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

Jude

December 25

“Jude.”

Poke.

“Jude.”

Poke.

“Ju—”

“Yes, Geeks?” I interrupt, catching her wrist midair, stopping her from poking my cheek again. My voice is rough, thick with sleep.

I crack one eye open, squinting against the early morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. It cuts across the room in warm, hazy streaks, casting soft, golden light over the bed and the girl straddling my lap.

Phi is wide-awake, a mischievous grin curling on her lips. One of my old T-shirts hangs off her shoulder, swallowing her petite frame in its oversized fabric.

Her red hair tumbles messily over her shoulders, catching the sunlight and making her look wild, like a painting in shades of fire and rebellion.

In her hands, she’s holding a box wrapped in shiny blue paper, a big bow perched on top like a crown.

“Merry Christmas, Loner,” she says, the words tinged with unrestrained excitement.

The bruises on her face are still there, but the swelling has gone down considerably, leaving only faded traces of purple and blue along her cheekbone and jaw. The cast on her hand is still a reminder of what a badass she is. I mean, the girl broke her own finger, for fuck’s sake.

But despite the lingering marks of violence, she’s a vision—messy, raw, but achingly beautiful.

“Is this another prank?” I tease, running my palms up her bare thighs. “Glitter bomb? Rabid ferret? Some other plot to destroy my morning?”

She bursts into laughter, her head tilting back, the sound deep and unrestrained. It’s a kind of joy that’s entirely hers—bold, unapologetic, and loud enough to fill the entire room. Her whole body shakes with it, the vibration resonating through my chest.

There she is.

There is the sun.

Now my morning can start.

“It’s stupid.” She shrugs, her expression growing slightly more serious as she bites down on her bottom lip. “But I saw it, and I thought you’d like it.”

Phi loves Christmas.

It’s what we spent all night talking about.

The smell of peppermint, the decorations, the gifts, the family. All of it. It’s her favorite holiday, and even though she said she didn’t get me something, I knew she was lying.

The truth lives in her eyes, always.

I shift upward, bringing her with me as I rest against the headboard. She settles in my lap, her weight grounding me. I start tearing at the wrapping paper, savoring each rip, trying to draw out the moment.

When I finally peel it away, a medium-sized glass display box is revealed. Inside, perfectly encased, is a typewriter built entirely of LEGO.

“It took me a fucking week. Do you know how hard it is to build this in secret when you are always poking around, making sure I’m still breathing?”

“Oh, how dare I make sure my girlfriend is okay,” I say with a mockingly serious tone, squeezing her thighs playfully. I lean forward to press a kiss to her nose, unable to contain my smile. “I love it. Thank you, Geeks.”

“That’s not all,” she says quickly.

“Yeah?” I arch a brow, letting my hands wander higher, gripping her hips tighter so she can feel the hardness beneath the sheet. “I get more?”

“Head out of the gutter, Sinclair,” she chides, swatting at my chest. She retrieves a folded-up piece of paper from beside the bed, handing it over with a nervous huff. “If you tell anyone I wrote this, I will actually kill you.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, baby. No one gets to know how sweet you are for me.”

All of her secrets are with me.

They’re not the kind whispered in dark corners or passed around like rumors. No, her secrets are heavier, darker—hidden behind sharp words, defiant smirks, and a reputation built on chaos.

But I know them. I know the broken edges like they are my own.

I’ve felt the sharpness of her pain, the way it cuts through even when she’s trying to hide it. I know the nights when she wakes up gasping, the memories choking her. I know the way she clenches her fists until her knuckles turn white, fighting off tears because she’s terrified of being seen as weak.

I know the moments she lets herself be vulnerable, rare, fleeting glimpses when her armor slips, when her eyes lose their edge and she’s just Phi—scared, hopeful, and so damn real it hurts.

I know her secrets. I’ve felt their weight, and they are ones I will happily carry in this life and the next.

Phi unfolds the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she stares down at the words.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Okay, okay, here we go.” She hums, giving her head a little shake before she releases a breath. “Jude, J, my loner poet, the star-crossed love of my life…”

My grip on her thighs tightens, my heart thundering as I wait for her to continue.

“I am not a poet. I do not know the difference between a limerick and a sonnet. I don’t have the right words to make pain beautiful, to wrap heartbreak in flowery phrases that make it easier to swallow. I am not a poet, but I do know this.”

Phi looks up at me, and I see how much these past two weeks have taken out of her. The hard work she’s put in to heal, to get better not only for herself but for those around her.

It’s not been easy. None of it has. The weird navigation of now living several yards away instead of a few feet.

Rook and I are…alright. Tolerable. We’ve reached a truce, of sorts. But that doesn’t mean he’s about to let me sleep beside his daughter, not when he knows exactly how I feel about her.

The silver lining? The Caldwell house is just across the way. A few steps, a quick dash. Close enough that I can still be there when she needs me.

“There’s this thing called quantum entanglement.” She pauses, a playful grin tugging at her lips before she continues. “It’s this idea that when two particles interact, they become linked—entangled. No matter how far apart they are, they stay connected. If you change one, the other changes too, instantly. It’s like the universe has tied an invisible string between them, pulling one when the other moves, binding them in a way that defies logic and space. Even if they’re galaxies apart, they still move together, like they’re dancing to the same silent song.”

I watch her as she speaks.

There’s something ferociously beautiful about Seraphina Van Doren.

It isn’t the delicate kind of beauty that hangs in museums or graces the pages of art books, the kind that leaves you in breathless awe.

No, it’s a raw, untamed beauty that makes you understand why a single face could launch a thousand ships into battle.

It doesn’t inspire admiration; it ignites war in the hearts of men. Not to be adored—Phi’s heart demands to be fought for, claimed even at the risk of ruin.

I’d risk ruin every time for this.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

For her.

“I never really got it until I met you. You, with your storm cloud eyes and faded gold hair, the boy who wore loneliness like a second skin. You were a different kind of gravity, pulling everything in me toward you—every thought, every heartbeat. And suddenly, I was entangled.”

Her eyes glisten, tears pooling in the corners, and I can’t help but reach up, my thumb gently brushing away the drops that threaten to fall.

“I think our love is like that. It’s not poetic; it’s cosmic. We are messy, raw, like a collision that should’ve destroyed us both. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe love isn’t meant to be easy. Maybe it’s meant to be this—two people desperately trying to find each other across the chaos, across the darkness, across everything that should’ve kept us apart. So, I am not a poet, Jude. But I am yours. For however long our particles keep dancing.”

I pull her closer, wrapping her up in my arms, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Her skin is warm, soft, and smells of vanilla and smoke, a scent that’s become the only home I know.

“I love you, Geeks.”

They feel foreign yet deeply right, like they’ve been there all along, just waiting to be spoken.

It’s the first time I’ve ever said those words out loud to anyone. Not to a friend, not to family—hell, not even to myself when I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m worth loving.

No one has given me a chance to love them until Phi.

Her fingers weave into the back of my hair, and I feel her lips brush against my temple. “I love you, Loner.”

I tilt her chin up, my mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, feeling the way she shivers under my touch. Her body rocks against mine, the silk of her panties rubbing over the sheet, teasing every nerve I have left.

“You—”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Jude, twenty minutes before we head out,” Alistair’s voice booms through the door. “You too, Phi. I’m not fighting your father on Christmas.”

Phi snorts softly, burying her face into my shoulder, and I groan, dropping my forehead against hers.

Alistair Caldwell once told me that the medallion around my neck could buy my way back home.

And when the reaper comes to claim my soul, there will be no hesitation, no second thoughts.

I’ll pay my way straight back to her.

To the fire in her eyes and the love that feels like fate.

Because home isn’t a place; it’s right here, in her arms, where even fate can’t keep me away.

PHI

Christmas is my favorite holiday.

The smell of peppermint, all the traditions and decorating, but mostly, I love giving presents.

It’s sorta been my thing since I found a few bugs to give to Aunt Lyra when I was just a kid. Now, she’s got a PhD in entomology and has published several successful books on the topic, so I’m sure she didn’t need some bug I dug up in our backyard, but she’d treated it like it was her most prized possession. It’s still pinned in a frame in her house.

It was her that gave me the love of gift giving.

Now, I spend hours and hours scouring the internet, curating the perfect present for every member of my family. It takes nearly the entire year to buy for everyone, but the moment December 25 rolls around and I get to see the looks on their faces? It’s more than worth it.

We’ve spent hours huddled in my parents’ living room, watching everyone open gifts one by one. Reign is helping my mom pass out gifts, Nora’s cuddling Scout on the couch, I’m pretty sure Atlas is passed out on the floor, and then there is Ez and Andy. Her bubble-gum-pink hair is a direct contrast to his inky black, with her feet thrown over his lap while he uses a Sharpie to draw on her shoes.

Everyone is so harmoniously in sync, happy.

It’s not perfect, but we are happy, and it’s more than enough.

I take it all in—the shredded wrapping paper, the sound of the littles squealing as they dive into another pile of gifts, the soft hum of Christmas music in the background.

I slip out quietly, the need for a moment’s air pulling me toward the back door.

The cold December air bites at my cheeks as I step onto the back porch, the faint scent of pine and smoke drifting in the crisp night.

And there he is—Jude.

He’s leaning against the porch railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. His face is partially illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light, the shadows making him look both impossibly familiar and achingly distant.

“If you hurt my niece, I will give your spine to my wife as an anniversary gift,” Thatcher says, voice low and steady, the kind of threat that doesn’t need repeating.

I’d like to say my uncle is just being protective, but knowing Thatcher, there’s a very real chance he’s serious. He’s got that kind of vibe—calm, calculated, and absolutely willing to follow through on every word he just said.

Jude, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. He stands tall, wearing that lazy, lopsided smirk that usually drives me insane in the best way. “Respectfully, your niece swings on grown men and has impulse control issues. I think she’s gonna be just fine.”

Thatcher’s brows arch in amusement, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s a Van Doren. I’m not sure why you expected less.”

He gives Jude one last assessing look before turning to walk away, his footsteps heavy against the porch as I watch from the shadows until he disappears back into the chaos of the living room.

I bite back a grin, the warmth of it spreading across my chest as I step closer. Jude’s eyes find mine instantly, a spark of amusement flickering in their depths.

“Didn’t know I had to survive a medieval trial to be with you, Geeks.”

I roll my eyes, my smile betraying me as I saunter toward him, closing the gap between us. “Welcome to the family, Loner. It’s an extreme sport.”

I take the final step toward him, closing the distance between us, and lean back against the railing beside him. The cold metal seeps through my sweater, but the heat radiating from Jude’s body makes up for it. His hands find my waist as he steps in front of me, his touch warm against the soft fabric of my sweater.

“Listen, not to be that girl, but it is our first Christmas together, and I still don’t have my gift.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jude teases, leaning in just enough that our noses almost touch. “You’re feeling neglected?”

I try to keep my expression serious, though a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Yes, completely. You’re a hopeless romantic. Where is my grand gesture?”

Jude rolls his eyes, the kind of exaggerated motion that’s meant to make me laugh, and it works. He reaches into his coat pocket, producing a small, carefully wrapped box tied with a ribbon.

“Oh my gosh!” I gasp, feigning dramatic shock. “I wasn’t expecting this!”

“You’re a fucking drama queen,” he laughs. “Now, open it.”

I untie the ribbon slowly, savoring the moment. The crisp paper peels away to reveal a small velvet box. My breath hitches as I lift the lid, finding a golden medallion nestled inside. The sun etched into its surface is intricate and beautiful, the rays fanning out in perfect detail, catching the faint light from the porch.

My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I pull out the piece of paper folded beneath it, unfolding and reading the familiar scrawl of Jude’s handwriting appearing before me.

No wall built from blood and name could keep me from you.

How could it?

My soul has danced with the cosmic dust your heart once knew.

No night darkened by crimson history could hide you from me.

How could it?

I knew you before my hands felt touch and eyes could see.

No wall could hold me.

How could it?

Their shield was fabricated by man-made hatred.

We are first thread.

Untouchable string Clotho herself created.

-E

“Merry Christmas, Geeks,” Jude whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin.

Jude Sinclair did not fix me.

He did not magically restore what Oakley broke in me. Not even killing him could fix it.

But Jude is the person who makes it feel lighter. Who helps me carry it, who walks beside me as I navigate healing.

Jude Sinclair is the only person that I want to be there for me. The only one who gets my secrets, the only one who gets all of me.

I tilt my head up, searching his eyes as if trying to memorize every shadow, every flicker. My voice is barely audible, almost swallowed by the winter stillness. “Is this our happy ending, J?”

He arches a brow, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What if I said I don’t believe in happy endings?”

“Then we’ll create one anyway.”

We’d create universes to be with each other.

Ours isn’t a love that waits for permission; it’s the kind that defies boundaries, the kind that would set fire to the stars if it meant we could hold on to this moment just a little longer.

We’d burn through galaxies if it meant a single breath together.

And as I look up at Jude, the snow beginning to fall in soft, slow flurries around us, I realize that maybe this is the truest kind of happy ending.

Not perfect, not easy, but ours.