Page 49 of These Shattered Memories

Chapter Thirty-Two: Alex

I t feels like I’ve stepped into an ancient pantheon, a temple pulled straight out of a storybook from childhood.

Nestled in the hills of Queen’s Peak, hidden from the city’s chaos by towering pine trees and a heavy black gate, stands the grand lime-and-stone building.

Golden lights line the path leading to the structure, which rises wide and tall with ivory-white columns.

A grand staircase stretches upward to massive cherrywood double doors with iron knockers shaped like serpents.

“Okay, this is crazy!” Halle squeals next to me, eyes filled with excitement as they dart to the rows of expensive cars parked nearby and the glittering jewellery adorning the guests.

I follow her gaze. Men and women dressed in immaculate tuxedos and flowing gowns mill around the entrance.

They’re the who’s who of Senna’s elite—members of The Snake, The Judiciary, bankers, and police chiefs.

Familiar faces pepper the crowd, and I keep my eyes down, wary of catching someone’s attention.

“It is pretty crazy,” I admit, though there’s a lightness in my voice that surprises me.

Maybe it’s the champagne, or the fact that I officially handed in my resignation a few days ago, but the weight I’ve been carrying for years feels like it’s finally gone. For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m free.

And I’m not directionless or stuck on the streets.

My eyes flick to Halle, who’s practically glowing in a flowing black dress with a plunging neckline. It’s only been a week since Rowan showed us the space for Serene Tiger, and whilst it needs a ton of work, the place feels like ours. Really ours.

She catches my eye and grins. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” I smirk, unable to stop the small, satisfied smile tugging at my lips. Serene Tiger isn’t just a dream anymore. It’s real. And even though I know Rowan will insist on footing most of the bill, the part of me that doesn’t want to rely on anyone has finally started to ease.

I glance at the impressive grounds around us. The lush green fields are dotted with vibrant flowers I don’t recognize, and the heavy fragrance of blooming magnolias drifts through the air.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Halle says, her voice low with awe.

“Me neither,” I admit, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves.

Tonight is The Ritual, and in just a few hours, Rowan will be crowned the official Head of The Snake. I haven’t seen him in a week—The Snake’s tradition demands five days of isolation for meditation and reflection before the ceremony—another one of their strange traditions.

But when I do see him, he’ll have a new tattoo: another serpent coiled across his back, symbolizing his new role as The Head.

I can feel the weight of the moment pressing on me.

Being a Vasilyev already comes with its pressures, but being The Head of The Snake?

Both anxiety and excitement gnaw at me. I spot a few guards watching Halle and I.

Rowan insisted I have security on me twenty-four-seven.

It’s a new feeling, having someone else take care of me and worry about my safety.

The Alex of ten years ago would have laughed in my face if I told him any of this was happening.

The Great Hall is a cavernous expanse. Candles burn in their hundreds, their golden flames casting flickering shadows that dance across the ornate mosaics of serpents coiling and devouring their tail.

A waiter appears with a tray of champagne flutes. Halle grabs two and hands me one.

“Cheers,” she says, knocking her glass against mine. “To Serene Tiger. To new beginnings and to your boyfriend ruling the world.”

“Just Senna. Not the world.”

“Alex. Halle.” A familiar voice interrupts us. I turn to find Rowan’s brothers approaching.

Hayden is composed, his expression unreadable, while Xander smirks, his hands in his pockets. I can feel the weight of the room’s attention shift as people angle themselves, eager to be noticed by them, whether they realise it or not.

“Oh,” Halle breathes, her cheeks flushing slightly. She’s been gushing about Hayden all week, dubbing him the male version of a fairy. Whatever that means.

“Hi, Hayden,” she says breathlessly.

Hayden offers her a sincere smile, clearly accustomed to the effect he has on people.

“Don’t I get a hello too?” Xander asks, his eyes purposefully turning menacing.

I shake my head, fighting my laugh. Strange as it sounds, Xander is growing on me. I see shades of myself in him—shadows I’d rather not examine too closely.

Halle loses the blushing smile and offers him a cool nod. “Hello, Xander.”

He grins, sharp and wolfish. “That’s better.”

“He wants to see you,” Hayden says to me. “Upstairs. Smith will show you the way.”

My heart skips a beat. I glance at Halle, and she nods reassuringly. “I’ll stay here,” she promises, giving me an encouraging smile.

I follow Smith, a hulking guard, up a spiralling staircase. The landing overlooks the grand hall, everyone dressed in expensive and glittering clothes.

We continue down a hallway lit by golden chandeliers, passing closed doors and busy servers. Finally, we stop in front of a door flanked by two armed guards. One of them opens it without a word.

“Thanks,” I say to Smith, stepping inside.

He gives me a quick nod before shutting the door behind me.

I’m left standing alone in a large room with herringbone floors and a large French window that looks out onto a balcony. A bouquet of white roses sits on top of the marble framed fireplace and the wall is covered in large canvases of abstract art.

Rowan emerges from an adjoining door, his torso bare, black pants hanging low on his hips. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. It’s been only seven days since I’ve seen him, but it feels like a lifetime.

He pauses, a grin spreading across his face.

“Miss me?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

I don’t answer. Instead, I close the distance between us, throwing my arms around him. His laugh rumbles in his chest as he holds me close, his hands warm against my back.

“I did,” I whisper into his hair. “So much.”

He chuckles, his voice low and comforting as his hand runs down my back. “I missed you too, Lexie.”

I pull back, realizing why he’s shirtless. “Oh shit, your tattoo,” I gasp, stepping away like he burns. “I’m so sorry!”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, brushing off my concern. “It doesn’t hurt. Do you want to see it?”

I nod, swallowing hard. When he turns, the air leaves my lungs.

Spanning his back is an intricate two-headed serpent, its scales rendered with breathtaking detail.

It blends seamlessly with his older tattoo, the lines weaving together in perfect harmony, fresh ink against old.

I reach out before I can stop myself, tracing the serpent’s winding form with my fingers.

The skin is slightly red but healing well.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

He turns back to face me, his eyes soft. “There’s something else I wanted to show you.”

I frown, but then my gaze drops to his chest, and I see it. Fresh black ink scrolled over his heart in fine ink: XIX VI.

The same tattoo I’ve had on my chest for two years.

“Rowan…” My voice falters.

“June 19,” he says softly. “The most important day of my life. Because it led me here. To you.”

Emotion tightens my throat. I reach out, my fingers ghosting over the ink. “You didn’t have to…”

“Yes, I did,” he cuts in, his tone firm. “You’re part of me, Alex. Always.”

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine, and the rest of the world falls away.

His kiss is all-consuming, a collision of heady desire and something deeper.

My hands tangle in his hair as my body melts against his.

Heat coils low in my belly, and a moan escapes my lips. I need him so badly it almost hurts.

“Rowan, please—can we…”

A knock interrupts us. He sighs, his forehead resting against mine. “I have to go.”

I step back, my pulse still racing. “Right,” I say, fighting my disappointment. “Good luck tonight,” I tell him, my voice steady. “Remember, this is exactly where you belong.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on me. “We’ll pick up where we left off,” he promises, flashing a grin before pulling on his shirt. I nod, slipping out of the room, knowing that when I see him again, he will be something else completely or maybe he’ll finally be himself.

The air in the great hall is electric, a buzzing current of expectation humming through the space. The crowd has grown larger, the low hum of conversations blending with the soft melodies of the string instruments. Halle spots me immediately, waving excitedly as she makes her way over.

“Well?” she whispers, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

I try to hold back a smile, the memory of Rowan’s tattoo still vivid. Before I can answer, a bell tolls, the chime silencing the crowd instantly, conversations halting mid-sentence as all eyes turn toward the raised dais at the far end of the hall.

Cordelia Qing appears, dressed in a deep green robe that shimmers faintly under the golden light, similar to the one Jonathan wore during The Choosing.

Her gaze sweeps the room, sharp and assessing. There’s a regal quality to her, an authority honed by years among Queen’s Peak’s elite. When she speaks, her voice carries the clipped precision of someone who expects obedience.

“Good evening to the most illustrious family in Senna,” she begins. “Tonight, we celebrate a new dawn, a new age for The Snake. Tonight, a prince becomes a king as we honour a tradition that has bound us for generations. Tonight, it is my great honour to crown our new Head of The Snake.”

The room erupts in applause, their eyes sparkling, excitement brewing. “The third son of our former and honourable Head, Zaina Vasilyev, I welcome you Rowan Vasilyev as our new leader.”