RETURN OF THE GOD OF WAR

We Must Have Sex Tonight

Grandmaster Morrison’s words still hung in the air, breaking whatever peace the Morrison family had left. The elegant living room now felt like a prison to Helena. She stood there, trembling in her red cocktail dress, feeling like her grandfather’s threat to exile her had cut her open for everyone to see. The family’s stares were a mix of pity and judgment, and she could feel her pride slipping away.

Turning to John, the Grandmaster’s voice softened but still carried authority. “John, let’s go to the dining room. We have things to discuss.” He tapped his cane against the marble floor as he walked, each sound sharp in the silence.

John didn’t say a word. He adjusted his cap and followed, his plain clothes looking completely out of place among the expensive furniture and decor. The heavy mahogany doors shut behind them, leaving the family to deal with the shock of what had just happened.

The moment the doors closed, Helena broke down. A sob escaped her, and her knees gave out as she sank into a velvet chair. Tears smeared her makeup as her hands gripped the armrests, trying to keep herself steady while her world spun. The faces around her blurred together, all full of judgment and betrayal.

Her father, Darrell Morrison, stood frozen. Anger and helplessness warred on his face. For a second, it looked like he might run after the Grandmaster to argue, but he couldn’t go against his father’s authority. With a tense breath, he turned and stormed out of the room, his footsteps sharp against the floor. He couldn’t watch his daughter fall apart; especially when he felt powerless to stop it.

Clara Morrison, Helena’s mother, was at her side in an instant, her elegant black gown rustling as she knelt beside her daughter. She wrapped her arms around Helena, pulling her into a fierce embrace, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “This isn’t right. It’s not fair. We’ll fix this, I promise you.”

Helena pulled back, her tear-streaked face contorted with anguish. “Fix it? How, Mother?” Her voice cracked, a raw edge of despair cutting through her words. “Grandfather’s made up his mind! He’s throwing me away like I’m nothing—handing me over to that… that monster! A man who looks like he’s been living in a ditch, who mocks me, who doesn’t even pretend to respect me!” She buried her face in her hands, her sobs muffled but piercing. “I’ve done everything for this family. I’ve smiled at every gala, charmed every investor, played the perfect heiress. I’ve given my life to the Morrison name, and this is what I get? Forced to marry a nobody who doesn’t even belong in our world?”

Clara’s hands tightened on Helena’s shoulders, her voice low and fierce, a mother’s determination burning through her grief. “Listen to me, Helena. You are a Morrison, and no one.. not even your grandfather... can take that from you. This marriage is a mistake, a delusion brought on by that man’s trickery. He’s no healer; he’s a fraud who’s manipulated your grandfather’s gratitude. We’ll find a way to stop this. Your father and I will hire the best investigators, dig into this John’s past. There’s got to be something that we can use to discredit him. If he’s hiding who he really is, we’ll expose him. And if that fails…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous edge creeping in. “We’ll find other ways to make him disappear.”

Helena lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen but glinting with a flicker of hope. “But Grandfather… he’s never been this stubborn. You saw him, Mother. He threatened to exile me—me! His favorite granddaughter! He’s never spoken to me like that before. What if he means it? What if he really casts me out?” Her voice trembled, the fear of losing her identity as a Morrison cutting deeper than any wound. “Everything I am... my name, my place, my future... it’s all tied to this family. Without it, I’m nothing.”

Clara’s expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “He won’t exile you. He loves you too much, even if he’s lost his senses right now. Your grandfather’s always been a man of control, but he’s not infallible. He’s old, Helena, and this so-called healer has clouded his judgment. We’ll appeal to his reason, remind him of what’s at stake. The Morrison name is a dynasty, and marrying you to a man who looks like he belongs in a back alley will tarnish it. The media, our investors, our allies... they’ll laugh us out of society. We’ll make him see that.”

Helena wiped her eyes, her breathing steadying as her mother’s words sank in. “And if he doesn’t? If he forces this engagement through? That man... John... he’s not just some beggar, Mother. There’s something… dangerous about him. The way he looks at me, like I’m nothing. The way he moves, like he’s not afraid of anyone. I hate him, but…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m scared of him.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed, a spark of suspicion flaring. “Scared? Why? Has he done something to you?”

Helena shook her head, her hands twisting in her lap. “Not like that. It’s… it’s the way he talks, the way he carries himself. Like he’s hiding something bigger than all of us. When I tried to slap him earlier, he caught my wrist like it was nothing, like he could’ve crushed me if he wanted to. And he said things... about his family, about power... that didn’t make sense. He’s not what he seems, Mother. I know it.”

Clara leaned back, thinking fast. “That’s our advantage. If he’s hiding something, we’ll find it. No one comes into the Morrison estate and makes fools of us. Your father is already contacting his people who can dig up the truth. Once we know who this John really is, we’ll use it to end the engagement. And if he’s dangerous, we’ll get rid of him… one way or another.”

Helena nodded, holding on to her mother’s determination, but she felt a cold fear in her chest. Her grandfather’s power ruled over everything; her life, her wealth, her name. Going against him could cost her everything. But the thought of marrying John, with his cold eyes and mocking smile, made her sick. “What if we can’t stop it?” she whispered. “What if I have to marry him?”

Clara’s expression softened. She hugged Helena tightly. “Then we fight until the very end. You’re my daughter, and I won’t let you be tied to a man who doesn’t deserve you. We’ll go to the board, to the lawyers, even the press if we have to. We’ll make this marriage impossible. And if nothing else works…” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “We’ll make sure John regrets ever setting foot in this house.”

Helena’s eyes lit up with a spark of anger. She sat straighter and wiped her tears. “He’ll pay for this. I don’t care who he is. He’s not taking my life from me.”

Clara smiled, a cold determination in her eyes. “That’s my girl. Now go rest. You’ll need your strength. Your father and I will take care of the rest tonight.”

Helena stood, her red dress gleaming in the light like a warning. She walked toward the grand staircase, her heels clicking with new purpose. But her grandfather’s announcement still pounded in her head. Her mother’s promise gave her a small glimmer of hope, but it was nothing compared to the crushing truth: she was going to marry the man she hated most. Her hands shook as she entered her bedroom, slamming the heavy oak doors shut behind her.

Her bedroom was like something from a palace; ivory silk walls with gold trim, a sparkling crystal chandelier, and a huge four-poster bed covered in cream and lavender satin. A tall window looked out over the perfect gardens, the moonlight casting silver patterns on the soft carpet. But tonight, the beauty of the room only made her feel trapped, like it was mocking her.

She kicked off her heels, letting them fall to the floor, and walked to the bathroom. She needed to wash away the night; the sting of her grandfather’s announcement, John’s smug look, and the pity in her family’s eyes. She turned on the shower, the marble floor warm under her feet as steam filled the air with the scent of jasmine and bergamot. She undressed and stepped into the hot water, letting it pour over her as if it could erase everything that had happened.

For thirty minutes, she stood there, her thoughts in chaos. But no matter how loud the water was, she could still hear her grandfather’s voice: “Helena will be betrothed to the Divine Healer.” The words felt like chains, tying her to John; the man she despised.

She remembered his rugged face, his cold, piercing eyes, and the way he had gripped her wrist in the jade room with effortless strength. He wasn’t just an outsider; there was something dangerous about him. Her mother’s plan to dig into his past gave her a spark of hope, but fear lingered. What if they found nothing? What if her grandfather couldn’t be swayed?

She thought about the life she had built. She had always imagined marrying someone equally wealthy and ambitious. Instead, she was being forced toward a man who dressed in jeans like a challenge, a man who seemed to laugh at everything her family stood for. Her hands clenched into fists under the water, her nails digging into her palms. “I’ll get out of this,” she whispered. “And he’ll regret ever crossing me.”

Finally, she turned off the shower and stepped out, steam curling around her. She wrapped herself in a soft towel and walked back into her bedroom. The cool air made her shiver as she headed for her vanity to dry her hair. But before she could, the towel slipped to the floor—and the door suddenly swung open.

John stood there, tall and broad in the doorway, wearing his gray shirt and jeans, his cap pulled low, shadows hiding most of his rugged face.

Helena’s eyes widened in shock, a scream tearing from her throat as she scrambled to snatch the towel from the floor, clutching it to her chest. Her heart pounded, her cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and fury. “What the hell are you doing here?” she shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Get out! How dare you barge into my room!”

John’s gaze flicked over her, his expression utterly unmoved, as if her nakedness was no more remarkable than the furniture. He stepped further into the room, his boots thudding softly against the carpet, and scoffed. “Your nakedness means nothing to me,” he said, his voice low and dismissive. “You’re not even as beautiful as you think you are. Stop screaming and shut up.”

Helena froze, her mouth agape, the insult striking her like a physical blow. Her beauty was her armor, a weapon she’d wielded effortlessly in boardrooms and ballrooms alike. To hear it dismissed so casually by this… this brute was an affront she couldn’t process. “You filthy pig!” she spat, her voice trembling with rage. “How dare you speak to me like that? You’re nothing but a lowlife who’s wormed his way into my family, acting like you belong here!”

John ignored her, his eyes wandering the room with a casual arrogance that made her blood boil. He paused by a large canvas on the wall, an abstract painting with bold strokes of crimson and gold. He tilted his head, studying it for a moment, then said, almost absently, “Nice choice. This is a Valentina Korsakov, isn’t it? Early work, before she went fully minimalist. Not bad.”

Helena blinked, holding the towel tighter around herself. Her anger faltered for a moment, replaced by surprise. Valentina Korsakov was a reclusive artist whose paintings were worth millions, known only among the world’s wealthiest collectors. How could this man—this so-called pauper—even know her name, let alone recognize her early work?

“What do you know about art?” she scoffed, her tone sharp with contempt. “You probably saw her name in some cheap magazine and think that makes you cultured.”

John’s lips curved into a smirk. “Doubt me all you want, princess. I’ve seen more of the world than you could ever imagine... and I don’t mean your little private jet trips. Korsakov painted this during her exile in Prague. You’d know that if you cared about anything besides your reflection.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words came. His detailed knowledge unsettled her, shaking her image of him as an ignorant fraud. Regaining her edge, she spat, “What are you even doing here, you creep? Barging into my room like you own it? Ruining my life wasn’t enough... you have to invade my space too?”

John leaned casually against the wall, his smirk fading into something colder. “Your grandfather sent me. Told me to bring you to the jade room. Apparently…” His eyes held hers, unblinking. “…we’re supposed to sleep there together tonight.”

Helena’s eyes went wide, this time with pure horror. The towel slipped slightly in her trembling hands. “What?” she whispered, her voice so faint it was almost lost in the air. “Sleep together? Are you insane? I’d rather die than share a bed with you!”

John shrugged, completely unfazed. “Take it up with the old man. I’m just following orders. And trust me, I’m not excited about it either. You’re not exactly my idea of good company.”

Her face burned crimson as rage and humiliation battled inside her. “You’re disgusting,” she snapped. “You think you can just barge into my life, into my room, and act like you’re some kind of king? You’re nothing! A nobody who’s fooled my grandfather into thinking you’re important!”

John’s eyes darkened, though his voice stayed calm. “Keep telling yourself that, Helena. It won’t change a thing. Your grandfather made a promise, and we’re both bound to it. Now get dressed—we’re leaving.”

Helena clutched the towel tighter, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and defiance. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Get out of my room, or I’ll call security and have you thrown out like the trash you are.”

He lifted an eyebrow, smirking again. “Go ahead. Call them. Let’s see how far that gets you when your grandfather’s the one who sent me. Face it—you’re fighting a losing battle, princess.”

Her breath caught. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to wipe that smug look from his face. But deep down, she knew the truth: her grandfather’s word was law. Defying him could cost her everything.

Turning away, her shoulders shaking, she grabbed a silk robe from her vanity and pulled it on. “Fine,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “But this isn’t over. You’ll regret ever stepping foot in this house.”

John didn’t even look at her. His gaze had drifted back to the Korsakov painting, her threats apparently no more important than dust. “Your grandfather also mentioned something else,” he said casually, his tone dripping with mockery.

She frowned, bracing herself. “And what’s that?”

John turned his head slowly, a smirk curling on his lips. “He said we must have sex tonight.”

Helena’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach twisting as if the floor had dropped out from under her. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak; could only stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down like a vice. Then the shock gave way to white-hot rage.

“You’re lying,” she hissed, her hands balling into fists beneath the folds of her robe. “My grandfather would never—”

John stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, each step closing the space between them until she could feel the heat radiating off him. His eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “You think I’d make that up? The old man was very clear. Said it was part of… strengthening the bond.” The way he said it, low and deliberate, made her skin prickle.

Helena stumbled back until the edge of the bed pressed into the back of her knees. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. “You’re disgusting,” she spat, but her voice trembled in a way that betrayed her.

“Maybe,” John said with a shrug. “But I don’t make the rules here. He does. And you know as well as I do—you’ll obey them. You always have.”

She glared at him, fighting the urge to scream, to claw at him, to do anything that would shatter the awful, self-assured calm in his face. But knew the truth; Grandmaster Morrison’s authority was absolute.

“You think you can humiliate me into submission?” she said through gritted teeth. “If you touch me, I swear—”

His hand shot out, not to grab her, but to take the silk sash of her robe, holding it between his fingers for a slow, deliberate moment before letting it drop again. His smirk returned, infuriatingly controlled. “Relax, princess. I’m not that desperate. But if your grandfather insists…” He let the thought hang in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.

Helena’s pulse pounded in her ears, her thoughts a storm of fury and dread. She wanted to push him away, but some part of her feared that would give him exactly the satisfaction he wanted. Instead, she straightened her back, forcing her voice into a calm, icy tone. “Get. Out.”

John studied her for a long moment, then stepped back toward the door. “Ten minutes,” he said, opening it just wide enough to slip out. “Don’t make me come back in here to get you.”

The door closed, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence of her suite. Her knees gave out, and she sank onto the bed, clutching her robe like armor. For the first time in her life, Helena felt cornered; not in a boardroom, not in a ballroom, but here, in her own home. And the worst part was knowing the man who’d just walked out might actually have the power to destroy her.