Page 47 of Volatile King (The Kings of Wayward Academy #6)

N ash

A large raindrop hit the top of my head, and I looked up. Great…rain. Raising my hand, I tentatively knocked on the locked door, summoning the security guard to let me inside.

The chiming of a bell made me feel like a goddamn wolf in a cathedral.

Warm light pooled over glass cases, each one glittering with jewels so bright they looked unreal. The faint scent of polished wood and expensive perfume lingered in the air. Soft jazz floated through hidden speakers, clashing with the pounding in my chest.

“Nash, so good to see you,” Marguerite said, coming from behind the counter like she’d been waiting for me all day.

She looked the same as I remembered. Her silver hair swept up, her black dress elegant, and her eyes sharp, the kind that missed nothing.

She narrowed them slightly when she saw my face.

I caught my reflection and tried to wipe the fear from my eyes.

“It’s been far too long,” she said, kissing my cheek like she’d known me since I was in diapers…because she had.

“Looks like business has been good,” I said, glancing around at the millions in diamonds and other precious gems.

She’d always owned a jewelry store, but it had been a franchise in a mall. This…this was beyond my expectations.

“Yes, it’s been very good. I opened this store on my own about five years ago. Best decision I ever made. How are your parents?”

“Fine. They are fine.”

If it were anyone else, I would think she was trying to take a dig at me, but Marguerite was one of the few people in my life who had nothing to do with the mafia, the council, or the general insanity that came with being a Collier.

There was no doubt that my father would’ve liked to fuck her—hell, maybe he had, who knew with him—but I hoped not.

God, it would be nice to have at least one memory he hadn’t tainted with his touch.

Marguerite had always been nice to me, and it was sad that I hadn’t thought of her for years until this moment.

Despite being close to my mother, she had remained blissfully unaware of the cruelty that lurked beneath the pretty smiles.

But when I decided to buy Ren a ring, hers was the first name that popped into my head.

She smiled and then chuckled. “Well, don’t you look completely out of place.”

“I feel like I’m about to break something just by breathing,” I muttered.

She laughed. “Good. That means you respect the merchandise. Now, tell me why you’re here.”

I hesitated, scanning the endless rows of rings under the glass.

“I need…something. For her.”

“For her? Who is her, dear?”

My cheeks flushed hot, and I cleared my throat. “Ren, my wife.”

That was the first time I had said it out loud and to someone with no connection to our situation…I couldn’t describe the feeling in my chest.

“Okay, and what kind of ring are you looking for, anniversary or birthday?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “A wedding band and I guess an engagement ring, too.”

Marguerite paused, blinked, and then smiled. “Doing things a little backward, I see?”

“Yeah, you can say that,” I said, chuckling to hide my unease.

She gestured toward the nearest case. “Let’s have a look.”

Each piece sparkled with different shapes, stones, and settings, but my brain didn’t know how to process any of it. My pulse climbed higher. The idea of buying a ring wasn’t what made me dizzy. It was what it meant. What if she hated it and threw it out the window right before doing the same to me?

Marguerite watched me with knowing eyes. “You look overwhelmed.”

I huffed a laugh. “That obvious?”

“It’s endearing,” she said. “But not helpful. So let me guide you. Tell me about her.”

The rows of rings held my attention. “She’s…she’s beautiful.”

“That’s a start.” Marguerite tilted her head. “Describe.”

“Her hair,” I said quickly, grasping for something easy. “It’s white. But in the sun, it…it shines silver, like it’s made of metal and the moon’s rays. Her eyes are soft gray…no, more blue-gray, but not cold. Like storm clouds right before they break.”

“Well, now, whoever this girl is, if she can make you talk about her like that, she must be pretty special. I’m a little jealous.

No man has ever said something so romantic to me.

” She moved her hands like she was trying to pull something out of me with an invisible, magic line.

“That’s the outside,” she said. “What about the inside? Tell me who she is.”

“She’s…” My words caught, and I shifted, rubbing the back of my neck.

“She’s relentless. Resilient. After overcoming so many terrible things in her life…

she just keeps going. She’s got this way of walking into a room and suddenly everyone feels less like shit.

Even when she’s hurting, she hides it so you never feel bad.

” My chest tightened. “She’s kind and fierce.

And she loves harder than anyone I’ve ever met. ”

Marguerite’s smile deepened. “Now that is something I can work with. Wait here.”

She disappeared into the back and returned with three small velvet boxes. She laid them out in front of me with a flourish.

“Option one,” she said, opening the first box. A round-cut blue diamond sat at the center, haloed by smaller white diamonds, the band delicate and silver. “Classic. Timeless.”

The second box revealed a more elaborate piece, featuring marquise-cut stones twisting like a wave, blue and white intertwined. “Option two…fluid, unique. For someone who doesn’t fit a mold.”

The third, a cushion-cut blue diamond, like the ocean turned to ice.

It was framed by two tapered, white diamonds on either side, set on a band with intricate etching that caught the light like it had been dipped in frost. “Option three,” Marguerite said softly.

“Strong. Elegant. A piece that doesn’t try too hard but leaves no doubt. ”

Something tightened in my chest, screaming it was the one as I stared at the third ring. It wasn’t just pretty. It felt like Ren.

Carefully removing it from the box, I held it between my fingers. The blue diamond caught the light and fractured it into a thousand sparkles. I could see her wearing it…could see her eyes softening when I gave it to her.

For the first time in days, hope didn’t feel like a curse.

“You like that one,” Marguerite asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I stared at the ring, letting the future take shape in my head.

Movement outside the rain-streaked window caught my attention. At first, I thought it was a shadow. But shadows didn’t stand still under a streetlight. Shadows didn’t look right at you with eyes you could never forget.

My chest froze. Not again. The air punched out of my lungs.

Mya.

She stood across the narrow street, rain plastering her dark hair to her face, her hoodie and jeans soaked through. The glow from the streetlight bled across her skin, pale and too real. Her eyes…those brown eyes that used to light up when I walked into a room were locked onto mine.

My fingers tightened around the ring.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”

She didn’t move. Only stood there. Watching me. Her arms hung loose at her sides, and for one impossible moment, I thought I saw the curve of her belly beneath the soaked fabric.

My chest constricted. The store disappeared. My legs moved before my brain caught up.

I bolted for the door, ring still clutched in my fist. “Mya!” My voice cracked, sharp enough that Marguerite startled behind me.

“Nash!” She called out, but I was already at the door.

The guard stepped in front of me, palm out. “Sir, you can’t leave with the merchandise.”

“Get out of the way,” I snarled, trying to shove past him.

“You have to return the item first,” he said firmly, eyes flicking to my hand.

Rain streaked down the glass just inches from my face, and through it, Mya’s figure blurred, shifting, and threatening to dissolve.

“Let me out!”

The guard’s stance didn’t break. “Sir, hand over the merchandise.”

“What?” My voice rose, raw and desperate, confusion filling me. “Do you see her? Do you see her out there?” He didn’t look.

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, like I’d lost my mind.

“Sir.”

I looked down and realized what he was talking about.

“Here,” I said, and put the ring in his hand.

The buzzer sounded, the lock disengaged, and I threw myself through the door into the downpour.

Cold rain slapped me in the face. The streetlight flickered, and the sidewalk was empty.

“Mya!” I shouted, spinning and scanning the street while my heart jackhammered. Nothing there but the steady hiss of cars on wet asphalt and the distant sound of a horn.

I gripped the edge of the wall, staring into the rain. My knuckles throbbed. My breath came in sharp bursts.

Time passed, though I couldn’t say how long I stood there, soaked through, until the chill seeped into my bones and my fingers went numb. Finally, I fumbled my phone out with shaking hands and scrolled to the only name that could possible help me.

Louis Kessler.

The phone rang twice before he answered. “Nash? It’s late.”

“I need…I need to talk,” I said, my voice rough. “I think…I think I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Okay, start at the beginning.”

My eyes were locked on the streetlight where she’d stood. The water ran in rivulets down my face, down my neck. For a long moment, I said nothing. Then, as the cold bit deeper and the city blurred around me, one thought cut through everything, sharp and haunting.

“Nash? Are you still there?”

“The past isn’t gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a ghost in soaked clothes, carrying every sin I thought I’d buried, and watching me try to build a future on bones I’ve never mourned.”