Page 31 of Chains of Recompense
I am terrified of what I’ve done—of the position I’ve put myself in.
I’m not ready to share a life with him, a home, a bedroom…
Not because I hate Raf.
But because, despite all my determination not to, I might still love him.
And that would ruin everything.
5
RAFAEL
The car ride from the Murray house to the Chiaroscuro estate is silent, but not a peaceful kind. It’s loaded, leaving a thick, metallic taste in my mouth, like I’ve been sucking on pennies.
Aisling sits beside me in the back seat, veil gone, hair falling in soft red waves over one shoulder, still wearing her wedding dress because she never had a chance to change.
My driver keeps glancing at us through the mirror, because we look like a couple mid-fight.
We’re not fighting.
We’re just two people who used to burn each other down, now shackled together with rings and applause and a thousand watchful eyes.
She smells of whiskey-sweet perfume and expensive flowers and heat.
My new wife.
Christ.
I married her tonight.
We stood in front of God, a priest, and two families with enough blood on their hands to fill a cathedral, and said, “I do.”
And I did it with a smile.
I felt like I was burning in that church, a sinner wearing a suit tailored to look respectable.
But I half expected to light on fire from the sacrilege of our nuptials.
Then again, I’ve always been good at pretending I’m something I’m not.
A gentleman.
A leader.
A man who isn’t rotting from the inside.
Perhaps I’ve fooled the Murrays’ God as well.
The closer we get to the estate, the more the silence fills with rot.
Night air turns colder, and the headlights sweep across the gates as we approach home.
The Chiaroscuro house looms beyond it—scarred, monstrous, and half-reborn under scaffolding and floodlights that accentuate the broken walls and gaping holes of the west wing.
I brace for Aisling’s reaction.
The Murray home is still immaculate—pristine white walls, velvet drapery, polished floors that don’t echo with ghosts.
