I want you to know, even if the world won't love you, even if no one will be there for you, you will always have me. I will always love you.

-notes given to Axel by a
mysterious someone

--------᪥-------

☘︎ Axᴇʟ Hᴇʀɴᴀɴᴅᴇᴢ ☘︎

When people decide to make me or my own, a piece in their game, they need to be careful. There's no saying when I might just start playing back.

But perhaps, this time I made a mistake. Perhaps this time, in keeping something they treasured, I've invited myself into a headache.

The constant tapping of her feet against the private jet's carpeted floor, echoes louder than the slight sound of the turbulence. From the seat across mine, the runaway keeps staring at me as though I'm a specimen she wishes to dissect and observe, a puzzle she hopes to solve. A puzzle she'd be very, very dissapointed over.

My jaw locks in annoyance, the grip on my phone growing tight enough the glass could shatter. I despise people staring at me. Their criticizing gazes makes me want to burn the entire place down with everyone in it.

Doctors label my condition as a minor case of scopophobia-the fear of being stared at. But I believe it for what it is; people's intense hatred for me. It's always been the case. I don't blame, I hate each of them too.

"You still didn't tell me where we are going?" The runaway asks, taking a sip from the wine glass she'd been nursing for the last half hour, "I mean, as your supposed wife, shouldn't I be knowing which black market you're selling me off to?"

I much rather preferred when she slept like the dead for the first seven hours of the flight and didn't speak at all.

Ignoring her absurd question, I continue to re-read on my phone about the terms written on the agreement I signed with Eve Kavinsky. We had re-done our wedding vows with our rightful names again to avoid any mishap. Being a lawyer, I know these kinds of legal errors could bite you in the back at the wrong time.

So I had taken her straight to the nearest courtroom, dragged the same priest who was eager to run off earlier, to re-do our vows. When the priest had asked me to kiss my bride, I'd simply left a ghost of a kiss on her cheek and invited myself and her out of the court to the airport where my pilot waited with the jet ready.

Besides, as per the agreement, there isn't much obligation either of us have to follow when we are alone, which entails I don't need to make unnecessary small talks with her.

"Do you have germaphobia?" Eve continues, like I didn't just ignore her previous few questions.

"Do you think I am the germ?" She parrotes, slurping her wine the way one would a coconut juice and not strong alcohol.

I sigh internally. What is with this woman?

"Paris." I retort curtly to her first question, hoping to shut her from bothering me again, "We're going to Paris. That's where I live, where you will be living for the duration of the year."

There's a moment of fleeting, peaceful silence I'm rewarded with, in which my attention shifts to the text popping on my phone's screen.

Tori : Are you married yet?

The bored tone of her words echoed from a digital world apart. I simply answer with a single syllabled 'Yes'.

Tori : Should I be congratulating you?

Just when I'm about to answer with a 'No', the runaway shrieks.

"Paris?! As in Paris of France?" Eve sets down her wine glass on the cup-holder attached to her seat in such a sudden move, it nearly splashes all over the wedding gown twice her dwarfed size.

"I don't believe I know a Paris other than in France." I assert in a matter-of-fact statement, chancing a glance out of the window as the plane prepares to land.

Watching from high-above, the accursed 'City of Love' humans ramble about is but a mere miniature on the land, the Eiffel tower like a conical dice on a board game. Nothing dreamy like one makes it appear. There never was anything dreamy about this place. Never will be.

"You've got to be kidding me." Giving me a stink eye, Eve turns her head to plaster her face on the window so vigorously, it wouldn't be surprising if it broke, and her head fell off it. Although contrary to how most woman shriek with excitement at the mention of the city, this one is outright panicking.

I wonder why. Just as I wonder how Michael Lee Voroski will react when he realizes the woman he's obsessively been trying to get married to, is now my wife.

I'm not a saint. I believe in giving people a taste of their own medicine when they cross me. It isn't as much avenging as it is returning the favor tenfold worse. And when opportunity strikes, I'm not a fool to not take it. While I really do have an urgency to seek a wife to get access to my inheritance, part of the reason why I'd asked this particular woman to be my candidate is to put fuel on the fire between me and my enemy.

It doesn't mean I'll back out from my clause of the agreement. I'm going to provide Eve the security team for Michael to not reach her, she wouldn't be harmed in any way. My war isn't against her but with Voroski. It is him who I target with the aim of a predator.

Because there are motives that drives a person to unseeable end.

Mine just happens to be revenge.

_
_
_

☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

My brain is exploding in my skull like a drilling machine digging into a wall. Maybe it's because I had a little too much wine in the eight hours flight from Mauritius to. . .

I remain paralyzed on the airstairs of Axel's private jet, gaping at the country written on the UFO-resembling airport building.

Paris Charle De Gaulle Airport.

France.

To think I've been running from the place, only to end up right at it's feet. I'm certain I repeat these words every five minutes but. . .this can't be happening.

"Is there a problem?" The infuriating robot of a man I married asks from the door of the aircraft, descending down the stairs looking so composed and fresh as if he hadn't just endured an eight hours flight. I'm pretty sure my hair looks like I got electrocuted, while not even single strand of his dark blonde hair is out of place.

I whirl around in my wedding gown intending to glare at him for not telling me earlier we were headed France. Only to realize how big of a mistake it is, because given my fantastic luck, I trip on my monster of a wedding gown, almost falling backwards down the stairs.

My eyes widen on their own accord, stunned by the approaching fall where I'll possibly crack open my skull. But in the last minute, Axel steps down in two elegant, quick strides of those insane long legs and grabs my wrist.

Hanging mid-fall akin to a heroine in some sappy romance movie, I blink up at him like a biotic idiot. Axel sighs as if done with me. Tightening his hold around my hand in a firm yet somehow gentle grip, he pulls me forward enough that I'm steady on my feet again but don't go colliding with his hard chest. His hand leaves mine.

I still feel the warm imprint of those long fingers wrapped around my tiny wrist as he leans next to my ear. The ghost of his breath fanning my earlobe, his words are a husky whisper spoken in that intoxicating voice even when there's no emotion to it, "It would do you good to stop moving around so much."

Then he inches back and quite literally-albeit gently-shifts me to the side and walks down the last flight of stairs.

I gape behind him with my jaw hanging. Ugh! Why, Eve, why do you keep getting yourself in such atomically embarrassing situations?!

Fuming through my nose, I stomp down the stairs like a child throwing a tantrum and get into the SUV waiting for us at the airport tarmac. Axel is already inside, ignoring me and typing away on his phone, looking stupidly attractive.

"For the record, Mr Hernandez, it would do you good too if you stopped acting like Medusa cursed you to throw your stony gaze at everyone." Huffing, I look out the window, but not before adding, "And I will do whatever I please. You're not the boss of me."

Deadly silence follows in the wake of my words for the rest of the ride, indicating he proceeded to ignore me again. The car passes through the picturesque city of Paris to my supposed place of residence for the year ahead.

Soon, the streets filled with French patrons, cozy pastry shops and restaurants give way to a rich neighborhood. Sleek mansions and a canopy of trees line the roads on both sides, leading to a giant black gate with the initial 'H' engraved in gold over it.

A mass of security guards in black uniform linger outside the gate, their walkie-talkie in hand and earplugs attached to their ears. One of the men approaches our car and once he notices Axel, he bows his head in acknowledgement before going off to shout orders at the guards to open the gate. They scan the car once, check the trunk before letting us in.

My interest spikes as I plant my hand on the car's windowsill and gaze out. The level of security here is as though Axel is the son of the president of France.

An inaudible gasp escapes my lips the moment I take in the estate beyond those large iron gates. Past the wondrous lake, past the water fountains and flora gardens, past the massive golf course and amenity mini-houses, standing in the midst of the acres of land is a mansion straight out of a royal fantasy.

The white stone-walled mansion standing tall and intimidating resembles a fortress. Large, arched French windows giving a clear view into the posh, old-school interior of the house. Ivy creepers decorate the four pillars around the infrastructure, beautifying the whole look of it to the extremist enchantment.

I've known richness growing up. My mother is an insanely rich woman, being the daughter of an indian-american socialite and a self-made global fashion influencer who earns in billions. But this. . .this is on another level. This is old-money rich.

"What do you do for a living?" The question slips from my mouth before I can stop it.

"I'm a criminal lawyer." Axel answers conversationally, lifting his gaze from his phone to follow my sight,"But the house isn't mine. It's my parents'."

"What do your parents do for a living then?" I finally shift my eyes from the estate to look completely at him, curiosity lingering in my blood at the hardness taking over his features.

A cold, bitter smile slicing across those reddish lips and his stormy grey eyes focused on the fortress of a mansion, he says, "They're criminals."

--------᪥♔︎᪥-------

MAMA I'M IN LOVE WITH A CRIMINALLLLL
*sings on the top of my lungs*

Okay I'll shut up😭🤝

I feel like the romance in this book is going to be a pretty slowwww burn but let's see >.<

How'd you like Axel's POV?👀

Lemme know your thoughts on the chapter!