I'm afraid I can't do poetry like you can, little brother. Though I ardently wish you find hidden meaning in these words others can't find :

One and two were weapons of slaughter,
One and two were monsters in the wake,
One and two didn't have a conscience,
One and two thought protection came in the form of folly.

But were one and two the only ones?
What if there was three and four and five?

~ note secretly sent by Heath to Axel from La Santé Prison, Paris.

--------᪥-------

☘︎ Axᴇʟ Hᴇʀɴᴀɴᴅᴇᴢ ☘︎

The location for David Vitallis' event had surprisingly been within the viewing building he owned at one side of Belmont Park's horse-racing tracks in Elmont, Long Island—only at half an hour distance from Manhattan.

While the top-most floor of the infrastructure, overlooking the bustling crowd at the grandstands buzzing with excitement and presenting the best view of the paddocks and the race itself, was usually reserved for Vitallis family to enjoy a private viewing of the derby event, today it housed many elites within it's impressive grand hall consisting of an outstretched balcony. Guests sipped on their champagnes as they watched the game from their individual tables and seating arrangement set conveniently near the rails.

Among those many viewers, one of them held my undivided attention. Like an ethereal entity capturing you in the orbit of her existence with a gravity so immense, you kept being pulled and pulled into the depths of her chaos like a besotted follower with nary a complaint. My wife.

Considering the shortness of her stature, Eve hadn't been able to get a clear view by being seated in her assigned chair and had opted to abandon it. Now, clad in a classically elegant red blazer-frock with a white collared neckline adorned by pearl buttons, her hands wrapped in lace gloves rested on the rails, half of her body looming over it in a precarious manner and her feathered hat nearly toppling to the ground below as she tried to catch sight of the horses at the paddock while the announcer introduced each of them.

Sighing in concealed amusement, I rise to approach her and pull her back before she falls off the rail, but am interrupted by one of the attendees dressed in the uniform of the game's organizing team, blocking my path.

He extends the notepad with the list of the horses names to me, "May I know if you have a specific horse you will be betting on, Sir?"

My hands clench as he watches me, waiting for my reply. Do not look at me. Instead of selecting, I point my finger at Eve. "I'll be paying for the horse she bets on."

Nodding in understanding that we'd come as a pair, he leaves my side and walks over to where Eve is standing, and I follow silently behind as she starts scanning the horse's names.

"Midnight Thunder has been the top contender in the previous races, followed closely by Silver Blaze and Wildfire. They've been the most coveted bets for the past few years." The attendee is informing when I step up next to my wife. I lift the hat from her head considering it has been irritating her for a while.

Eve glances at me fleetingly, grinning for the upteenth time at my white tuxedo accented by the red tie and matching triangular-folded handkerchief tucked in the breastpocket—the color shades she'd commanded I wear to match with her—then rises on her toes to place a kiss on my cheek while I stand there, letting her do whatever she wished.

Diverting her attention back to the attendee much to my dismay, she scans the list once more before squinting at the bottom of the list, "Why's there a minus before the name of the last horse?"

"Rusty Glory, she's known to be the losing bet in every race. Out of rebellion against his father who bets on Midnight Thunder, the only person who bets on this horse is Mr Lykas Vitallis—"

"But he's not here." Eve cuts him off, as though she'd already confirmed.

"Yes, which is why we'll be removing the horse from today's race—"

"I'll bet on it." She states with finality.

"But ma'am, it wouldn't be wise to—"

"I'll be paying, let me be the one to decide whether it'll be wise or not." I narrow my eyes, passing a blank look to the short man from above my wife's head, daring him to question her decision again. "We'll be betting on Rusty Glory."

Eve flashes the attendee a near blinding smile, "You heard my husband."

My husband. I do not, not like the sound of that.

It considerably eases the unease that has been trying to claw into the hollow recesses of my soul, ever since I'd heard my grandfather inform me Michael Lee Voroski would be attending this event too. He hadn't arrived yet. Still, the feeling of long-burning fury of his contribution in the ruination of my brother's life accompanied by this strange discomfort and unknown vexation at the thought that he'd been Eve's fiancé before she married me, persisted.

I glance down at the runaway, to find her staring at me with raised brows. She steps closer, fixes my red tie. "You okay, Charming?"

I do not understand why the thought of him having touched her or kissed her or. . .

My jaw clench, and I avert my gaze from her luminous brown ones, giving a curt nod.

I can sense Eve's eyes squinting, trying to figure me out but then her attention shifts to something past my shoulder. Her form goes motionless, a flicker of something unknown dulling her gaze before they go blank. I've never seen her eyes become so bleak, emotionless. . .it was somehow similar to when she'd spotted David Vitallis.

Not paying attention to the changes happening in my surroundings, I turn around, following her gaze to the man who just arrived, walking through the entrance.

Michael Lee Voroski.

Noticing how even he had worn white, intentionally or unintentionally matching with Eve, I feel that unease return to me in waves stronger than a fatal tide. His ebony eyes meet hers and he smiles, his sure strides making their way to my wife. I should be feeling anger at this man for destroying my brother's life, I should be outraged, yet when I watch them interact, watch how despite the hostility from Eve, there's a familiarity between them, hear him call her by a nickname, watch her gaze—regardless of it being skeptical—trail his movements once he leaves. . . it hits exactly what the unknown vexation means.

Jealousy.

_
_
_

☘︎ Eᴠᴇ Kᴀᴠɪɴsᴋʏ ☘︎

As the paddock parade ends and the horses start gathering at the gates, hinting at the start of the race, the grand hall transforms into something of wonder. The intensity of the lights lower the slightest, somewhere a smoke creating system is activated, soon engulfing the hall with a faux cloud effect that starts rising to our waists, giving an illusion of a fairytale theatrical vibe. But the slow buzz of the begining melody of a jazz music turns the entire concept into something from immortal lands of sins veiled by the deception of goodness, like how one would feel if they were at Zeus' court in the clouds.

The lyrics of the song THERE AIN'T NO REST FOR THE WICKED starts serenading and I nearly laugh at the irony of the angelic backdrop and his favorite song playing at his arrival. As my eyes catches sight of him over Axel's shoulder, cloudy smoke surround his tall form sheathed in white turtle-neck sweater, matching over-coat and pants.

Michael Lee Voroski was a heavenly being personified, ethereally sharp features woven with intricate softness. His dark hair descended to his shoulders, fuller at the top and trimmed stylishly at the base. Strands of jet black locks framed his forehead, falling ever so strategically over the ebony darkness of his eyes and settling delicately upon chiseled cheekbones. Those eyes meet mine and full lips turn up in a smile so beautiful, even God would mistaken the devil's creation to be his divine angel instead.

His strides are long yet lazy, determined yet slow—confusing an onlooker whether he was in a rush or couldn't care the least about reaching his destination—as they embark their way over to where Axel and I stand.

Axel turns to stone beside me, expression shutting down to his usual blank mask—more blank now if it were even possible—when Michael reaches us and steps up on my other side near the railing. This was his enemy, who he wants to destroy to gain justice for his brother and never indulge in cavalier talk with. Michael was not only trying to goad me, but also Axel. The audacity.

Prominent veins spiderweb their way to his knuckles as Michael grips the rails and leans back against it, his legs crossing and head tilting to the side. "Hello, Eve." His voice is honeyed, a gentle smile gracing his lips, a false facade that you could trust him with your eyes closed. "Remember me?"

"No, I have amnesia. Short-time memory loss. Forget things every five seconds, you know." I smile back serpentinely, while Axel remains still beside me, observant yet silent.

"And yet you remember you have amnesia." Michael tuts softly, eyes shining in amusement.

"Yeah, because I sing it like an anthem in my head every one second. Have a problem with that?"

Michael tips his head back and closes his eyes, the wind blowing his raven hair as he laughs in a sound so light and pleasant, so melodically deceiving. "You never change, Daisy."

For a moment, I'm left staring, wondering how it was possible for a person so engulfed in darkness that it'd become him, to laugh like that. Then I remember, Michael's most disarming attribute was how he fooled people into his traps with an angel's demeanor. And how he'd just now done it, having me off-track for the merest of seconds.

Daisy.

Axel's brows furrow in confusion and my eyes sharpen at Michael in warning, daring him to speak further.

Eyelids fluttering open, he watches me with a shadowed gaze. "Alas, she still doesn't like the nickname. Despite it being her favorite flower." Michael covers up his words effortlessly as though twisting his statements have become a habit woven into his soul. Diverting his attention to Axel this time, "Good to meet you too, Hernandez." Extending his hand to Axel, he continues smiling and adds thoughtfully, "How's your shoulder? Heard you were shot."

That's when it hits me, the realization of the truth I'd momentarily forgotten. This was the same man who'd manipulated his father into shooting my husband and then eventually quickened his own father's death knowing very well I'd retaliate for the gunshot.

Axel doesn't return the handshake, making Michael pull his hand back, staring at Axel keenly. Axel's fists slightly clench at his sides and I remember how he despises being stared at.

My eyes narrow in irk at Michael and the next minute, I'm stepping up to him, leaning next to his ear to whisper acidly. "Quit with the nice act, we both know it's far from the truth. Stop bothering my husband and get lost, Michael. Even though you will pay for getting Axel shot, you don't want me to make my decision right now about whether to put you in my kill list or not."

"So I'm not in it yet?" Michael inquires cajolingly, ignoring the rest of the words and focusing on the only thing that concerns his survival. Ofcourse, ever the selfish person.

Not bothering to answer, I step back, concealing my irritation with the fakest of smiles. "Well, as much as it wasn't enlightening to meet you, Axel and I will be leaving now. Wouldn't want to miss the race."

Michael nods. But before I can turn away to leave, he straightens from the rail and picks up my gloved hand, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on the back of it. Meeting my gaze with a smile, "I'll see you later."

Then he's gone, leaving me unsettled beyond words.

-○-

Even as I take my seat across Axel on our designated table next to the railing, my gaze follow Michael's every minute interaction and movement; the way he lures people—a little kindness there, a little joke here, charming and disarming them, turning them into voluntary moths to a flame. These people didn't have slightest of suspicion about how each of his gesture, word and smile was a calculated move, a deception to weave his path to more power. I notice it, how the moment the conversation is over and the guest he'd been speaking to leave, his mask drops. He watches them retreat with the faintest of smirk, hiding it effortlessly by taking a sip from the champagne glass in his hand. Why is he here?

"Don't you want to watch the race, Miss Eve?" Axel's voice cuts through my detective session.

Halting on the mission to psycho-analyze Michael's actions, I turn to my husband to answer him. "I can't see anything from being seated here, and my feet hurts from standing earlier for an hour while watching over the rails. Not doing that again. So I guess I'll just sit here." I sigh with a shake of my head. Initially, I was so invested in the game and now I can't even pay attention to it due to the restlessness scraping my mind at the thought that Michael would again manipulate the situation, causing Axel harm.

Snuffing the unfamiliar fear, I place my elbows on the table and rest my chin on the bridge of my twined fingers, deciding to tease Axel with something that'll have him quieting down and go back into his avoid-Eve-diet that he has been following the last one week. My eyes narrow at the reminder, confusion swirling as to why he has even been running every time he sees me and except for small talks or when absolutely necessary or I'm sleeping, avoiding to be confined in the same room as me for long, in the first place. Surely the kiss didn't traumatize him?

"Or you could let me sit on your lap and I could get a clear view of the race course, Charming?" Batting my lashes at him, I let a sly smile slip on my lips.

As expected, Axel goes silent, making my smile widen. I nearly turn my head to check on Michael again—

"Okay."

There's something so quiet and sensual about the way he speaks that one word, that I forget entirely about Michael and whip my head back to my husband, finding those unwavering grey eyes watching me.

Oh, let Michael rot. This is more fun.

Getting up from my seat in a deliberately seductive move, I make my way to Axel, a wicked grin automatically surfacing my mouth. I lean over once I'm in front of his seated form and twine my arms around his neck. "You sure, husband? Whatever will happen to your avoid-Eve-diet then?" I mock gasp.

Axel just tilts his head, staring back intently. "Sit, Eve."

Pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I hold back another grin at the absence of 'Miss' while addressing my name.

"Yes, sir." I say extra teasingly, settling on his lap in a little too precarious position.

Seated like this, the cloud effect from the smoke machine, reaches up to our ribs, hiding the rest of our lower body in thick white fog. Considering our seat is at the very corner of the rail, we're mostly hidden from rest of the party, creating a whole cozy nook. I hear the faint thudding of Axel's heartbeat and just to feel it more, I lean back into him.

Grabbing his hands, I wrap one arm around my waist and then let the other rest on my bare thigh. "Perfect seat, I'd say. We should do this more often." I sing, just to ruffle his feathers.

However, my body is rendered frozen when Axel rests his chin on my shoulder, holding me close and humming in an almost inaudible whisper. "You make it so difficult."

"Difficult to?"

"Control myself." He lets out an agonized sigh, his warm breath caressing my earlobe.

Is that why he's been avoiding me since the kiss?

Despite a voice in my head telling me to not probe this further and avoid getting into uncharted territory, when have I ever done something I'm supposed to?

I shift on his lap to meet his gaze over my shoulder and hear him take a sharp breath at my movements, "Do tell me of these things you've been controlling yourself from."

Axel stares down at me so intensely, with such dark depth, I feel my entire body heat up and my heart stutter in the strangest of ways, making me avert my gaze from him and look back ahead due to the scalding warmth overtaking my being. Don't think anything inappropriate. Don't.

I try to distract myself by checking up on Michael again.

Just as I spot Michael's concentration fixed on the race course instead of being indulged in any conversation, the bell indicating the start of the race makes a shrill noise through the entire area. A genuine bitterness crosses over Michael's features as he observes the event, as though reminiscing something unpleasant and suspicion rises within me—

My attention snaps at the feel of warm lips gliding over my neck to whisper a command in my ear, "Look at the race, runaway."

Almost as if possessed, I immediately ditch observing Michael and focus on the race, everything in me burning at the raw sensuality of Axel's command.

"Good girl." His thumb softly rubs in circles, caressing the skin where his hand is placed on my thigh.

A coil starts building within me at his continued touch, goosebumps rising on my arms. This must be how he feels everytime I edge him with teasing touches. Chewing on my lips to avoiding making any sounds at the sensation engulfing me, I shut my eyes, holding back a shudder.

"Open your eyes." His palm squeezes my thigh and I shoot my eyelids open with a barely concealed gasp. "Tell me where our horse is."

Our horse? What horse? Who horse?
Oh, right, the horse. . .

He'd blindly bet on the horse I selected, not even knowing which one it was.

My vision tries to scan the number of horses, watching some of them running with a winning speed, while some remain back. I spot Rusty Glory in the latter category.

"Is it the first one?" Axel asks against my neck, watching the race with me and indicating towards Midnight Thunder in the lead.

I shake my head, somehow my outspoken mouth suddenly having forgotten words.

Axel hums, his hand on my thigh sliding the littlest of inches up. "Second one?"

I shake my head again and his hand rises higher.

From thereon, my awareness only remains halfway on the race, more intent on the way his hand slide higher and higher on my thigh with every shake of my head.

When he finally mentions Rusty Glory, the horse currently at the last position, his fingertips graze against delicate lace. His thumb does a single, slow swipe over my clothed core. "That one?"

My lips part, voice trailing off as he swipes his thumb in that slow move again. "Yeah. . ."

"Do you want it to win?" He asks in a soft, coaxing tone, that beautifully cursed thumb swiping more intensely, pressing on a certain point that has me squirming.

Axel pulls me more snugly against him, keeping me still, continuing the dance of his thumb.

"Yeah. . ." I don't even care what I'm spewing, this sensation, it was so. . .

He stops all of a sudden, his lips curling over my neck into what I can assume is a teasing smile as I let out a silent groan. "Tell me how our horse is faring in the race."

Frustrated, I nearly turn my head to glare at him, but the next moment my words departs from existence, as two of his fingers sneak under the lacy material covering my center, touching the sensitive skin of my glistened core.

"We're surrounded by people." Axel's fingers navigate their path over the slit of my feminity, lips touching my ear. "Don't make a sound." Then both of his fingers thrust up inside me.

I almost jump from my seat, but he firmly holds me back, hushing me softly as a small noise manages to escape my mouth. Though anyone couldn't see anything due to the fog as well as the fact that his hand was under my dress and our seat was in the most secluded corner, along with how everyone was occupied by the ongoing race and we probably just looked like a couple cozing up, but a little louder noise, a little attention to my rapidly flushing cheeks and they'd understand exactly what was happening. This was so scandalous—

"The race, Eve." Axel reminds me, enjoying my torture way too much, as his fingers slowly start pumping in and out, in and out. . .

What the hell is a race?

Oh, right. . .

I glance at the tracks, trying to focus for all the organisms in this hall's sake, and find Rusty Glory. My eyes nearly widen in surprise when I see the horse picking up pace while the rest of the horses who were in the lead start slowing down due to fatigue.

"She's going faster. . ." My sentence trails off into the softest of whimper when the thrusting of his fingers start quickening in tandem.

I bite down on my lips, stopping the filthy sounds leaving my mouth, while Axel's lips start curling into the widest of smiles, "This much faster?"

Oh, God. . .this had nothing to do with the race, did it?

I still trace Rusty Glory's advancement with a half-lided gaze, "More." I whisper.

His fingers fasten, "This much?"

"More. . ."

Everytime I repeat the word, Axel's fingers grow faster and faster, twisting and curling inside me with such precision and pace, it has my breathing grow harsher even as I try to tone it down, sweat beads forming on my temples despite the chilly air conditioning.

I rest my head back on Axel's shoulder, my hand gripping his arm that's around my waist like a vice, nails digging into his exposed wrist and inking his skin with crescent marks. With him not even letting me squirm around, the sensations get too much. . .

"Open your eyes, beautiful." I hadn't even realized I'd shut them. When he notices I can barely make sense of anything, let alone open my eyes, he places the gentlest of kisses to the crown of my head. "Open your eyes, watch our horse win."

With immense difficulty, I manage to flutter open my eyelids halfway and watch the least favored horse of the event leave every other of its companions behind one by one, reigning forward with a force unmatched. It soon crosses Wildfire and Silver Blaze, matching the pace of Midnight Thunder.

The heat building and building within me reaches the highest of peaks, Axel's thumb swirling relentlessly around just the right spot then pressing down, making me buckle on his lap before erupting into shatters.

On the field, Rusty Glory wins the race.

For minutes, I'm barely able to breathe, my sight blurry and limbs too loose to make any movement. Then I feel both of Axel's arms around me, holding me against him while his chin rests atop my head, watching Rusty Glory trottle around the track happily after having won. "Are you okay?" He asks softly, one of his hand rising to brush back the hair that had stuck to the sides of my face. "Don't ask me again what I'm trying to control."

My voice is hoarse when I speak, "Because it makes you want to do them?"

Axel hums in response.

"But, Charming. . ." I glance at him over my shoulder, my tone dropping considerably, "What if I want you to lose control?"

Axel stares back, a dark glimmer flashing through those stormy greys, before his eyes soften and he shakes his head with a heartbreaking smile. "You're insatiable." He sighs fondly.

It makes me smile too, something in me going all soft and mushy and unexplainable. I stare at him, unable to look away while he holds my face and leans in to kiss my forehead like he can't stop himself. My heartbeat accelerates until it's thudding in my ears, my throat cloging with an unknown feeling as I glance away.

Hesitantly getting off him, I pass him a small smile. Unable to stop myself from touching him, I lean down to twine my fingers in Axel's hair and place a kiss on his forehead. "I have to go use the restroom, I'll be back."

Then I bolt from the grand hall as quick as my feet could take me. What in the electron was that feeling. . .

It isn't until I'm splashing water on my face repeatedly, and catch my still flushed cheeks in the mirror of the restroom do I realize I was getting myself into the exact kind of trouble Maa had warned me about.

Axel was affecting me too much and the thing was, I didn't even want it to stop.

I splash my face more times until I've finally managed to reduce the redness coating my cheeks, even though I end up looking like a wet cat with the front of my hair slightly dripping with water.

Drying my hands and bending down to plaster my face under the dryer too, I quickly fix myself and exit the restroom.

Only to halt abruptly at the sight of the person waiting outside in the dimly-lit hallway.

Leant against a pillar next to a huge glass window, half of his form is illuminated by the golden sunlight while the rest is shrouded in darkness due to the pillar blocking the light. It reflected the complexity of his soul. Half angel, half demon.

Michael watches me with a tilt of his head, "You could've done better than Axel Hernandez, Eve."

I fake-gasp with the theatrics of a shakeaspearen skit actress, "Oh, no!"

Michael only smiles, amusement glinting in his eyes. "What is it?"

"You dropped your opinion, Michael. Let me give it back to you." I act like I'm picking up something invisible from the air, then proceed to walk over and dump the non-existent object in his hands. "There."

Deciding to leave Michael to his own devices to deminish further interaction with his manipulative presence, I turn around to leave but the ground beneath me tilts its axis at his next words.

"But would my opinion matter when you find out. . ." He drawls with cruel intent slithering underneath the gentle tone, "That Axel Hernandez's parents are two of the top five members of the secret society."

--------᪥♔︎᪥-------

Hoomans, I'm just a saint😌🤧

I hope y'all enjoyed the romance so far because someone wise once said, 'after every romance, there's drama' (there's no wise here, but we'll pretend like someone wise actually said it)🏃‍♀️

Your views on Michael?👀

How did y'all enjoy the 'race'?🌚

Also what do you think will happen now after that last bit of revelation?👀

I'm going to get a chappal thrown at me for saying this and I'm probably a lunatic, but Michael is actually one of my favorite characters. Though I would trust him like I'd trust Mumbai's weather (Mumbai's weather is very volatile btw)🏃‍♀️

Next update will be on Friday instead of Thursday since I wanna rest a bit, considering my health is like the walking-dead right now💀