Wrath of an Exile: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (The River Styx Heathens Book 1)

Phi

August 31

“Rise and shine! Or at least rise. The shine is optional.”

My eyes crack open, sunlight pouring in from my balcony doors trying to blind me. I roll onto my stomach, burying my face into the pillow, contemplating which is worse.

The nightmare I just woke up from or the one I’m currently living.

“Let me die.”

“No can do, sugar tits.”

“Dude, it’s…” I groan, turning my head and squinting at the clock, but without my contacts, it’s just a blur. I fumble around until I find my glasses and slip them on. “Six thirty in the morning. I don’t have class till nine. Why the hell are you waking me up?”

I’d planned on skipping class, wrapping myself into a blanket burrito and playing sick. That way, I didn’t have to be part of the Jude Sinclair welcome party today.

My mother baked fucking cookies.

Cookies.

“To make him feel more welcome,” she’d said.

I offered to crank the heat up in the house; I figured sweltering temperatures would remind Lucifer’s apprentice of his own home. That I wish more than anything he’d fucking return to.

“Caught some waves a few hours ago, came home, and we were out of Froot Loops. Figured you had a secret stash in the pantry. Oh, and Gauntlet location just dropped.”

For the first time since I overheard the news about Jude, joy blossoms in my chest. Forcing my body to sit upright, I extend my grabby hands toward Atlas, who has made himself at home in my room, lounging in my desk chair, casual as ever, that lazy grin on his face.

He’s idly petting Galileo, who’s dead to the word in his lap, my half-blind cat oblivious to everything except the warmth of Atlas’s body.

“Let me see!” I practically shout.

Atlas obliges, tossing his phone on my bed for me to grab.

The fact that he’s been sitting here for God knows how long should probably disturb me. But it’s Atlas, and most of everything he does is thoughtless.

Unknown number: Gallows Reef. 10:30pm. 9/13.

“If it’s surfing, you’re fucked this year.”

I look up at him with a playful glare, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at his head. He catches it easily, his reflexes sharp from years of surfing, and tosses it back to the end of my bed.

I hope to fuck it’s not anything water related. We lost last year, and I’d really love not to repeat that. Wasters didn’t shut up for months about it.

The Gauntlet is my favorite town secret.

Every year, West Trinity Falls and Ponderosa Springs go to war, and the rules are simple: no game is ever repeated, and if you choose the game, the enemy picks the location. It’s all run by faceless figures from each town, ensuring fair judgment for winners.

It used to happen like clockwork on the first day of spring, but when things got out of hand and kids started dying, the hosts got sneakier. Now, the date’s a mystery, dropped just days before.

This is exactly what I needed.

A distraction.

“Question,” Atlas says, pulling me from my thoughts, “Do you guys have to introduce Jude as your brother now? Foster brother? Fo-Bro?”

Sometimes, I think he just says the first thing that pops into his brain. No filter, no hesitation, just speaks and hopes for the best.

“If you and Ezra don’t have to claim him as your cousin, I’m sticking with roach,” I mutter.

Roach is me being nice.

Years ago, when I found out about Jude being Alistair’s half nephew, I’d been devastated.

It still irritates the living shit out of me. Knowing he was tethered to the Caldwells in a way I never would. I’ve craved some kind of biological thread to connect me to my family for as long as I can remember, and Jude takes it for granted.

It might have been the very first thing I wrote down on my list of all the reasons I hate Jude.

“Touché, pussy cat.” He grins, nodding in my direction. “Why’s he moving in here? Dad’s his only living relative. I mean, I’m fucking stoked I’m not sharing a house with the guy, but it makes more sense.”

“Some bullshit will.”

“So no sibling bonding time for you?”

“I’d rather play in traffic,” I deadpan.

Jude’s too big for this house. All six foot five of him. He doesn’t belong here—this house, my space, was never meant for him.

I share my body with people. That’s fine, I don’t care. It’s a flesh suit that I use to bring myself fleeting pleasure. I fuck them before they fuck me. It’s on my terms.

The pieces of me in here? They belong to my soul, and no one, especially him, gets that.

“Whining about it isn’t gonna help.” Reign’s voice cuts through the room as he strides in, his white shirt stained with grass and still damp from what I assume was soccer practice.

What the hell is up with everyone being up at the ass crack of dawn for athletic activities today?

“Oh, because you’re so thrilled about him showing up?” I retort, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just threaten to kick his ass at the Graveyard two weekends ago?”

“Don’t forget the time he stole his girlfriend on the playground,” Atlas chimes in, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “He cried about that shit for an entire day.”

“I didn’t say I liked him. He’s a shady prick that I don’t want in my house,” Reign grunts, flipping his hat backward and leaning on my dresser. “I said, bitching isn’t gonna change anything. He’s coming. We have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, that’s too much family drama for me,” Atlas drawls.

He pets Galileo one last time before setting her on the floor, then stands, his hand naturally ruffling my hair as he passes by.

In every existence, in alternate realities, this is how I will recognize Atlas. The same goodbye gesture he’s been doing since we were toddlers, his hand mussing my hair.

“I’m right next door if you need anything, Phi-fi-fo-fum,” he says, pausing by my bed, inky, saltwater curls peeking out from beneath his beanie.

“Sketchy shit included?” I smirk. “Like a prank on the roach?”

He grins. “You name the time and place. I’m there.”

Atlas may think I’m joking, but I’m dead serious.

If he thinks living here is gonna be sunshine and rainbows, he’s fucked in the head. The only, and I do mean only, thing good about Jude moving into the bedroom next to mine is I can gather intel.

I can figure out what his weaknesses are, what he loves (if his cold, dead heart is capable of that sorta thing), what scares him. Bedrooms and the things they hold are sacred. He’s bound to have something he doesn’t want anyone to find out about in there.

Something I can use against him. To make sure he keeps his fucking mouth shut. The last thing I need right now is him spilling the beans at breakfast and my dad stabbing him with a butter knife.

I watch Atlas walk toward the door, exchanging one of those bro hugs and a few words before disappearing. Lucky bastard gets to escape the impending doom about to descend on our house.

Kicking the covers off my legs, I swing them over the edge of the bed. My wallowing in self-pity is officially ruined, so my next plan is to see if I can drown myself in the shower.

Sure, my parents have the money to put me up in an apartment, but they don’t trust me enough on my own. I mean, until four months ago, I thought I’d be in Massachusetts. All the way across the map, a fresh start. I’d planned my entire future around it.

Funny how life can turn on a dime. One letter, cold words that began with, We regret to inform you that after careful consideration, we have decided to revoke your offer of admission to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and ended with a polite, Thank you for your understanding.

The urge to send a letter back with a picture of my middle finger and you’re welcome drawn across it was strong. But Andy quickly talked me back from that ledge.

I even tried for a last-minute dorm at Hollow Heights, only to be told that all the freshman spots were filled. The dean doesn’t play favorites either, so asking Aunt Lyra was out of the question.

So, here I am, stuck with two choices: deal with my new roommate or die.

I head for my closet, noticing Reign lingering by the door, which means he’s got something to say. And if I had to guess, it’s going to piss me off.

“Something you’d like to say, or are you gonna just stand there?”

“Stay away from Jude.”

My brow furrows, turning to look at him.

He’s joking, right? But as I study his face, features strikingly similar to our dad’s, I see that he is dead serious.

Carefree, drunk Reign from the other night? Gone.

The overprotective, sober asshole has arrived.

“No worries there, dude,” I snort dismissively. “What crawled up your ass and⁠—”

“I mean it, Phi. Stay away from him.”

Oh.

This isn’t about protecting me from Jude. It’s about protecting our family from me.

Bitterness builds in my throat, bile working its way from the pit of my stomach. My arms fold in front of my chest as if to defend myself from whatever comes next. Like it might lessen the blow somehow.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Reign?”

“I’m saying I know you. One rule. Dad gave us one rule. That rule is about to be our pseudo-foster sibling.”

Do not trust a Sinclair. Ever.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first heard my dad say those words, but I do know it was the only time I was afraid of him.

What happened with Jude was more than just sex.

“You were a fucking traitor that night, and you loved every second of it.”

I slowly nod, lips pressing into a tight line. “And you think I’m going to fuck him because I’m a self-destructing whore with low impulse control. That sound about right?”

“I think you’re selfish. Hell-bent on hurting the people who love you. Fucking around with Jude is a great way to do that.” Reign’s voice is hot coals pressed against the soles of my feet, the heat forcing me to break his gaze.

Trauma isn’t confined to the person who endures it. Its impact ripples outward, touching everyone in its path.

I’ve done to my family the same thing Oakley did to me. No one is to blame for that but me. But the hurt Reign feels right now is better than the alternative.

“Thanks for the lecture. Golden child as always.” Bitterness drips from my tongue like venom. “How would this family survive without you and your goddamn high horse?”

Reign and I, we used to be close.

That was before, and now, we live in the after.

There is no one my brother is more loyal to than our parents, and when I hurt them? When I changed and didn’t have a solid answer to why?

My very first friend became a stranger.

Our bond snapped in half, cracked like brittle bones, leaving us standing on opposite ends of the earth with no way to bridge the gap and the shards of our relationship beneath our feet.

Reign pushes off the dresser, fury in every step until he meets me in the middle of the room.

“You’ve put Mom and Dad through hell the last four years. Vandalism, stealing, threw your entire future in the goddamn trash. All for them to forgive you every single fucking time.” His chest heaves with each word, brows furrowed with anguish and broken anger. “Make me the bad guy. I don’t care, but don’t do this to them. You do and there will be no one to bail you out next time.”

I flinch at his words, each one a knife. Old wounds I’d sewn up with bloody fingers are carved open, the feeble stitches useless.

Slash after slash, I have no choice but to endure it. Just grit my teeth and hope that after this is over, there will be something to stitch back up.

My fists tighten at my sides, tears threatening to spill, my eyes stinging with unspoken pain. I’ve committed the ultimate betrayal to Reign.

I’m not his sister. I’m a person who has hurt this family, and nothing short of the truth will change that.

Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I meet his gaze.

“You done?”

“That’s all you have to say to me⁠—”

“Are. You. Done?” I bite out each word, my teeth clenched so hard I can feel the tension vibrating through my skull.

He runs a hand over his buzzed hair, letting out a scoff that’s more of a growl than a laugh. “Yeah, Phi. I’m done.”

The door slams shut, but it keeps rattling long after he’s gone, echoing with the force of his anger, vibrating through the walls and into my bones.

I move on autopilot, numb and detached, as I walk to the en suite bathroom, pretending none of that just happened. The cold floor bites at my bare feet, the only sound in the otherwise suffocating silence, before I reach the shower and turn on the water.

I don’t even bother taking off my clothes.

Just step through the open glass door and collapse to my knees under the scalding spray, the water burning my skin, a punishment I don’t fight. The smooth, pebble-like stones on the floor press into my knees, grounding me as I curl into myself, folding under the weight of everything I don’t know how to carry anymore.

And then, I shatter.

My hand flies to my mouth, desperate to muffle the choked cries that claw their way out of my throat. I press the other hand to my stomach, as if I can somehow hold myself together, keep this deep, relentless ache from devouring me whole.

Being seen as the disaster, the vixen, the girl who doesn’t care—it’s a role I’ve played so well in Ponderosa Springs that it’s almost second nature.

But knowing Reign sees me that way? Knowing Mom, Dad, and even Andy probably do too? It’s worse than I ever imagined.

All I’ve ever wanted was for them to give up on me, to finally see there’s nothing good left inside. My actions are erasing all of the good memories they have of me, leaving behind only this catastrophic version of myself.

This is what I wanted. It’s better this way—it’ll make it easier for them to move on when I disappear from their lives. It will be better for everyone then.

They’ll be happier without me in Ponderosa Springs.

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.