Delicate Revenge: Breaking Belles

“You sound like Sully,” I said. “And I’m more of a traditionalist. I don’t think we have to modernize everything. Sometimes, we should just respect history.”

“Sully’s right,” Montgomery said quickly. “And you haven’t seen or been through what we have. You will soon enough, and I have a feeling you won’t want to keep to tradition like you think.”

“Well, it can’t all be bad if y’all found the love of your lives during the Initiation.” I shrugged and took another swallow of my beer. “My Initiation is going to be far different than yours, however. I can’t marry a Belle. I can’t even think of being with one at the end. Unlike you guys, I have to think about my reputation and how I’ll come out looking when this is all done. I can’t run for Mayor like I plan with a soiled reputation. And I can’t risk my future wife having a past that is anything unsavory to the Darlington voters. Y’all know I have to care about lineage and name, and… it’s politics.”

My buddies all rolled their eyes but in good fun. They knew how important politics were to me. I had been groomed to follow the same path as my father since birth. It was who I was and my entire identity.

The Oleander, The Order of the Silver Ghost, and the Initiation were the final step to make that happen. I needed to become a member to get all the support and backing that was required to secure the votes to win.

“I sure as hell never thought I’d be planning a wedding when I was done with the Trials,” Emmett said. “You’ll see just how much you can’t control your destiny once you’re within those walls. The Oleander can be a real bitch that way. It’s also not a given that you’ll pass just because your father is an Elder. There’s going to be a lot of Trials you won’t want to do. And even your daddy can’t help you.”

I nodded in agreement, even though I didn’t believe it. I truly felt that me going through the Trials was all a technicality and for show. I would be a member and, very soon after, become one of the Elders. I had been groomed for this too.

There was one big truth to being born and raised in Darlington.

Your book of life, and each chapter in it, had been written for you.

No rewrites allowed.

A month and a half later

“What do you mean she quit?” I stared, uncomprehending, into Mrs. H’s sorrowful face.

“She came to me in the middle of the night and begged me not to wake you. She said she couldn’t go on.”

I scrambled out of bed and stared at the empty space beside me. Where my Belle was supposed to be.

The Belle who had apparently just quit on me.

“Did she say why?” I dragged my hands through my hair, then reached for my pants. I was only wearing boxers but was too upset to be embarrassed about it in front of Mrs. H. Maybe if I went after the girl and tried to convince her to change her mind before anyone found out….

“The Elders know already. They’re downstairs. They’ve called a conclave to decide what to do with you now.”

Shit. I sat back down heavily on the bed and looked helplessly back up at Mrs. H. “What else did she say? I didn’t think things were going that bad.”

True, things between me and my Belle, Sarah, hadn’t seemed to be going as magically as it had for all my best friends. They’d ended up with true love, and things with Sarah and me had been… well, fine. They’d been fine.

We hadn’t even had any death-defying Trials or anything yet. And she hadn’t balked at the tattoo. She seemed eager enough for the sex, and the rest of the time, all she wanted to do was watch TV.

Fine with me. I had work to do. I thought we had a good thing going, both of us getting what we wanted out of the deal.

But now, she’d up and left me holding the damn bag.

What the actual fuck?

“She didn’t say anything else, and it doesn’t matter now. You should hurry, love,” Mrs. H said, worry lines in her forehead. “They’re waiting. And your father doesn’t look happy.”

I swallowed and stood.

No rewrites. And now it was time to face whatever fate had in store for me. Because apparently, my future was suddenly very different from the one I’d always envisioned for myself.

Because no St. Claire heir had ever failed the Trials, not in six generations.

Until me.