Page 1 of Her Faithful Protector

1

AVA WEST

Los Angeles, California

I tapmy knuckles against the dining table. Bones on glass, the sound echoes through the room. With each rattling movement of my hand, my heart beats in tandem. For the first time since getting engaged to Willem Botha, I want him home.

As I sit here, my gaze is drawn to the expansive window that resembles a banquet hall, offering a glimpse of the night outside. Beyond the glass, the distant garden lights twinkle like stars against the darkness.

I stride close to the window, my breath creating a mist that momentarily blurs and then clears the view. The gate and garage are on the opposite side of the house. From here, it’s easy to overlook his arrival. The latest Mercedes in his collection barely makes a sound, even when he revs up the engine.

Though tempted to go to the living room for a better view, I stick to my routine of always being here at this time. Everything must stay the same, or the change I’ve planned for months will remain as a plan without execution—or worse.

Elmo, my Labrador retriever, follows me closer than usual. The dog is a clown most of the time, but I think he senses the change in me.

“We’re all set for tonight, right?”

Elmo lets out a soft woof.

Finally, I catch a glimmer of light and see Willem’s car passing behind the giant hedges that separate this side of the garden from the front of the house. I rush to the kitchen to ensure I have everything I’ll need tonight—a surprise he’ll never see coming. His footsteps advance, and I swiftly return to the dining room, wiping down the table.

Willem steps in, knowing where to find me. He’s still wearing his suit, with his hair neatly styled and tie perfectly straight, just as he did when he left this morning.

“Hey.” I greet him with a kiss. I remain as constant as a lake on a breezeless morning, careful not to arouse his suspicion. The way I talk, the way I breathe, the way I look at him. “You had dinner? I made somepotjiekos. I can warm it up if you like.” His Dutch-Afrikaans grandfather used to cook the stew, which has now become one of his go-to meals.

“I’m gonna head straight to bed,” he rasps as he rounds my waist, his palms squeezing my ass.

Every part of my being resists, but for now, I respond to him like a dutiful fiancée, as I’ve always done. I smile and sigh as he rubs his crotch against mine.

“I’ll bring your tea in a minute,” I whisper.

He loosens his grip, though still pinching and patting every inch of me that his hands pass. “Did you see the article I sent you?”

“Yeah. They’re nice.”

“The hair and makeup on that model look amazing, don’t they?” he says proudly, staring as if imagining me in the bridalattire he’s been wishing for. After a few moments, he heads upstairs.

Willem always has his tea before bed. I’ve never been into chamomile, but I didn’t used to mind it. Now, the scent always reminds me of his foulness and control. But that wretched man will soon realize that this is the last time I’ll ever serve him anything.

As I carry his tea to the bedroom, I can hear the sound of water from the shower, signaling Willem’s nightly routine. I take off my T-shirt and jeans, then slip into a night camisole. My eyes fixate on my forearm, where a vivid bruise encircles it, a reminder of our heated argument over the wedding invitation just yesterday. I was in court, and the trial went overtime. I failed to respond to his call about the color of the cards, igniting his disdain for being ignored.

Willem steps out of the bathroom. “Fuck…” he sighs, his eyes scanning my lingerie-clad figure.

“Your tea is ready,” I murmur seductively.

Just as the bottom of the mug clinks against the bedside table, he pulls me to him with force, then shoves me in the opposite direction, making us both roll onto the bed. Despite his impatience and controlling nature when it comes to tasks and errands, I have learned that if I comply with his desires in bed, I will remain unharmed. But this time, I will obey with a hidden agenda.

Willem pins me down, his lips exploring the depths of my cleavage as he removes his boxers. The mixed scent of stale meat and pungent sweat sickens me. It’s his. Something that comes hand in hand with the chamomile.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you,” he grunts as he looms over me. “Invitations are on the way. Our friends and families will be thrilled. You know, they kept saying it was time.”

Anger knocks behind my chest. He must’ve ordered thecards, even before discussing it with me yesterday, for them to be sent out so quickly. And, when he refers to ‘our’ friends and families, they are really his. I will have to beg and argue just to have my best friend invited. And as for my family, it consists only of my parents, who always do whatever Willem says. They treat him like their savior or even a god.

I despise my parents for that, but I can’t blame them entirely. Willem did help our family when my father’s business collapsed. Ironically, we needed the money to save me. That’s how I’ve managed to endure Willem for this long.

Then, we found out I was pregnant, and during the later stages of the pregnancy, I spent most of my time in bed. Willem came to my rescue once again—the rescue that made me cry like a princess locked in a tower. But at least I survived and gave birth to a healthy baby.

Despite Willem making decisions about the invitations and wedding I never wanted, I hide my anger behind a smile.

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