been anything I’ve wanted and haven’t acquired in this world.

Not a single thing.

Women drop to their knees if I so much as look in their direction.

All except for the one who’s glaring at me as if I pissed in her special edition bag and stepped on the hem of her precious veil. On our wedding day.

No kidding. Ava gave me the stink eye when I accidentally stepped on her veil.

“Don’t touch Elie with your sullied presence,” she told me while pushing me away.

I grabbed her by the elbow, fingers tightening incrementally. “Who the fuck is Elie?”

“The designer,” she replied as if I was supposed to know that.

Now, I’m treated with the same disregard after I’ve announced we’re going home. Something we should’ve done yesterday if her dear papa hadn’t insisted that she needed to be kept under surveillance one more night and convinced the doctor—that I pay—with that ludicrous demand.

Father and daughter share the stubbornness of a blind mule and the logical thinking of a drunk politician.

Dull pain throbs in my abdomen despite the illegal amount of painkillers I’ve consumed. I slide my hand into my pocket and roll my wedding band twice as I stare back at the headache in the form of a woman.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she announces, chin up, arms crossed, gearing up for a fight I don’t have the goddamn time for.

“You’re my wife and will go wherever I go, Mrs. King.”

She swallows, her pale throat working up and down with the motion until I can almost see the saliva traveling down through her transparent skin.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what?” I step into the hospital room, crowding her and the sidekicks she chose for the day. “Mrs. King?”

“Stop it,” she snaps.

“Get dressed and I might consider it.”

“Hey.” Ariella, a nutcase with serious stalking tendencies and a prison sentence waiting to happen, stands up and puffs out her chest, which is comical at best because she doesn’t even reach my shoulders. “Stop ordering people around like they’re servants and you’re their lord and savior.”

I lift a brow. “Is this still about your sister?”

“It’s about everything you do.”

“And you’re legal counsel now?”

“Only when it comes to going against you. Anyway, Ava should stay with Mama and Papa for a while until she gets used to her new reality. In case you forgot, she’s lost her memory and doesn’t remember marrying you.”

“But she remembers me.” I let my gaze float to Ava, who regards me with the attention of a parasite.

Maybe a ghost.

Or am I the ghost?

After all, her last memory of me is of that night at the club, where she hated me.

She still has throughout our marriage, so that’s not a major issue, per se.

Conveniently, or maybe inconveniently, depending on your angle, Ava erased all her memories from before our wedding to the latest incident that nearly decimated it.

The good news is that she hasn’t and will not find out about how this happened.

The bad news is that she won’t accept it easily and will fight tooth and nail to discover the truth.

“She still doesn’t remember the marriage,” Cecily supplies in an amicable tone that somehow manages to calm any situation.

Not this one, though.

Besides, Cecily is one of the reasons Ava is an absolute wreck of a human being. And while she hasn’t made her worse, she hasn’t contributed to making her better. Cecily’s constant attempts at placating and spoiling her like some form of a blind mother hen have always irked me.

I should probably text Jeremy so he’ll whisk her away from here as fast as possible. Save us both the pending headache.

“Do you want to go with your parents? Is that a wise thing to do?” I ask my wife and she starts to nod, but then she stops.

I was listening to their entire conversation from outside. And yes, Ariella is a mere amateur compared to me and my superior stalking skills, but I digress.

I heard the nutcase telling Ava about the fuck-up she caused in her family and could hear the guilt in Ava’s voice, even if she didn’t remember it. Besides, she was pretending to be asleep last night when Aunt Silver and Cole—not calling that man Uncle unless he calls me son; report me to the petty police—were arguing about her meds and the new therapist.

An entirely pointless conversation, if you ask me, considering I’m her legal guardian and neither of them has a say in her treatment options anymore.

She doesn’t have a say either.

As they talked, Ava turned away, but I saw the way she clenched the sheets and hid further into the pillow. And while she’s an expert at hiding from the world, she can’t escape me.

I’m neither a limp-dicked thick fucker burning for her attention nor a worshipper at her sparkly-pink glitter altar.

She’s neither my benefactor nor my owner.

She is, however, my wife. My fucking property.

Rare calm cloaks her features as she stands up. The hospital’s plain gown swallows her with the ugliness of a potato sack, and yet she still manages to make it look effortlessly elegant.

The collar of the gown slips off her shoulder, hinting at the creamy skin that’s begging to be marked, owned, fucking turned red.

I drag my gaze to her face that’s pasty white due to her nearly dying on me. Her shiny blonde hair falls to her back in slick waves, and like always, she shakes it a bit before running her fingers through it, then pulls it up in a makeshift bun like whenever she’s ready to tackle something.

It’s always the little things. The jut of her chin, the gentle move of her hips, the goddamn way she ties her hair.

And yet those little things are enough to prove she’s here. Right across from me.

Not at the bottom of the stairs.

Not in a pool of blood.

Not dead.

“I’ll get ready,” she says without emotion.

“You’re going back with him?” Ariella whisper-yells. “But why? I can drive you home.”

Before I can correct that Ava’s home is now my house—not that she would admit it out loud—she waves Ariella away. “There’s no need.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

I don’t like the note in her voice. It’s not a resignation to her fate. It’s the very intention to fight it until the very end.

The irony.

I resist the urge to smile. Then again, I never liked Ava for her meekness. I’ve had too many willing people in my life. It’s refreshing to be presented with a fight for a change.

At every turn.

For every word.

Yes, I contemplate breaking her neck sometimes, but that neck is too pretty to be broken.

As if sensing my murderous gaze, she looks up and narrows her eyes.

For all intents and purposes, Ava is every man’s wet dream. She possesses a model’s face that somehow can also pass for an innocent girl next door. Rosebud lips in her favorite color—pink. Big, intrusive blue eyes that rival the North Sea’s depths and the sky’s hollowness during an eclipse. A body made for fucking. And an attitude that will get her killed—and almost has countless times.

I’d like to take the opportunity to applaud my immaculate resolve to keep that pretty head in place all this time.

It takes massive control and self-discipline to remain calm in her provoking presence.

Though to be fair, it’s been a long time since she lost the spark, so seeing it back is a welcome change.

For now.

She hikes a hand on her hip. “Some privacy?”

“There’s no privacy between a married couple.”

“Yeah, well, that might be your version, but it’s certainly not mine. Go away.”

What was that about applauding my resolve? Oh yes, I can’t actually kill my wife. That’s a felony in almost all countries as far as I’m aware.

“You have fifteen minutes.”

“I can’t even do my makeup in fifteen minutes!”

“Fifteen, Ava.” I close the door before she throws something at me.

She doesn’t need makeup, for Christ’s sake.

But then again, she’s always had this strange concept about herself.

A concept full of inferiorities and muddied thoughts—and until recently, extremely destructive actions.

I walk down the hall of the elegant private clinic that could rival a five-star hotel and bring out my phone.

“Sir,” Henderson, my trusted special assistant, as he likes to call himself, answers after the first ring.

“Have the car ready in ten.”

“Already waiting outside.”

“Have you taken care of everything in the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I or, worse, if Ava finds anything she’s not supposed to, I’ll have your head on a spike before sunrise.”

“Considering my absolute disregard for that ending, I can assure you that everything will be spotless.”

“Talk me through it.”

“Deleted surveillance footage. We have installed a completely new security system. The clothes have been thrown away and replaced with exact replicas. The hazardous setting has been blockaded. All maids, gardeners, and personnel have been changed except for Sam and me.”

“If you or Sam disappoint me, you know your fates, right?”

“The spike or the guillotine. We have the liberty to choose.”

“I changed my mind. You don’t have the luxury of picking your fate anymore.”

“Noted,” he says with the same emotionless tone.

I’m nothing short of an excellent judge of character, which is why Henderson fits the bill. I might have stolen him from my dad’s personnel, and he might still hold a grudge for it. But it’s not my fault people prefer my company over his. Though he’d tell you otherwise like the delusional old man he is.

Besides, Henderson needs more stimuli than Dad’s boring entrepreneurial efforts can offer, and I present him with multiple ways to indulge in his darker tendencies.

A few staged disappearances here, a deletion of records there, and he’s living his best life.

I saved him from a dull existence. He’s welcome.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“You need to rest. You’ve been exerting yourself the past couple of days and that has a negative impact on your recovery.”

“Let me worry about that. If my parents, or, worse, my grandfathers, hear a peep of this…”

“They won’t.”

The door opens behind me and I hang up before I turn around, knowing full well it’s not Ava.

She’ll be late just to get on my last nerve. Pissing me off is her favorite sport and the center of her infuriating existence.

I’m faced with her firecracker sister, who’s glaring up at me.

Rising to my full height, I raise a brow. “What can I do for you, stalker?”

“Funny coming from the master.”

“Don’t be jealous.” I pat the top of her head and she pushes my hand away.

“You still owe me an explanation, Eli.”

“Concerning?”

“Don’t fuck with me.” She surveys our surroundings like a rookie detective on their first mission and leans in. “What the hell happened before she fell down the stairs?”

“I told you. It was an accident.”

“We both know damn well that it wasn’t,” she hisses under her breath. “Why are you hiding the truth?”

“None of your business.”

“Should I make it Papa’s business?”

“Only if you wish to complicate things further. Keep your mouth shut, get on with your nasty habits, and leave this to me.”

“You said the same thing the last time, but now she’s ended up in the hospital. Again. How many more times can you hide this before everyone knows that she⁠—”

I slam my hand over her mouth. “Shut the fuck up, Ariella. Don’t speak of it again, or I swear to fuck, if you prove to be a liability, I’ll keep you in the dark about any future plans.”

She pushes my hand away, her chin trembling. “I’m worried, okay? I thought it was the last time I’d see her.”

“It won’t be. Not as long as I’m here.”

“Well, you’re doing a poor job at proving it by being controlling. You know she hates that.”

“She doesn’t remember. All the better.”

“What if she does?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t know where you get the confidence to believe your words, but I sincerely applaud you.”

“Thanks.”

“She’ll hate us both once she finds out everything.”

“A position I’m willing to be in, though I’m starting to doubt if I can say the same about you.”

“I’d do anything for her.”

“Good. Start by keeping your mouth shut. Engage in your favorite hobby. Disappear if you have to.”

“Give me what I asked for first.” She juts her palm in my direction. “Remi’s schedule.”

“You lost the rights to that when you suggested she go to your parents’ house.” I sideline her and head to Ava’s room.

“You petty wanker!” she screams behind me, and I can imagine her fuming, face red and mentally cursing me all the way to Sunday.

But I couldn’t care less about Ariella or the dismal role she plays on my chess board.

It’s time to take my wife home.

And this time, keep her there.