Arya was alone. Only this time, she was at home. That restless phantom of the past had returned, heavier than ever before.
The nonstop hullabaloo surged—the phantom sounds of an event long gone. The clinking of wine glasses and the hearty laughter of the wealthy filled her ears, yet a persistent voice pulled her away, summoning her spirit. In response to that soul-reaching call, the wind grew violent. Her breathing became unsteady, her emotions churning like troubled waters. She clutched her hair, huddled like a terrified rabbit in despair. Above, the clouds grumbled in pain, swollen and heavy as if they were pregnant with a storm.
The color of her eyes shifted to hazel. Her head snapped back with unfathomable speed, lips agape as she gasped for air. The world spun, dissolving into a dizzying blur. She was no longer in her room; she was in the trance.
Arya's pov…
It had been a long time since I'd had a vision this compelling. I sat before my vanity, staring at a reflection I barely recognized; I no longer looked like my earthly self. I was a mess, my features blurred by the lingering echoes of the trance.
This time, I had been gone too long. Who could have tried to summon my spirit? I whispered to the empty room.
I had managed to slip away from the Belthazaar family right under the nose of my ever-watchful mother. The angels, disguised as humans, had originally placed me with earthly parents to hide me until my coming-of-age mission: finding a sacrificial groom. But the humans never knew my true identity. The Belthazaars, sensing my untapped power, had snatched the opportunity. They wanted me as a vessel to birth a god-like bloodline through their son, Lucian.
Lucian Belthazaar was blessed with the beauty of the heavens—a face designed to ensnare anyone who looked at him. He was beautiful, yes, but he was no soulmate of mine. They thought they could use me to bartering for favor with the heavens, but they underestimated me. After years of quietly gathering my strength, I had vanished, leaving no trace of my soul for them to track.
I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in years, but after that trance, water wouldn't cut it. My skin felt like it was vibrating off my bones. I needed a release—a way to anchor myself to this earthly realm before the soul-reaching wind dragged me back to the abyss.
I stumbled into a dimly lit lounge downtown, the kind of place where the air smells of expensive bourbon and secrets. The "hullabaloo" here was real: the clinking of glasses, the low thrum of jazz, and the heat of too many bodies. My vision was still swimming, hazel sparks flickering behind my eyelids.
My "coming of age" mission was a heavy weight in my chest: Find a groom. A sacrifice.
Through the haze of my exhaustion and the sudden, burning thirst, I saw him. He was leaning against the mahogany bar, silhouetted by the amber glow of the back-shelf spirits. He wore a suit that looked like it cost more than the building, his posture radiating a dangerous, effortless grace.
My drunk, reeling brain didn't see the man who had signed my employment contract just forty-eight hours ago. I didn't see the CEO of Vanguard Holdings.
I saw a man who looked like he was for sale to the highest bidder. A high-end male escort.
I moved toward him, my steps uneven, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The Soul Pull hit me then—a wave of heat so intense it made my breath hitch. It wasn't just attraction; it was a cosmic tether snapping into place.
I reached out, my fingers trembling as I gripped his silk lapel, pulling him down toward my level. The spark that jumped between us was electric, raw, and terrifying.
"How much for the night?" I slurred, my voice thick with the remnants of the trance. I stared into his dark, observant eyes, my own hazel irises burning bright. "I need... a body. A groom. Name your price, and don't make it a high one. I'm new in town."
A slow, predatory smirk spread across his face. He didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped a hand around my waist, pulling me flush against the cold glass of his watch.
A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn't correct me. Instead, his hand slid around my waist, his palm burning through my thin dress.
"A groom?" he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that made my hazel eyes spark. "That's a steep request for a first date, Arya. But for you... I might be persuaded to work pro bono."
I giggled, a sound that felt alien in my own throat. I had no idea that while I was trying to "buy" him for a sacrifice, his biggest rivals—the Belthazaars—were likely sitting in a boardroom across town, plotting to dismantle his empire... and find the girl who had vanished from their grasp years ago.