Chapter 5

IRENA POV

"Drink. You look tense." Saint says as he gestures his drink to me. I looked at it and scoffed, then shifted my gaze back to the chattering and dancing guests.

"I don't want to be here," I state bluntly. "Neither do I, yet here we are." he lets out.

Ignoring him, I snatched the drink out of his hands and gulped it down. Allowing the burning sensation to trail down my neck. Setting the empty glass down, I crossed my arms, my gaze still fixed on the guests.

Saint and I sat in uncomfortable silence at the bridal table while we stared at the people who attended this God-forsaken wedding.

"There's the star of the night!" A male voice cheered. I glance at Saint to see him staring at a man approaching us with a bright smile.

He slightly has similar features as Saint. His dark hair is styled back, and his jade eyes sparkle with confidence. His jaw is sharp, with a light stubble resting on his face.

"That's my younger brother Abel," Saint whispered.

Abel approached us and shook Saint's hand before he walked over to me. He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, but I'm quick to dodge it. Abel pulls back, frowns, and tilts his head in questioning.

"Germaphobe," I say, and he stares at me for a while, then nods. I dart my tongue out and nervously lick my lips. I felt Saint staring at me.

Abel turns to Saint. His features hardened. Saint noticed his sudden mood change, his brows pulled together, and he questioned. "What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you privately," Abel exclaims. "I'll be with you in a second." Abel steals a glance at me. "It was nice meeting you, Lil sis-in-law." He jokes teasingly before walking away.

Saint adjusted his tie before rising from his chair. "Excuse me," he said before leaving me alone at the huge table.

I let out a puff of breath while I played with the fork.

God, I can't wait to get home and sleep.

My company was disturbed when I saw uncle Greg headed my way with a glass of wine. He looked so tense yet managed to put on a fake smile. His gaze shifted to the empty seat beside me, his smile immediately dropped, and his pace fastened.

"Where is Saint?" he inquired.

I glared up at him. "As you can see, he's not here, so you can look for him elsewhere." I snapped.

He really should go; I told him I wanted to be alone in the kindest way possible. If Uncle Anatol hadn't tortured me those past two months, I would have told him to fuck off.

Uncle Greg's jaw twitched as his grip around the wine glass tightened, and I'm sure he was about to crush it in his hands. "Irena..." he warned. I rolled my eyes. "I don't know where he is." I asserted bluntly. Greg dared to take a threatening step closer to me. He leaned forward towards me. "I swear to God you little brat if you don't tell where Saint is I will fucking-"

My eyes widened when Greg was snatched away from me by his neck.

"You've got some balls threatening my wife." Saint snarled. His tone is calm and collected. Saint snatched Greg's hair and forced him to face the side. "Threaten her again I will rip your fucking fingers off and use them to claw your eyes out." He drawled, tilting his head to the side, closely observing Greg.

Chills crawled up my spine at the way Saint was looking at Greg.

His stare was the expansion of coldness, emptiness, and satisfaction. But it was not ordinary. He seemed pleased by Uncle Greg's fear. Like he was feeding it. Which got me thinking even more-

It has come to my attention that Saint enjoys pain. It pleases him so.

The evening at the study. He enjoyed it when he was crushing my neck as if he was feeding off it. He loved it when I scratched him—caused him pain—now looking at him as he threatened Greg's life, the horror flashing in his eyes which pleased Saint.

Saint is a sadist.

Holy shi-

"Apologies Saint." Greg managed to say. "Saint, leave him alone."

Saint shoots me a veiled glance, Saint cocked a brow in amusement. I continued to glare at him which only intrigued him more.

Saint withdrew his arm then punched Greg across the face then finally let him go. I frowned as my hands balled into fists beside me. "I told you to let him go!" I remarked, fury pouring through me like hot lava.

Hush mummers danced in the air as all eyes were on us. Saint adjusted the lapels of his jacket. "I did let him go," he teased. "Now, what was the point of punching him? He's my uncle!" I yelled.

Saint peered down at me, his scent fanning my face. A spicy smoke with a mixture of rosemary. God, he smelt mouthwatering. "I simply don't like him and no one threatens my wife then breathes the next day." he averred whilst his auburn eyes darkened.

He pinned me with his eyes. His intimidating stare.

"Also, don't raise your voice at me Irena." he proclaims, then pulls back. Saint removed his jacket and placed it over me, covering me. I'm unsure if I imagined things, but it seemed like he was avoiding his skin touching me. "Let's go," he says.

I shot a glance at Greg, who was still on the floor recovering. A small part of me felt terrible, but the other part was laughing.

I cleared my throat and followed Saint out of the ballroom. I could feel all eyes on us. Once we reached outside, I was greeted by the cold winter wind of Poland. The sky is a rolling blanket of darkness, with the dull stars dancing and the moon shining bright like the eyes of the heavens.

Two guards approached Saint and me. They are both ripped as their huge muscles flex with each movement. One has long brunette hair that is styled in a mullet and the other is frizzy ginger. "Your flight to French Polynesia is ready sir." The guard with ginger hair announces with a trace of an Irish accent. "Take Mrs. Dé Leon, I will meet up with you guys. I first have to take care of something important." Saint orders, reaching into his pocket and then pulling out his phone.

"One last thing. Don't touch her." He lets out and my brows furrowed. He noticed. I mentioned that I was a germaphobe. Which was technically a lie but he doesn't know that.

Two SUVs pulled up in front of us. Saint turns to face me. "Noel and Tyler are one of my strongest men. They will keep you safe and we'll meet up at the airport. I won't take long." he remarks before walking away not waiting for my response. I watched him as he entered the car and drove away.

"Let's go Mrs. Dé Leon." The brunette guard declares. I scrunch my nose from the way I'm being addressed. Mrs. Dé Leon.

"I am Tyler and that is Noel."

"Nice to meet you Tyler." I gesture politely. Noel rolled his eyes as he entered the vehicle. "Enough with the formalities. We have to go," he said before shutting the door. Tyler cleared his throat awkwardly. "Don't mind him. He's not a people person." Tyler exclaims as he opens the back door for me. I thanked him once I got in then buckled myself securely. As soon as Tyler entered the car, Noel started the engine and then drove off.

I take one glance at the four-story brick building. One of the worst days of my life. Sighing defeatedly, I pressed my head against the cold glass window and closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift off to sleep.

-

Noel opens the door for me, and I help myself out of the car. My eyes fluttered open when I heard a loud bang. I covered my mouth when I felt a yawn escaping my lips.

Tyler appears beside me, and we start to make our way to a private black jet. "Mr. Dé Leon is waiting for you," Tyler announced. My body tensed, and the hairs on my neck rose. I thanked the guards and was guided by one of the crew members inside the jet. The interior of the plane is breathtaking. The seats are classically designed with high-quality leather and the floorboard is so shiny that I could almost see my reflection. The inner walls are made from rich, smooth wood, and lights shaped like bloomed tulips lit the whole place with a comforting orange light.

My body tensed when a familiar scent kissed my nostrils.

Saint.

"I hear you took a nap." Saint's horse voice sent shivers down my spine. My mouth turns dry, and my heartbeat quickens. A small part of me started growing at his scent, and a large amount of me I wanted to scream at him.

My hatred for him still stays the same.

Ignoring him, I smoothened the satin dress I had changed earlier and walked to one of the seats next to the window. I stared out the window, watching as the plane lifted off the land and flew into the night sky.

Saint set a glass filled with bourbon on the white table in front of me, followed by Saint sitting across from me.

"I didn't ask for a drink," I say, my gaze still focused outside the window. "I know, although your facial expression said otherwise, " he said bluntly, and I rolled my eyes.

"Why did you lie?"

I turned to face him with furrowed brows. "What?"

Lied about what?

Saint cast me a veiled glance before speaking. "At the wedding. You disrespectfully dodged my brother's greeting." I wrapped myself in my arms, darting my tongue to lick my lips. "As I said, I am a germaphobe."

Saint's eyes remained on me as he took a sip of his drink. "See now, Irena, if we want this marriage to work, we will have to be honest with each other, and judging by your behavior, we will have some trouble."

"What are you talking about, Saint?" I inquired. "You're not a germaphobe. I offered you my glass, and you drank from it with no issues. Now..." he trailed off, setting the glass on the table as he loosened his tie. "What is it little doe?"

I tucked my straightened hair behind my ear and looked away, avoiding his intimidating gaze. "I just don't like being touched," I mumbled. "Why?" he questioned.

Because my previous husband abused me.

"There is no why, I just don't like it." I snapped, dropping the topic.

"Hmm..."

Lifting my gaze, I found Saint looking at me. My eyes once again analyzed the scar across his face. I didn't even do any damage. Yes, it's slightly noticeable but yet he managed to make it work on him. It only enhances his features and dangerous aroma.

"You like pain," I say.

Saint's jaw clenched as he took another sip of his drink. "Who said I like pain?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes at his question. "I'm not as dumb as I look, Saint. The day we first met. You almost killed me and that—that made you-"

"I didn't almost kill you, Irena. Don't insult me like that, I was putting you to sleep." he shrugs.

He can't be serious.

I can't sit with this man without causing a scene. I unbuckle my seatbelt and rise from my seat. "Where are you going?" Ignoring him I walked to the other side of the plane and made sure I sat as far away from him as possible. I can't believe that I'm married to that dickhead.

He doesn't care!

Saint may be my husband and is a mobster but I won't let him walk all over me like a dirty rag. I won't allow it. I allow history to repeat itself. Not again.

I don't know how I will do it, but I'll make sure that one day Saint will realize that I'm not going to be the housewife he treats like his little submissive doll.

"You are quite the job, Irena."

Rolling my eyes, I continue to ignore him. I genuinely don't have the energy for this man. Instead of him going away, he takes a seat across from me. "I don't want you here," I uttered. "Well, usually, people that tend to give me attitude don't get to leave without a broken bone," he states. "Well, I guess I am lucky. Should I be fucking thanking you?" I snapped.

Saint's jaw ticks as he pushes back his hair. "You know, I have the decency to talk to you but you are out here acting like a fucking spoiled child." he barked back.

I scoff in disbelief. "Does it ever occur to you that I don't want to be here? That I would rather die than be your fucking wife. I don't want this Saint. I don't want to be your wife but what fucking choice do I have? None! I'm stuck here, so excuse me for my sour mood. I'll try my best to eat out of your ass because those are my duties as a wife. Please, the husband, and fuck whatever I feel. I don't matter...."

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt a warm liquid running down my cheeks. Saint quietly stared at me as his eyes narrowed. I quickly wiped away my tears and looked out the window.

I felt embarrassed when he saw me like this.

Broken.

Emotional wreck.

I bet he sees me as weak. That he finds my suffering enjoyable.

"Ju-Just leave me alone," I whispered.

Without another word Saint stood up and left.