Storm Reawakened

A Seal Of Fate

Pacing the floor, the clacking of my heels and uneven breathing engulfs all sound in the room. Hawthorne remains sensibly silent—watchful midnight eyes following my frame to and fro.

"Will you sign?" he asked, a sliver of annoyance marring his features as I tap a foot and gnaw my lip anxiously.

The stupidly gorgeous man already signed the contract with his seal, blue wax engraved by the Hawthorne family crest colourfully marking the final page.

"This is ridiculous!" I muttered, crossing my arms. "Why can't I have my own room?"

Okay. Now I sound like a whiny child, but I don't care. I can't share the same room as him—I plan to escape if things go south. I'm trying to cheat death here. Not lavish in those strong arms of his.

Quirking a brow, he smirks. "Why? Afraid you'll do something?"

"Is everything just a joke to you?" I snapped, garnering a somber look from Hawthorne. The casual demeanour disappears, replaced by a frown.

"Evara, I'm doing this for your protection."

"Really? Because it just feels like you enjoy making my life miserable."

"A taste of your own medicine."

Annoyed, I whirl around in a flutter of fabric and wring my hands. "For the love of dragons! Will you let it go already! How old are you?"

"You know exactly how old I am," he continued, patronizing till the bitter end.

"Eli Hawthorne. So help me, I will literally kill you in your sleep!"

"Another threat, Evara?"

"How the hell is sharing a room with you supposed to protect me? I'd be better off in a separate room guarded by Winston."

"And that won't happen so long as I live," he ground coldly.

"Why not?"

"Not him."

"Why? Just because he's my type—" The words die in my throat when his features darken.

"Since when was Winston your type?"

I can actually hear the italics in his voice and grimace when he leans in further to dispel my comfort zone of any ease.

Eli Hawthorne lives in a world where only beautiful people exist and he wants to question my taste in men? Like that's any of his concern and to prove my point, I roll my eyes and ignore the question.

"Ergh. This is the worst. We'll drive each other insane!" I groaned, catching the Duke's bemused look as those words contain a dual meaning.

I'm still brutalizing my lip when Hawthorne sighs and moves to his desk. "I wanted to spare you at all costs, Evara. But here, see for yourself why you need surveillance."

He hands me a newspaper pamphlet to read. A quick scan of its contents is enough for me to crumple the thing in anger.

But I'm not Evara. I'm Blair Aven, so I read the damn thing with trembling fingers.

"Miss Evara Storm of House Storm has survived a tragic accident. According to insiders of the Gazette, her near demise is a shock to many or the justice of benevolent forces. We wait patiently for the young heiress's return to social circles, where she'll make a scene and promulgate on why she took a plunge into cold waters. Perhaps a handsome Duke is to blame?"

Well. Fuck the Gazette.

I ball the pamphlet and toss it into the study's fireplace, not bothering to cry out in indignation. What is wrong with the people of this world? Is Evara's life seriously not worth even pretending to care for?

Fuck this newspaper and the author responsible for creating the conditions of this fictional nightmare! Furrowing my brow, I collapse onto the sofa in defeat and return to chewing my bottom lip.

"That's not all. Your father has reported threatening letters. I want to spare you the details but the gist of it is—they want to know why you don't attempt dying a second time. If you failed once, you should try again. A societal favour, they call it."

"I guess I have enemies from top to bottom," I commented in a daze. How am I supposed to catch a killer when I'm literally breathing poisoned air? Every individual from gossip columnists to a scullery maid wants me dead.

A line from the original novel comes back to haunt my mind.

For those who create fear, must live in fear.

"You can't trust anyone other than me and Duke Storm," Hawthorne declared.

"No, your grace. I cannot trust anyone but my father. You are not an exception to the rule, even if we're married," I whispered thinly in a thick layer of distrust and take satisfaction in seeing him move uncomfortably from being addressed formally.

"Even if that's the case, Evara—whoever is behind all of this, will strike again while the world directs its wrath at you."

I nod my head slowly, the Duke's insistence finally dawning on me. "And the last thing you need is for this elusive figure to slit my throat in the dead of night while on Hawthorne property. Fine. I'll sign."

"Evara—" he began, but I wave him aside and seal my fate with a quick flourish. Signing off my life (if I manage to survive) for the next year in Evara's sprawling signature.

Evara Storm hated Eli Hawthorne. And the feeling is evidently mutual. So there's no reason for us to become friends. We're just temporary conspirators acting in a play of marriage.

"Will that be all? Or do I need your permission to go home?" I questioned flatly, suddenly feeling too tired with the day's events.

"No, you can do as you like."

"That's a first. I'll have Winston escort me back to the Storm manor tonight. I hope in the meantime, you produce an excellent pack of lies to feed my father as to why we got married so soon."

I don't wait for him to reply and quickly leave the room. I need to clear my head and go over the facts of the original novel if I'm ever going to make it out alive.

But most of all, I need to get away from a two-faced aloof Duke.