Page 1 of Wicked God
Chapter 1
Olivia
Perched on a hill, my childhood home overlooks the city. On the outside, it blends in seamlessly with the other extravagant mansions in the neighborhood—huge, white, and imposing. But inside, the place rots. The sins of the past seep through the cracks in the walls, whispering their dark secrets to anyone who cares to listen.
I used to adore this house. From the moment I first stepped into the entrance hall at the age of five, I was enamored with its gleaming windows and intricate moldings. The grand staircase leading up to the upper floors felt like a pathway to a world full of endless possibilities. And the garden, with its sweet aroma of lilacs and delicate roses, made me dizzy with hope.
But now, twenty-two years later, I can no longer pretend that the fragrant scent of the garden reminds me of happy times. It’stoo cloying, almost sickening, like a cheap, out-of-date perfume. Each visit to Carter Manor is a chore I endure for my sister’s sake.
“Miss Olivia, Mr. Carter is expecting you in the library.” The butler’s voice, smooth as ever, greets me at the door; he bows, silver hair shining in the afternoon light. He waits for me to follow, guiding me through the foyer that always makes me feel small, no matter how old I get.
The most sacred room in the manor was my stepfather’s library. Thick velvet curtains always shielded its large leaded glass windows from the outside world. Dusty leather-bound books lined the walls, their pages filled with rigid words of law and regulations. Unlike the bright and colorful books we played with in the nursery, these were forbidden to my sister and me. Yet, I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at them every now and then.
My mother would caution us about entering our father’s study and making as little noise as possible, as if she feared we would disturb some ghostly presence within the house.
While Carter Manor may have its share of ghosts, they pale in comparison to the living roaming its halls.
The most daunting one sits behind his sturdy oak desk.
“Olivia, come in.” Uncle Dean looks up from his work. “Take a seat.”
Dean Carter is the head of the Carter family, a respected member of the community, and a successful businessman. After my stepfather passed away ten years ago, he took over both the manor and the family business. Even at his age of fifty-five, he still commands a powerful presence, dressed in a tailored suit with only a touch of grey at his temples.
I can’t help but wonder why I’ve been summoned here. Our mandatory monthly brunch isn’t for another two weeks, and otherwise, my uncle has shown little interest in me. That hefelt compelled to invite me here is concerning, especially since I cannot think of any plausible reason he would want to see me.
And Dean is not a person who does things without a reason.
I make my way across the room and sink into one of the plush armchairs in front of his desk. The leather squeaks as I settle into it, trying not to fidget.
“You wanted to speak with me, Uncle?”
He reclines in his chair, linking his fingers together beneath his chin. “Indeed. I have an important matter to discuss.”
He takes his sweet time, letting the tension mount. Dean delights in the dramatics, reveling in the uncomfortable silence and increasing tension. He sees it all as a game, one that he takes great pleasure in playing. It’s this quality that makes him a formidable adversary; he possesses both the patience of prey and the instincts and intelligence of a predator.
I interlock my fingers and wait patiently for him to continue.
At last, he leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face. The only comforting thing about him is his blue eyes—identical to my sister’s. My own eyes are brown, the ultimate proof that I am not a true Carter.
“I have arranged a marriage for Tiffany,” Dean announces nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. “To the son of Senator Hawthorne.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
The elegant library spins around me, shelves of leather-bound books blurring into a dizzying whirl of color. I grip the arms of my chair, fingernails digging into the rich mahogany.
“What?” I choke out. “Could you please repeat that?”
“Tiffany is getting married. It’s a strategic alliance. One that will benefit both our families immensely.”
The initial shock fades away as a surge of protective anger rises within me. I think of Tiffany—her bright laughter, her kindness. How can he reduce her to a mere pawn in his political game?
“And what about what Tiffany wants?” I ask, my voice rising. “Her dreams and her future? She just graduated from college! She should focus on her career, not be forced into some kind of loveless political marriage!”
Only last month, Tiffany turned twenty-three. She is five years younger, a finance graduate, and the most intelligent person I know. She has her entire future ahead of her. To arrange her life according to the needs of others and pressure her to marry someone she barely knows, someone completely unsuitable—it’s just not right.
Dean can’t be serious.
“Forced?” His eyebrow arches. “My dear, this is a tremendous opportunity. The Hawthornes are one of the most influential families in the country. This union will open doors for Tiffany that she couldn’t even imagine.”
