Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
My brother makes a face of disgust. “God knows why, but he chose you.”
He releases me, almost tossing me away like you’d toss out a used tissue. I get it. It’s creepy. Hideous even. It’s why I keep my bangs longer so people don’t have to look at it.
I hug the sweater I’m still holding on to and try to focus on what matters. “I’m going to go see Dad. Then I’m coming back to school.”
“No, you’re not. That pipe dream is over. It should never have been allowed in the first place. Your selfishness has caused a lot of problems, Ivy.”
Sweat runs down the back of my neck. I hold Abel’s gaze as the room around him spins. “I won’t,” I mutter.
“I’m head of this household now. I’ll say what you will and what you won’t. And I’ll tell you right now you will do as you’re told, and you won’t shame this family again.”
Hazel. He means Hazel. He was so angry when she left, he wanted to go after her himself. Find her and drag her back, kicking and screaming.
“Abel—”
“Don’t you even want to know who it is?” I can’t tell if his smile is one of pride or spite.
“I don’t care who. I won’t do it. I’m not—”
“Yes, you will, sweet sister. If I have to drag you to the altar myself, you will.” He takes my arm and starts to lead me out of the bedroom and through the apartment. “Now, there’s a lot to do before the wedding and not much time. He’s certainly anxious to get his hands on you.”
I pull back, trying to free myself. “Stop. I’m not going with you, and I’m not getting married to a stranger!” I catch hold of the back of the couch. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s all I can do. “Let me go!”
Abel tugs, and my grip slips. “You’re acting like a fucking baby, Ivy.”
“Our father wouldn’t allow this!”
He stops, then releases me. He tilts his head to study me, and the look on his face is enough to have me scrambling backward as he advances on me.
I put my arms up in defense, but he grabs my wrists to tug them out of the way. And when the back of his hand comes crashing across my face, and he simultaneously releases me, the impact sends me flying into the wall.
I’m stunned, both by the violence and the pain of the blow. For a moment, the room goes dark. I slip to the floor, my hand on my cheek. It stings, feels hot, and the back of my head throbs.
“Shit.” He reaches down and hauls me up by my arms. “See what you made me do?” he asks through gritted teeth.
I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I try to focus my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be afraid. And I know this is it. I know he’s right. I’ll do what he says because I have to. I’ve always known it could come to this. But I’d thought my father had safeguarded me.
My father.
“I want to see Dad.”
“I told you—”
“First. Let me see him first.”
He considers. “Now you’re being reasonable.”
He lets me go, steps backward, and I can see from his face he’s of two minds about what just happened. Not sorry—that’s a stretch too far for my brother—but split. I wonder if it has to do with whoever chose me.
Chosen.
God. Does The Society realize we don’t live in the Dark Ages anymore?
He checks his watch again. “We need to go.”
“I just want to get a few things.”
He grits his jaw, but then nods once. “Five minutes. I’ll be downstairs.”
I nod too.
“Don’t try to run, Ivy. I’ll send soldiers after you if you run.”
“Where would I go, Abel?”
He studies me, eyes narrowed in hate, then walks to the door.
“Who?” I call out just as he gets there, my curiosity getting the better of me.
He stops and turns back to face me.
“Who is it?” I ask.
He smirks like he’s won some strange secret victory. “Now you want to know who?”
“Just tell me.”
That smirk vanishes. In fact, all emotion but hate vanishes. “It’s fitting, actually.”
I stare at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll let you see for yourself.”
“Who, Abel?”
“Santiago De La Rosa.”
2
Santiago
I ease my body onto the marble pew in the De La Rosa family chapel as my gaze moves to the flickering candles up on the altar. The space remains unchanged since my father designed it. White marble columns, ornate gold embellishments, decadence in every fine point. This holy sanctuary is just one of many extravagances in this estate long established by my bloodline. For decades, the Da La Rosa lineage has flourished in this manor. There was never any question that I would possess it someday. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Now, I am the chosen descendant doomed to haunt these halls where memories remain etched into every surface.