Page 9 of His Last Will

In a matter of months, Aiden would be my husband. To have and to hold, till death do us part…

If I can just get through the next few hours, pretend this is who I am, then I can escape into my misery. Because misery loves nothing more than company, and I am its favorite victim.

I said I would bargain my soul with the Devil to fix this. Turns out, I bargained with someone much worse, and even the Devil himself can’t save me now.

CHAPTER

TWO

ARI

“We have not set a date yet, but we will let everyone know when we get things finalized,” Aiden confirms as he talks to the small group that has formed around us.

A date.

For a wedding.

Our wedding.

The engagement party is in full swing now, and people take turns surrounding us and trying to suck any information they can out of us, a bit like leeches. Which tracks because the people in attendance are parasites. Not in the eyes of society, of course. These people are the crème de la crème.

The family you’re born into decides your worth. It gives you advantages that can be used to help climb social ladders. It gives the appearance of success without any of the hard work. Nepotism knows no bounds within The Order. Blood and power over everything.

The Order determines your status before birth. A long-standing tradition dating back to the founding members. The secret society was formed amongst the elite of the Italian parliament during the nineteenth century. When the monarchy ended, the members fled to the US for a fresh start of corruption. Long dead, but their presence is still very much alive, holding on to those generational expectations with an iron fist.

The Order consists of three pharmaceutical factions. First, there is the public faction. Prescription drugs, over-the-counter meds, factories fueling supply and demand for the common man. The legal side of the industry—everything the government can know about. The public face of the company, if you will.

Typical street drugs, drug running, back-door deals, cash-only situations made up the second faction. Traditional drug dealing with cocaine being the current biggest commodity. Sure, there were rumors that The Order was involved in this side of crime, but there wasn’t ever any proof. And the people who got caught turned up dead before they could run their mouths.

But the third faction is where the main focus of The Order was concentrated. If the government even caught wind of what they were doing, they would try to steal it out from under them and use it for themselves—discreetly.

Drug creation, research, and manufacturing. Ashton, the head doctor for The Order and also a council member, creates his own formulas. Serums, poisons, and other designer drugs are his target focus. Anything his depraved mind can come up with. These are the drugs people can’t fathom actually exist. Drugs talked about in horror stories or dystopian novels. Things that will never see the light of day, much less the FDA. Known only to the heads of the family and the most trusted members of the society.

Even whispering a hint that this faction exists gets you thrown into the pit of test subjects, or patients, as Ashton refers to them. There, you are subjected to unauthorized experiments until you either die or become something so unrecognizable that the general population would call you a monster if they caught a glimpse.

Because these drugs have the potential to play God. Ashton’s favorite pastime. Drugs that include pain receptor alteration, cell regrowth or decay, and even going as far as DNA/RNA mutations. A fucked up interpretation of Frankenstein.

“We are thinking of a spring wedding.” I whip my head around so fast at those words that Aiden tightens his hold on me as a warning. Control your emotions, or else.

The spring. Spring was right around the corner. It was already February.

Fifty-one days. Fifty-one days ago, he had been torn away from me. I don’t even know how I am going to get through fifty-one more.

The chill in the air was finally starting to warm up with the rays of the southern sun. Living in the south meant that cold was pretty relative and temperatures unpredictable. It could be snowing one day and then, the next, blistering heat.

Early evening warm temperatures today meant my dress kept me warm enough. The sleeves and long skirt gave me more than enough insulation that I didn’t bother with a cover-up. Heaters were placed strategically around the gardens for when the sun dipped down behind the trees later. White daffodils and winter honeysuckle gave the air a sweet scent. It was a perfect day for an outdoor garden party.

Clearing my throat loudly enough to pull focus away from whatever Aiden was saying next, I try my best to hide my annoyance as I interrupt him. “We will have to see. Sometimes wedding planning takes time, and given this is such an important event, I would not want to rush it.” My tone is a little cold, but it’s the best I can do in the moment. Aiden thankfully doesn’t argue, but I can sense his displeasure at being contradicted by the subtle digging of his fingers into my back.

“Not too long, darling,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to make light of my comment. The laugh is rough against my skin, almost forced out, but the meaning is clear: keep my mouth shut. This marriage was going to happen on The Order’s timeline whether I approved or not.

The Araneae heir needed to marry and produce another heir in order to stabilize the line. Like the fucking nineteenth-century kingdom it was derived from. Because with more power and more money than many nations, they would take no chances.

Fuck this family.

While I am drowning in my grief, they are trampling on his grave under the guise of a written will and maintaining appearances.

“Pardon me.” I rush out as I excuse myself from the situation. Aiden thankfully lets me go, but not without grabbing my wrist and bringing my hand up to his lips for a soft kiss. Dark anger gleams in his eyes just beneath the surface as he puts on a show for the people watching.