A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 1 – 10
A Marriage Of Hate?
Chapter 05
Julianna?
This interpretation of the accident made no sense to me.
I only remembered what happened before the accident, but anything after that?
My mind drew blanks.
I remembered making the plans to sneak out, to go to the party. I knew I was the one driving the car, but I didn’t remember why or how the accident happened.
My memories were all jumbled up. Every time I dreamed of the accident, it was always somewhat of a different version until it left me senselessly confused.
What was exactly real… and what was just my imagination?
My father said I hit a deer and that I must have panicked.
Apparently, I had been driving too fast, way over the speed limit… and when I hit the deer, I didn’t brake and ended up swerving, which made the car flip over.
I rubbed a hand over my face. There was a giant blank space in my memories and I was so lost.
I wanted to remember exactly what happened that night, but after two years of nothingness, I had eventually given up.
Because at the end of the day, the accident was still my fault.
I decided to sneak out and convinced my sister to come with me.
And I was driving, while being intoxicated.
There was no justification. It didn’t matter what version of the accident I tried to fill the void with, I killed my sister.
This was the only reality that mattered.
One week later
“Boo.”
I yelped and almost dropped the book I was reading.
Rolling my eyes, I peeked over my shoulder to see Mirai sneaking up on me, yet again.
She was grinning while obnoxiously chewing on another piece of gum.
Today, she had twin braids pulled up into double buns atop her head. She wore a neon sweater and black jeans shorts.
“You have to stop doing that. I might just end up hurting you one day in my fright,” I warned.
She scoffed. “Please, I’m not worried. You can’t even hurt a bug.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears, harsh and loud, like beating drums.
Sorry to fool you, Mirai. But I did more than hurt just a bug.
I had killed. My own sister’s blood was on my hands and no matter how much I tried to wash the blood away, tried desperately to hide my sins – my skin was still soaked with the stench of her death.
I squinted up at her. “Is it really fun to scare someone?”
“You’re just so jumpy. Sorry, but yeah, it is fun.” Mirai smiled.
Such a brat, but I found her presence somewhat delightful. Over the last few days, her companionship had entertained me.
Mirai was young and bright, full of mischief and life.
“So, do you have it?” Her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and she practically bounced on her toes.
I felt myself smiling at her eagerness and I crossed my legs, closing my book to give her my undivided attention.
Reaching for the pocket in my dress, I fished out what Mirai was so excited about and dangled the keys between my fingers for her to see.
“Holy molly,” she gasped.
Two days ago, Mirai told me a little secret.
Something I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, and so I took matters into my own hand.
My curiosity got the best of me, after all.
“I forgot to tell you,” Mirai started, looking excited to gossip.
“Did you know that, apparently, there are old letters from Arabella that have been kept safe and locked away in one of the rooms in this castle?” She quirked up an eyebrow, waiting for my response.
“Letters from Arabella?” I paused. This was literally a treasure, I thought, while gaping at Mirai.
If what Mirai said was true, the letters would be a direct look into Arabella’s past and story.
“Do you know which room?”
“North wing. That’s where her room used to be. It’s locked and I don’t have access to it. But you should be able to get the keys from my grandpa. This is your castle now.”
“Good point. I’ll ask Stephen for the keys.”
Mirai gaped at me. “You actually got it?”
“Well, yeah. Like you said, this is my castle now. I should have access everywhere, even forbidden and haunted rooms.”
She giggled. “Oh, girl. We’re going to have so much fun!”
“Do you want to go exploring now?” I asked, even though I already knew her answer.
Mirai was every bit of a historical fanatic as me. She was obsessed with the secrets that this castle’s walls bore. Maybe this was the reason why Mirai and I got along.
“Duh! Those letters better be real and not just rumors,” she said, echoing my thoughts.
I got up and gestured for her to follow me. “Let’s go.”
Nerves burst in my chest as Mirai and I walked down the corridor of the north wing.
I thought my side of the castle was eerie, but the north swing was just… plain gloomy and disturbing. Maybe because it lacked life.
The hair on my arms stood up and I felt a prickle at the back of my neck.
My body grew cold and I didn’t know if it was just a feeling or if it was because the temperature of the wide corridor had somewhat decreased.
The chandelier lights were dimmed and as Mirai and I walked past, our shadows danced on the walls.
The knights stood still, for they were frozen in time. The statues that decorated the corridor stood tall and imposing.
The sculptured faces were not ones of joy, but their expressions were contorted in what seemed like despair and anguish – as if tormented souls were trapped in them.
“There,” Mirai pointed at the end of the corridor, “this was Arabella’s room.”
We stopped in front of the double doors, with golden and carved designs on the wooden surface.
I inserted the key into the lock, holding my breath at the same time. There was a loud click that echoed through the deserted walls of the north wing as Mirai pushed the doors open.
We crossed over the doorway, but my feet faltered at the entrance. I gaped at the inside of the room.
I didn’t know why I imagined an unkept room with dust and spiderwebs… something old and well, looking quite… haunting. But it was the complete opposite.
The room was spotless. It appeared that the housekeepers had been keeping it clean and organized.
The room was quite similar to mine. A huge four-poster bed in the middle, neatly made, with silk curtains and more pillows than I could count.
Two nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser to my left and a large window that overlooked the labyrinth.
There was another full-length mirror on the other side of the window, the frame made out of thick wood and the carved flower design was… well, fancy and immaculate.
There were two crystal chandeliers and there were hints of gold in the crown molding. The wallpaper was a golden flower design, giving it the final feminine touch.
The bedroom was every bit antique, just like my own – and just like the rest of the castle.
I stayed by the door while Mirai rummaged through the drawers, almost impatiently.
She pressed against the walls, as if expecting them to open up and to show her a secret passage.
When she didn’t find anything on one side of the room, she walked to the next drawers, opening and closing. Searching.
I walked over to the dresser, trying to find anything that would look out of the ordinary.
For a brief moment, I felt a sense of… guilt. Like I was doing something wrong.
Well, snooping around was wrong.
But then again, Arabella died more than a century ago.
Her stories had been told over and over again, each version different from the previous one.
And this castle belonged to Killian and me, after all.
Every secret that came with it was mine to discover.
Maybe Mirai and I should leave the dead souls to rest, and let the secrets be buried with them.
But dmn it, my fingers itched to know everything.
I didn’t know why I was so curious about their story. But I felt it, deep inside my bones.
I wanted to know.
I needed to know.
I had been obsessing over it for a week.
A small squared jewelry box caught my attention. I reached for it, but the bottom of it was stuck to the surface.
Curious, I wrapped my fingers around it, struggling with the pretty box as if it had been glued to the dresser.
With a flick of my wrist, it turned to the side and there was a clicking sound that made me pause and then… a drawer in the dresser opened, revealing stacks and stacks of books and… letters?
Not just any random letters. They were handwritten; some were sealed in envelopes while others were piled and tied together with several thin ropes.
“Wow, you found the letters!” Mirai practically squealed, coming to stand by my side. I guessed I did…
My heart slammed into my rib cage, like a thundering storm, and my legs grew weak.
Arabella’s secrets… and her love story were all right here. Written in these pages.
I took out the stack from the drawer and the musky scent of old books and papers prickled my nose.
The letters were so old, some of them were wrinkled and torn apart. The black ink had run out, slightly fading on the brown paper, but I could still make out the words.
The papers had many creased lines, from so many times of being folded and unfolded.
There were some stains on the letter… tearstained?
“This is literally Arabella’s life in your hands,” Mirai said in awe.
My fingers brushed against the first letter, the one on top of the stack.
I admired the penmanship of Marchioness Wingintam, my eyes caressing over every cursive word, the careful strokes of the pen made so many years ago.
.
Dear Husband,
My thoughts are filled with you.
Your hatred for me, for I have taken the one thing you did want the most.
Your handsome visage,
Your sturdy hands,
Your wicked smile,
And your soft eyes.
I want to believe you were made for me and our souls are one.
But how can I bethink so…
When you still envisage her while you bed me.
– A
And so, I got lost in a love story that wasn’t my own, yet it called me.
Lured me with the promise of tragedy.
Dragged me into the depths of despair.
And tempted me with its beautiful sorrow.
.
Six months later
We are lost,
in the madness of love.
Like the morrow frost,
during the winter days.
Thy love is cold,
if only,
Our story could hast been foretold.
The pain would not hast been threefold.
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 1 – 10
I folded the half-torn letter and placed it next to my hip, on the window seat.
I spent a week reading through every single letter and poem written by Arabella, and with every faded word I read, they dragged me deeper into her life and her heartbreak.
I sifted through the brown papers, choosing the poems that I loved the most.
Some days, because I was so gluttonous for pain, I’d reread her poems. Like today.
Marchioness of Wingintam lived a life of misery. She fell in love with the man who couldn’t bear her touch. She loved a man who mourned for another woman.
Arabella’s life was a lonely one and with every child she lost, she grew desperate for her husband’s affection, only to end up with his cold eyes and loveless hands.
She offered him her body, day and night, because it was the only moment she felt close to her husband.
Yet, his passion was reserved for his lover and never for his wife.
Arabella died alone.
She took her last breath under the gazebo Elias had built for his lover.
How cruel fate could be, but I understood better than anyone else.
I looked out the window, where the stables were. Over the last four months, I had found myself in Arabella’s private library more than my own.
The view here was beautiful as I watched the stableman work with the horses.
One horse in particular caught my eye last week – the white one.
It was a newly arrived horse on the Isle.
She was so beautiful, my fingers itched to touch her.
The wind wisped her long, white mane into the air as the mare galloped in circles.
She was a playful one and I guessed she had to be young.
I watched as the stableman groomed her, brushing through her beautiful pelt of hair.
The older man looked up and caught my eye through the window. I waved at him, as I always did.
He smiled and his attention went back to the mare.
If only I had the courage to go down there…
With my cheek against the window, I watched the mare and stableman together.
Emptiness clawed at my chest and the back of my eyes prickled.
A day passed by and I found myself here again, looking out from the window.
The day after that, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the white mare.
Another day went by.
A week…
Until…
I wanted a closer look at this gorgeous creature.
I wanted it so badly that I felt it down to my bones, felt it in my veins, and so without any consideration, without thinking twice about it, my feet propelled me forward.
I left the letters on the window seat and walked out of Arabella’s private library.
I found myself walking down the corridor and down the stairs.
Blindly, I walked past Emily and followed the path to the stables.
To feel her soft skin under my fingertips.
To ride her.
To feel the wind against my face.
I wanted that.
I missed it…
I paused outside of the stable, watching the mare carefully.
The stableman was currently running his fingers through her beautiful mane.
He must have noticed my presence because he looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.
“Come closer. She’s friendly.”
I chewed on my lip. “Waiting for me?”
“You’ve been watching her for two weeks now, looking so lost and scared.”
He let out a small laugh. “It took you long enough to come here.”
“What’s her name?”
“She doesn’t have one yet. I’ve been waiting for you.”
I blinked in surprise. “I don’t understand….”
“This is a late wedding gift from your father-in-law. She’s yours.”
I was taken aback by his response but now it all made sense.
William Spencer called me a month ago to try and convince me, once again, to come back to Spencer Manor.
I simply refused and then wished him well. Before hanging up, he told me that he was preparing a wedding gift for me. But I hadn’t thought much of it.
Since his illness had been made public, my father-in-law has tried multiple times to convince me to leave the Isle behind and to come back to the mainland.
But I couldn’t.
It wasn’t because I was safe here, away from the gossips, the curious stares, and the pity.
I had made the decision for Killian. He had to focus on his father, not on his hatred for me.
Because if I were there, I would be the constant reminder of what he lost, the thorn stuck under his flesh and the knife digging into his heart.
It was better if I stayed out of their way.
Even though we were married on paper, husband and wife by law – I hoped that if we didn’t cross paths, maybe Killian would finally find peace.
Maybe with someone else, a woman who suited him more than me.
I cleared my throat, looking between the stableman and my mare. “What’s your name?”
“Gideon,” he introduced himself. “At your service, milady.”
“I’m–”
He smiled, charmingly. “Julianna, I know.”
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking a step closer.
She sensed my presence and eyed me. I was slow in my movement, careful not to cause her any fright.
“Indeed,” Gideon agreed. He finally looked at my veiled covered face, his eyes lingering over my eyes longer.
I expected pity, but there was only mild curiosity.
“Mr. Spencer said she’s the perfect match for Cerberus.”
“Cerberus?” I asked, confused.
He nodded toward the tall, black stallion to my left.
I hadn’t noticed him before, since all my attention was on my mare. He was in a stall, looking curiously at my horse.
“Cerberus there belongs to Killian. He’s a bit of a grumpy one and can get violent. No one rides him, except Killian,” the older man explained.
I let out a scoff. Of course, Killian would have a grumpy horse to match his own violent tendencies.
And of course, he named his stallion after the three-headed hound of Hades. How original of him.
“Are you scared of horses? You seem a bit stiff. She won’t hurt you; she’s very gentle.”
“I–”
Frayed nerves coursed through my veins and my legs grew shaky. I swallowed past the heavy lump in my throat.
“I had a little… incident when I was ten-years-old. I was learning to ride and fell off my horse.”
It wasn’t a small incident though.
I ended up in a coma for nine days from a brain injury…
I woke up with a seizure.
And till this day…
“So, do you know how to ride a horse?” he asked, head cocked to the side curiously.
I nodded stiffly. “A little. I learned a few years ago.”
Once I was close enough to reach out and touch her, I brought a shaky hand forward.
My fingers brushed against her long mane, beautiful and soft.
Gideon grasped my hand in his and helped me to caress the mare’s chest.
I let out a yelp when she stomped her hooves, getting a bit antsy.
“She can sense your emotions. Stay calm. Don’t be nervous.” He let go of my hand and took a small step back, letting me and my mare bond.
I kept my hand on her side, slowly caressing her.
She was so soft; I liked how she felt under my fingertips.
I pet her for what seemed like a long time, lost in the moment with my beautiful, white mare.
“Hey there, big girl,” I whispered, bringing my head closer to her.
Slowly, I pressed my cheek against her flank. “Do you think we can be friends?”
She sighed in response.
I stepped forward and she lowered her head, bumping her nuzzle against my shoulder.
Her breath was warm against my cheek. I smiled under my black veil.
“Is that a yes?”
I rubbed her nuzzle softly. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”
She let out a massive breath and I feigned a gasp.
“Did you just agree with me? Of course, you did. You know you’re the most beautiful thing ever.”
I gave her a scratch over her velvet nose. “Ragna.”
She snorted in response and our eyes met. “Ragna is your name.”
A moment passed, there was something in her dark gaze that matched the emotions squeezing in my heart – something I couldn’t exactly describe.
Loneliness.
Hopelessness.
Desperation for someone to see me for who I really was.
Ragna saw me. She didn’t see the veil or my sins.
She didn’t care about my past or my broken heart. She didn’t judge. She saw me – Julianna.
Ragna threw her head back, her mane flying, and for the first time in a very long time, I felt myself smile.
Truly, with all my heart’s content.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Ragna. We’re going to be best friends.”
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 1 – 10
Killian?
A week later
I remembered the first time I saw her. Hiding behind a stack of hay, watching me prep Coal, the black stallion I was training after Bishop Romano had asked me to.
Coal was a stubborn one.
He just wouldn’t let anyone near him, let alone ride him.
He had already injured two other horse trainers that Bishop had hired and when he asked for help – I couldn’t exactly say no.
Not when we were supposed to keep our relationship amical. Not when my father had warned me beforehand that Bishop would be my future father-in-law and I had to do everything to please him, enough that he’d happily hand over his daughter to me.
And especially not when I knew that Coal needed me.
Some would say I had the power to speak with horses because of how good I was with them.
I still remembered the flash of platinum blonde hair when Grace had rushed to hide when my gaze had caught her behind the hay.
“I know you’re there,” I called out, rubbing a hand over Coal’s chest. He stomped his heel and turned his head to the side, almost grumpily.
“Yeah, yeah. You hate me,” I muttered to the stubborn stallion.
“You better come out now,” I said, loud enough for the girl to hear me. “I don’t like people sneaking up on me and Coal is a bit unpredictable. You might end up hurt.”
That did the job. She let out a small squeak, and from my peripheral vision, I saw her coming out from behind the stack of hay.
“And who you are, Miss…?”
She wrung her hands. “Do I have to answer that?”
“Are you a thief?” I questioned, sternly. But I already knew she wasn’t.
First of all, she was neither dressed nor looked like a thief. She had a lavender dress on and it came down to her mid-thighs.
Her hair was loose, with two tiny braids on either side of her temple, but they pulled back and got lost in her waves. Her ankle boots were black and leather, still quite new.
Second, she fidgeted too much to be a thief.
And third – Bishop’s security was tight and a little girl like her would definitely not be able to sneak inside.
So, I had already come to one conclusion.
“Of course not,” she responded, clearly affronted by such judgment.
Coal’s attention was on her and I knew that look very well.
He definitely didn’t like her and felt threatened by her presence. I kept a hand on him, trying to soothe the big beast.
“Did you do something wrong and now you’re running away?”
Her lips thinned. “No.”
“Then why can’t you give me your name?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“Not an acceptable answer, princess,” I rasped.
Her lips parted and I watched her inhale sharply. “You already know who I am,” she accused.
My lips twitched. “I might already have an idea.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and inched closer to me. “Tell me,” she challenged.
“You tell me,” I shot back
. Coal threw his head back, stomping and letting out a small huff.
He had been a good boy all day today and I didn’t want our intruder to mess this up, so I led the stallion back to his stall.
He happily stomped inside and I closed the latch behind him, making sure he was securely locked inside.
He had already tried to run away twice.
I faced the girl once again and rubbed my sweaty palms over my pants.
I still wore my office clothes since I wasn’t supposed to be here today to train Coal, but it was a last-minute decision.
I might have missed his stubborn and grumpy asrse.
She eyed me carefully, her gaze drifting from my polished leather shoes, up my legs and then my stomach.
Her eyes lingered a second longer on my chest, where the top of my white shirt gaped open; the buttons were undone and my sleeves were pulled up to my elbows while I worked with Coal.
I leaned back against a beam and crossed my ankles.
“Once you’re done checking me out, please don’t hesitant to introduce yourself.”
She gasped indignantly. “I wasn’t checking you out.”
I quirked an eyebrow, watching her flush and mumble under her breath.
“What’s your name?”
“Killian,” I finally introduced myself. “Killian Spencer.”
Her jaw went slack and she sputtered.
“You–”
She looked left and right and wrung her hands together. Her wide eyes would have been comical if she wasn’t so goddamn… beautiful, while looking so confused.
Her round face. White-blonde hair. Grey eyes. Pink lips and a curvaceous body. I usually went for brunettes, but I’d definitely make an exception for this one.
“You are… the Killian Spencer. William Spencer’s son? What are you doing here, training my father’s horse?” she rambled, clearly in shock.
Ah.
So that confirmed my suspicion. She was Bishop’s daughter.
And she must have thought I was some stable boy her father hired. How fvcking hilarious.
I tucked my hands into the pockets of my black slacks, watching her.
“I have to go,” she breathed, when I didn’t answer her quick enough. “Um, I shouldn’t be here.”
She was already walking backward and I watched her disappear around the corner of the stables.
She left without giving me her name.
I saw her again the next day.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
She had a habit of running away and every time, I’d let her.
Until…
I slammed the whiskey glass on the countertop. The fury still festered, even after three long years.
It dug holes inside me until I was less human and more monster. And it was all because of her.
I closed my eyes. The memories didn’t make me sad anymore nor did they hurt because I was enraged.
Julianna.
My wife.
She stole the one good thing I had in my life.
Her face, hidden by the black and lace veil, flashed behind my closed eyelids. Even though I had put more distance than possible between her and me, she was still here.
In my head. Mocking me with every breath she took, taunting me every minute of the day.
How was it possible that I thought of the woman who destroyed my life with a simple flick of her wrist more than I thought of my Gracelynn?
The heartbreak had long been forgotten. I was no longer heartbroken; I was just so goddmn angry.
At Julianna. At my father… at everyone and everything. It was easier to be angry than to feel hurt.
Heartbreak made me weak.
Rage gave me purpose.
It had been six months and two weeks since our wedding, since I left her on the Island.
I thought she’d come back a few weeks into our marriage, demanding her wifely rights.
I thought she’d expect us to stay together – to share a bed and a life.
But Julianna shocked me by not only continuing to stay on the Island, but she made it her home.
When Bishop had asked her to return back to the mainland, she simply refused.
When my father had tried to convince her to come back to Spencer Manor, she said that she had already settled on Isle Rosa-Maria and that she liked it there.
The gossip had spread far and wide – but both my father and Bishop had tried to shut it down. They succeeded when my father’s illness was made public.
The focus had switched from my failed marriage with Julianna to my father’s little time left on this earth.
A tumor in the brain, the doctor had explained.
It was not operatable. And worst, it was invasive and growing rapidly. One doctor said my father had less than a year to live.
Another one gave him an estimate of eighteen months. They said he could try radiation therapy or chemotherapy, but I remembered the look on their faces – the pity and the defeat.
They said it all depended on my father’s luck and God’s will.
But fvck that. What was the reason for science and evolution when we still had to depend on “luck” and “God”?
My father was dying and I had approximately ten months to make his wishes come true and fulfill our contract with Bishop Romano.
An heir for the Romanos and Spencers.
A child to connect the two families by blood.
My fist clenched around my glass.
“Fk,” I hissed under my breath, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.
“Well, you’re in a good mood today.”
My father joined me, coming to stand by my side. He grabbed the bottle before I could and poured the whiskey into my glass.
“Are you packed yet?” he asked, almost lazily, but I didn’t miss the threat in his tone.
“You’re literally kicking me out of my own home,” I snapped, before bringing the glass to my lips, taking a sip.
“Your home is with your wife, Killian. If she’s not coming here, you will go to her.” He was talking as if I was a five-year old and still needed my father’s guidance in life.
Yeah, no. I knew exactly what I had to do and it has nothing to do with Julianna Romano.
“You have a contract to fulfill,” my father reminded me.
“And I don’t have long to live. I want to see my grandchild before it’s my time to go.”
Thanks, dad. I definitely needed that reminder.
My mother was traveling Europe with her lover and my father was dying. I married my dead girlfriend’s sister who also happened to be her killer and I detested my wife.
Breathe in the rage, breathe out any other emotions.
I dropped the glass on the marble countertop and walked away.
“Julianna is not the villain you’re making her out to be, Killian,” my father called out. “It was an accident.”
I paused. Fire licked through my veins and I felt the spark of rage, starting from the bottom of my spine, and my fists clenched at my sides.
“She had a choice,” I gritted out. “She shouldn’t have been driving that night. Especially not when she was intoxicated. Accident or not, she killed Gracelynn.”
I heard him walking closer and my father stood in front of me. His jaw squared and his pale face stern.
We were the same height and we used to be the same build. But my father had lost weight over the last three months. I could see the fatigue in his eyes as death dug itself inside his bones.
“I tried to give you time, Killian,” he said, his voice harsh and unyielding.
“Two years to come to terms with the fact that Julianna was going to be your wife. Then, I gave you six months. You left her at the altar, you didn’t consummate the marriage, you left her on the island and came back to Spencer Manor alone. But I don’t care anymore. You married her and you need to take responsibility. She’s your wife and the mother of your future children. I expect you to figure this relationship out. Now, before it’s too late.”
My jaw clenched and I locked eyes with my father – a silent battle neither of us were ready to lose.
“I expect you to be back on Isle Rosa-Maria at dawn and this is final.”
My lips thinned.
“Is that understood, Killian?”
A big hole burrowed itself inside my chest and I gave my father a sharp nod, before stalking away.
“I vow to spend the rest of my life making you regret what you did to Gracelynn. To hurt you, to break you… and to hate you for the rest of our days. I will never be your protector, never your defender; I vow to be the villain in your story.”
“In health and in sickness, through sorrow and pain, for all the days in my life, I will be your worst nightmare.”
“Till death do us part…”
It was time to face Julianna and the vows I took. She was the darkness plaguing my half-dead heart; the reason why I was the man I was today.
The world saw me as Killian Spencer – the man of wealth and power at his fingertips.
I was the gentleman in a suit. I smiled at the camera, shook hands and I did everything they expected me to.
A lawyer with an insane drive for justice.
A politician with a perfect and clean record.
But no one really knew of the monster lurking underneath the skin of Killian Spencer.
I’m coming, Beasty. And your life will never be the same.
.
.
A MARRIAGE OF HATE: Chapter 1 – 10
Click 6 below to continue reading
