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

Phi

December 9

“Who can we call for you? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

Cold. I’m so fucking cold.

The voices around me are muffled, like they’re underwater, distant and warped. My body feels heavy, leaden, every muscle refusing to respond. There’s a dull, throbbing pain somewhere deep, but the numbness is creeping in.

“Jude.” It’s barely a whisper, so weak it’s almost swallowed by the chaos around me. I try to move, try to wrap my arms around myself for warmth, but my limbs feel paralyzed, dead weight.

“Jude…Jude…”

“Crash cart, she’s coding!”

The darkness wraps tighter, but there’s a sliver of light, a faint pull that won’t let me go. It’s Jude’s name, echoing somewhere deep inside me—a lifeline.

Then, suddenly, it’s like being dragged upward from the depths of a freezing ocean.

Air fills my lungs in a violent rush, the world around me snapping into sharp focus. The sounds are harsh and disjointed—urgent voices, the rapid beeping of machines, frantic shuffling of feet. My heart thunders in my chest, racing against the echo of near death.

“Clear!”

“Phi, can you hear me?”

It’s a voice that’s steady, familiar, one I’d know anywhere.

“Mom?” It’s barely more than a broken rasp.

My throat feels raw, like I’ve swallowed shards of glass.

I blink slowly, my vision blurry, like I’m looking through murky water. Everything is distant, distorted—except her voice. It’s so clear, so achingly familiar, it feels like it’s the only real thing in this moment.

“Right here, baby.” Mom’s face comes into view, tear-streaked and pale, her blue eyes wide with a terror that’s only now beginning to soften into relief. She’s clutching my hand so tightly it hurts, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.

Tears blur my vision, and I feel the wet warmth of her kiss against my forehead, her fingers stroking my hair. “Oh, my sweet fire child, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

The words anchor me, each one sinking in, pulling me further into reality.

My mother is here.

I’m not alone.

I didn’t die.

Flashes of memory cut through the haze: Oakley’s twisted grin, the cold metal chair, the suffocating smell of gasoline. His hands on me, pain shooting through my head.

The fire.

The last thing I remember is the flames licking at the walls, smoke thick in the air, and a feeling of desperation so sharp it still lingers in my chest. Did I escape? Or was I pulled out, half-dead and barely breathing?

Oakley is dead. Oakley died.

I killed him. I⁠—

“Dad?” I croak, trying to turn my head, but the effort is too much.

Everything fucking hurts.

God, this is so not the fucking vibe.

I feel like my body has been shoved into a blender and spun into pulp. Even my teeth ache.

“Right here, sweet Phi.” Dad’s words are thick, as if he’s been holding back tears for hours.

He steps closer, his broad frame blocking out the harsh light above me. His eyes are red, the lines of his face deeper than I remember, but his presence is solid, unwavering.

“You scared the hell out of us,” he breathes, brushing a thumb over the cheek that isn’t throbbing.

I try to give a smile, but it ends up just coming out crooked as I lean back against the pillow behind me. “Thought I’d keep you on your toes.”

I’m so tired that breathing feels like it’s taking up too much effort.

“I’m gonna go let everyone know she’s awake,” Mom says, giving my hand another tight squeeze, her strawberry scent swimming around me as she leans in to kiss my forehead again. “I love you, my sweet girl.”

I lean into her touch. “I love you more.”

As she walks toward the door, I watch her through half-lidded eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling at me. Dad stays by my side, his presence both a comfort and a reminder of everything that’s happened. His fingers brush over my hair, gentle but trembling, like he’s afraid I might break beneath his touch.

The fog in my brain starts to clear more, panic settling in my chest as I look up at my dad, eyes wide.

“Dad, Jude didn’t have anything to do with this,” I rush out, the words coming out as a ramble. “He wasn’t involved. He and Oakley aren’t⁠—”

“I know, I know.” His voice is calm, steady, even as his fingers gently smooth the crease in my brow. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“Where is he? Is he alright?”

The words tumble out, frantic and uneven, and the sudden escalation of my heart rate sets off the monitor beside me. The beeping becomes rapid, sharp, matching the rising panic that’s clawing at my chest.

“Jude’s fine. He’s right outside—hasn’t left since they brought you in two days ago.” He lets out a small grunt, a hint of dry humor breaking through the worry. “Though he’s starting to smell, and it’s freaking out the nurses.”

The corner of my mouth twitches, a feeble attempt at a laugh that quickly turns into a cough.

“I never—” Dad chokes, then clears his throat from all the emotion trapped there. “I never wanted my past, my job, to affect this family. I should’ve done a better job of protecting you.”

This is what I’ve spent years trying to avoid—seeing my father wear my burdens like his own personal crown of thorns. I’ve watched him fight battles he never asked for, ones I caused with my reckless need to burn down everything that gets too close.

“Dad, please,” I whisper. “It’s not your fault.”

The tears that spill over his cheeks are silent, his eyes a storm of regret and anguish. He wipes at them quickly, as if ashamed to let me see his pain, but I reach out weakly, my hand finding his.

As my fingers close around Dad’s, I feel the roughness of his skin—a texture caused by years of hard choices and heavy burdens. His guilt presses down on the room, suffocating in its weight, and it’s unbearable.

“I’m sorry, Phi. I’m so sorry. This is on me. What Oakley did to you in that warehouse was not your fault. It was mine. It was never about you. I just…I’m⁠—”

“Dad, it’s okay,” I interrupt, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay.”

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t know. Not about Halloween night. Not about the suffocating shame that’s lodged itself in my chest ever since, festering like an open wound. I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders sagging under the weight of secrets I’ve been too terrified to share.

For a fleeting moment, it feels like a small mercy. If he knew the whole truth, I don’t think I could take the look in his eyes—the one that would go from guilt to shattered helplessness.

It’s bad enough knowing that he blames himself for this. But the assault? That’s something I can’t bring myself to give him. It’s too raw, too ugly, too intertwined with every part of me I’ve tried to bury.

It’s a scar I’ve kept hidden, even from myself, by cloaking it in anger and recklessness.

“I love you so much, sweet Phi.”

“I love you, Dad.”

When I wake up again, the room is dark.

Bathed in the faint flow of monitors and the muted hum of machinery, I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, and my body feels achingly heavy against the thin hospital mattress.

But then I see him.

Jude is sitting in the chair by the door, elbows propped on his knees, fingers tangled in his still-damp hair. He must’ve taken a shower—probably the first one in days. His hair falls across his forehead, darker when damp, making him look both exhausted and achingly beautiful.

My heart clenches at the sight of him, this boy who should have been my enemy yet somehow became the one person I can’t bear to lose.

“Loner.”

Jude’s head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. He looks like he’s seen a ghost— his jaw clenches, and raw emotion flickers in his gaze. Relief. Desperation.

“Geeks,” he breathes.

Subconsciously, his palm falls to his chest, rubbing the spot right where his heart is as he stares at me. I’d expected pity, for him to look at me like I was a broken doll that couldn’t be fixed.

Yet Jude is looking at me like he always does.

I’m not broken. I’m not The Queen of Disaster. I’m not his enemy.

I’m just Phi. Just Geeks.

“Will you…” I mutter, dragging my tongue across my cracked bottom lip. “Will you hold me, please?”

The words are soft, barely more than a breath, but they carry the weight of everything I’ve tried to keep buried for so long.

I need him closer.

The distance between us feels like an open wound, and I’m so tired of bleeding.

Tears start falling, unrelenting, and I let them. There’s a strange relief in it, like a dam finally breaking. I’m not crying just for the current pain but for the years of silence that have held me captive, for the lies I told myself to survive.

The walls I’ve built, the armor I’ve worn—they all fall away in this moment. I don’t need to be brave right now. Not with Jude.

I don’t want to be strong, or untouchable, or angry.

I just want to be held and told that, somehow, my shattered pieces are still worth loving.

Jude’s brows furrow, pain and tenderness breaking across his eyes. It makes my chest ache, watching as he moves toward me.

He doesn’t ask if I’m sure. He doesn’t hesitate. He just moves.

Once he’s close enough, I give him another nod, letting him know I’m okay, and it’s all he needs. Jude shifts, gently lying down beside me, careful to avoid the IVs and the wires that connect me to the beeping machines. The corners of my mouth twitch up as I look at his feet hanging off the edge, his big body struggling to fit on this bed.

I feel the warmth of him radiate through the thin hospital gown as his arm slips under my shoulders, pulling me closer until my head rests against his chest. I can hear the steady, uneven thump of his heart, and it’s the most comforting sound in the world—proof that he’s here, alive, real.

His other hand finds mine, his fingers threading through mine with a careful, trembling touch.

The dam inside me isn’t just breaking—it’s flooding, washing away the walls I’ve built brick by brick. I’ve spent so long trying to be untouchable, the fire-breathing dragon who’s never the damsel in distress. But here, in the warmth of his arms, I feel so small, so fragile.

It’s a part of me I thought I’d killed off years ago, but right now, she’s clawing her way to the surface, desperate for comfort, desperate for Jude.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

His hand cradles the back of my head, his fingers gently threading through my hair in that soothing way he does when I can’t sleep and my mind is racing with too many thoughts.

I bury my face in his chest, the familiar scent of smoke and books enveloping me. It’s a scent that means safety. For once, I don’t resist. I don’t push him away.

I just let myself be held.

I’m not sure how long we stay there. How long I let him hold me, but I know I end up falling asleep at some point because when I wake up, the sun is streaming through the blinds of the hospital room.

The room is filled with an array of flower arrangements, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the sterile walls. On one side, a large banner hangs, cheerfully proclaiming, We love you, Phi Phi!

Little painted handprints decorate it, each one accompanied by a name signed along the bottom: Racer Hawthorne, Stella Hawthorne, Scout Hawthorne.

My chest tightens as I read the names, a flood of warmth cutting through the lingering pain. I can already picture Racer’s wild, mischievous grin, Stella’s shy but sweet smile, and Scout’s little hands reaching out for a hug.

The thought of being able to wrap my arms around them once more, to feel their sticky kisses and hear them call me Phi Phi in that eager, excited way, makes me feel like I can finally breathe again.

I’m so grateful that I’ll get to see them again. That I’ll get to see everyone again.

I think about all the conversations that haven’t been finished, the jokes that haven’t been told yet, the moments of quiet comfort that make life feel bearable. I think about bonfires and late-night drives, the races at the Graveyard, and even the messy arguments that somehow make us stronger.

It’s all here, waiting for me, just outside this room. And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like a series of battles waiting to be fought.

It feels like a gift—one I almost lost but somehow managed to hold on to.

“How’s our universe, baby?”

Jude’s voice interrupts my thoughts, his body still lying next to mine, arms wrapped securely around me.

“Better with you in it,” I hum, rubbing my nose against the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply until the only air left in me is Jude.

“I thought I lost you.”

“I’m offended you’d think I’d die that easily.”

Jude’s chest rumbles with a soft, low laugh, the sound vibrating against my cheek. The world outside blurs, leaving only this fragile universe we’ve carved out for ourselves.

Right now, it’s just Jude and Phi.

“I killed Oakley,” I whisper, a silent confession to the set of ears I trust most in this world. “I killed him.”

“I know,” he murmurs, no judgment, only quiet acceptance. “I know, baby.”

A part of me wishes I felt regret, but I don’t.

There’s no guilt lingering in the corners of my mind, no shame gnawing at my insides. The void Oakley left inside me isn’t filled by his death—it’s as empty and raw as ever, a reminder that some wounds run too deep to ever truly close.

But I don’t regret it.

I tilt my head up slightly, my cheek still pressed against his chest. “Jude?”

“Yeah?”

“I wanna stay here. Just a little longer. Okay?”

“We can stay here as long as you want, Geeks. Forever.”

Forever.

If we’re meant to end in tragedy, ours will be my favorite.

It won’t be the kind written in history books, filled with grand speeches and epic betrayals. It’ll be quieter, etched in stolen moments and whispered confessions. It’ll be the kind of heartbreak that tastes like his lips and smells like smoke and rain.

We were made for chaos, for love that is wild.

And if it all comes crashing down, I’ll still take every broken piece of it, knowing I chose him and he chose me, despite the world that begged us not to.