Falling from Fire

A Cruel Promise (Scarlett)

I know almost nothing about the person who will soon become my husband. I know his name is Mavrik Varyn, I know he’s 20 years old, and I know he’s an unbelievable assface that I have absolutely no intention of speaking to on a daily basis.

His looming presence at the selection set me on edge and gave me zero ounce of hope for my future with him. I just want to go home.

After I finally stop crying, I drag myself out of bed, feeling like a wreck—drained, dizzy, my body moving on autopilot as I stumble into the bathroom. I’m desperate to wash the awful day off me, desperate to feel like myself again, even for a second. Stripping off my clothes, I crank the water as hot as it will go, the heat biting at my skin, a small relief against the emotional exhaustion.

That’s when I catch a glimpse of something dark out of the corner of my eye—a shadow, lingering just inside the doorway.

Mavrik leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes shamelessly raking over my body—just like he did earlier that day. A scream rips from my throat as I grab a towel, desperately trying to cover myself.

“What the actual f**k!” I shout, my voice shaking with anger, but he doesn’t budge. He just keeps staring, that smug smirk of his tugging at the corner of his mouth like this is some sick joke.

He seriously thinks this is funny?

“Get out!” I yell, my grip tightening on the towel, my pulse hammering in my ears.

He doesn’t move, just keeps staring, a steady, unblinking gaze as he pushes off the doorframe and steps toward me. Inch by inch, he closes the distance, his presence pressing in until he’s leaning down to my ear, his hot breath creeping over my shoulder. My face twists in disgust, my stomach churning, but there’s nowhere for me to go—I’m trapped against the glass shower wall.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Scarlett Elara Ashford,” he mocks, repeating my name exactly the way my mother says it, like a curse. “Stay out of the way,” he orders, as if he isn’t the one completely invading my personal space. “I’m good at reading people, and while my father might not notice it, I can tell you’re stubborn. That attitude won’t get you far here darling.”

The worst part of all this? His scent. It’s absolutely intoxicating, and anger floods my body—not with him, but with myself. I hate that it’s making me feel almost paralyzed. Almost.

Gathering every ounce of courage, I shove him away. The shock is clear in his raised eyebrows as his back slams into the opposite wall, the sound of impact cutting through the air. Silence sits heavily in the room, his shock and my satisfaction battling for dominance.

“You didn’t say a single word to me at the selection this afternoon,” I snap, voice cold, “so explain to me why you think you have the right to barge into the bathroom while I’m showering and lecture me about my attitude. Because, darling”—I mock the word, my eyes narrowing—“the only problem I see here is your complete inability to respect my privacy.”

Mavrik stares at me, dumbfounded—no doubt shocked by my audacity. I’m probably the first person who’s ever dared to talk to him like that, but if you ask me, he’s long overdue for a reality check.

As silence settles over the room, his gaze drifts over me, starting with my ocean-blue eyes, trailing down to my fading red hair, and finally landing on the constellation tattoos on my bicep. I feel a flush of uncomfortable vulnerability, but I don’t look away. That same infuriating smirk creeps across his face.

“Might want to hurry with the shower,” he says casually. “The governor won’t be too pleased if you’re late for dinner.”

Then, as if I’m not already furious enough, he steps back into my space, leaning down so his lips graze my ear. “I will make your life a living hell, Scarlett. Take this as a warning—keep your mouth shut. You’re only here to be a pretty face.”

The words hit me like a slap, icy and suffocating. I want to scream, to punch him, but all I can do is stand there, stunned, as he strides out of the room, leaving me frozen in place. The air feels thick with the weight of his threat, and I’m left wondering what the f**k I’ve just gotten myself into.

Dinner that night is painfully quiet. The only sound is Varyn’s complaint about his steak not being cooked properly, his voice a low grumble that cuts through the silence like a dull knife. Seraphina sighs in distaste at the spread, despite it being more food than I’ve ever seen in my life. The table is overflowing with fruit, delicate desserts, bread—an immaculate display of wealth—and, most importantly, wine. An entire selection of wines, each more expensive than my entire wardrobe.

I reach for the bottle nearest me, not bothering to care if it’s considered impolite, and pour myself a generous glass. The sharp scent of alcohol hits my nose, a welcome distraction. Mavrik watches me with thinly veiled disgust, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“Must you act so desperate?” he asks, breaking the silence. His eyes never leave the wine glass in my hand, his sneer curling with more contempt than I thought possible.

I hold his stare, refusing to let his words rattle me. "Must you act like a d**k?" I snap back, my voice dripping with venom. A poisonous grin spreads across my face, satisfied with the sting in my words.

A loud slam echoes through the room as Governor Varyn throws his fork onto the table. He stands abruptly, pushing his chair back with a grating scrape that feels like it shakes the walls. My breath hitches in response, panic creeping up my throat as he stalks toward me. My pulse quickens, a cold sweat forming on my skin.

Instinctively, I lean away, my body trembling, but it’s useless. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me forward so forcefully that pain shoots through my scalp. His furious eyes lock with mine, and fear crawls down my spine like icy fingers. I can barely breathe.

“Scarlett,” he growls, his voice low but seething with rage, “if you don’t start acting like a Varyn, we’re going to have to take some... drastic measures. That’s not what you want, is it, sweetheart?”

The words hang in the air, suffocating me. The room feels like it’s closing in on me, and I fight to keep my composure, even as Mavrik’s harsh stare cuts into me. Every wince of pain pulls at my resolve, but I can’t afford to show him weakness. I won’t. But the fear still gnaws at me, a pit in my stomach growing with every second I’m trapped in his grip.

His mocking tone, thick with disgusting misogyny, ignites a fire in my chest. My vision sharpens, everything narrowing on him. Before I can think twice, the heat of anger surges up and I spit directly into his face.

His expression darkens instantly, his eyes flashing with fury. The spit slides down his cheek as he wipes it away with one hand, but there’s no mistaking the rage that radiates off him now, burning hotter than a wildfire. Without a second of hesitation, he grabs my hair, yanking me out of my chair and slamming me hard against the wall.

Pain explodes at the back of my head, and stars scatter across my vision. A scream rips from my throat, but before I can catch my breath, his forearm crashes down against my throat. The pressure forces the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping, struggling for breath. The world tilts, darkening at the edges, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of crumbling.

“Scarlett,” he snarls, his voice dripping venom, “my words are not to be taken lightly. I will rip this defiance from you, shred by shred, until there is nothing left. Until you cannot breathe without my permission.”

The cruel promise hangs in the air, suffocating me. Without another word, he releases his grip, letting me collapse onto the floor in a heap. Pain blooms across my body, but I barely register it as the silence settles over the room, thick and oppressive.

I clutch my throat, struggling to steady my ragged breaths. The taste of fear lingers on my tongue as tears sting my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. I won’t give him that satisfaction. My hands shake as I try to regain some semblance of control. My gaze flicks to Mavrik, slouched in his chair, his smirk twisted with a coldness that turns my stomach. He’s watching me, but there’s no sign of movement, no flicker of concern. I shake my head, disbelief washing over me.

Disappointment cuts deeper than the pain in my throat. How could he just sit there, letting his father do this? I knew Mavrik was an asshole, but this... this cruelty, this indifference—it’s something I hadn’t imagined. It’s worse than anything I feared.

I turn and run, my heart pounding as the royal blue gown I’ve been forced into flares out behind me, dragging me down with every step. By the time I reach my bedroom, I don't bother with anything else—I collapse onto the floor, the weight of everything crushing me as the tears I’ve held back pour freely.

With every tear that falls, the weight on my chest grows heavier, suffocating. How could I have just stood there? How could I have let him—let them—push me down like that?

Angry sobs tear through me, each one making my body tremble. My mind replays the scene over and over, each iteration carving deeper, jagged wounds into my spirit. How could I have let them do this to me? How could I have let him take away everything I was?

I’m pathetic. Everything I’ve fought so hard to hold onto—the fire, the strength—is starting to flicker out. It’s fading, slipping through my fingers like water. They’re right. All of them. I don’t stand a chance. Not here. Not now.