Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
The first sight that greets me is of that fucker Oliver pushing Ava against her car and fumbling with her dress.
The view of her shaking uncontrollably ignites a raging fire inside my veins.
It’s so wild and uncharacteristic; I see red for the first time in my life.
Murderous red.
The red I know I can never come back from.
I slam the brakes and bring the car to a halt, then step out with baffling calm. Probably because I’m reveling in the thought that Oliver’s last breaths are within reach. He could’ve disappeared quietly like all the others, but he dared to terrorize her, to touch her with his dirty hands.
He’ll no longer have the luxury of spitting his rancid breaths into a world where she exists.
I’ve never thought about murder before, but plotting it is easier than I presumed.
I have this crushing feeling that this won’t be the last time I do something uncharacteristic for Ava fucking Nash.
The red blurring my vision morphs into a hazy black as she whimpers what sounds like, “Help…”
I’m not a knight in shining armor. What am I am, however, is the only man who’s allowed near her.
After tonight, Ava is fucking mine.
No matter what methods I must use to achieve that.
37
AVA
THE WEDDING DAY
Ican’t do this.
The opulent grand hall buzzes with muted confusion and whispered excitement, but my vision is blurry to all the attendees.
To my family and friends who think they’re sharing my happiness because I told them so.
Because I insisted on marrying Eli despite my father’s opposition and everyone else’s bemusement.
All these months, I’ve busied myself with preparing for the wedding, so I didn’t think about what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I went mental for my perfect dress, the perfect venue, and the perfect shade of flowers, but it wasn’t because I cared so much. Low-key, I wished to ruin it with any method available.
I nearly trip on the hem of my dress as I reach the altar. Papa holds me upright and I stare at his stone face through the veil. My nose still tingles from how hard I cried into his chest when he said he’d be the one to walk me down the aisle.
All the frustration, fear, and anger I felt through the previous couple of months exploded in one go and I cried like a baby. However, that didn’t change the outcome or my mind, despite Papa’s pleas for me to think about this decision.
He categorically hates this outcome and would rather I end up on the cover of gossip magazines as a runaway bride instead of tying my fate to Eli King.
I happen to think the same.
But fear has rendered me a coward.
That night my fiancé killed Oliver, I had a panic attack and kept seeing blood on my hands. It was because of Eli, but he was also the one who got me out of it.
And now, I have no way out.
So I fake a smile and he reluctantly releases my arm. I can feel Eli looming before us like a pending hurricane, but I focus on the safety Papa represents. The sentiment that everything will be fine as long as he’s in my life.
A bigger hand envelops mine and a rush of apprehension tightens my stomach. Papa glares at Eli, and the man I’m being forced to marry grins back.
It’s sinister and threatening, like everything about him.
For a moment, I consider telling Papa everything. He’d help me and have Eli locked up for his crimes.
But then I recall his fight with Mama. How they seem to fall out whenever I’m the topic of discussion. Eli is right. I need to get out of their lives or else I’ll be the constant cause of their misery.
He’s already my guardian now, so he has power over me no matter which way I spin it.
“You hurt my daughter and no one will find your corpse, King.” Dad delivers the threat in low words.
“I look forward to officially being your son-in-law, Uncle Cole.”
Papa’s fists ball, but before he can punch him, Eli tugs me toward him so that we’re standing facing one another. Through my veil, he looks tall, taller than usual. His height takes up all the space and sends a lick of dread through me. His face is stone-cold despite the fake smile he has plastered on his features.
I can’t marry him. And it’s not because he killed a man in cold blood.
It’s because I’m genuinely scared he might do the same to me one day.
His reason for marrying me is to keep an eye on me. He’ll make my life hell.
He’ll torment me.
He’ll kill the last remnants of my sanity.
And the most tragic part is that my feelings for him that never truly died could resurface and worsen the circumstances.
I’ve always dreamed about marrying him, but I foolishly thought that would be done out of love.