Vicious 21 (Patreon)

Author's note: Hello everyone! I hope you are all doing well! I just wanted to come on here and let you know that I am finally on BREAK! So, expect lots of posts and new writing!

 The evening had finally begun to wind down, with the guests dispersing into smaller groups, laughter and chatter fading into the subdued hum of a late-night gathering. The garden's fairy lights twinkled softly, and the cool breeze carried the faint scent of blooming roses. Y/N lingered at the edge of the terrace, her hand resting on the balustrade as she gazed out into the dark expanse of the estate grounds.

Despite the serene setting, her thoughts were anything but peaceful. Silas's menacing words played on a loop in her mind.

"The fall of his family... they'll all die like flies, one by one."

Her stomach churned as she recalled the smug way he had said Harry's name, the thinly veiled malice in his tone. She could still feel the pressure of his hand on her waist, the chilling weight of his whispered threats.

Y/N exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple as if to scrub away the memory. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Harry at the bar, his scotch glass in hand. He was deep in conversation with Lex and Charlie, their faces unreadable in the dim light. Lex leaned closer to Harry, whispering something, his hand shielding his mouth. Whatever it was, it made Harry’s jaw tighten as he took a long, deliberate sip of his drink.

Harry seemed composed, but Y/N knew him well enough to notice the subtle tension in his shoulders. Does he know? she wondered, biting her lip. Does he already suspect that Silas is plotting something? Or worse—does he know about the Italians being involved?

“Not quite the perfect wedding night you were expecting, huh?” a voice startled her.

She turned to see Giana standing behind her, holding two champagne flutes. Her best friend’s perceptive eyes studied her, instantly noticing the way Y/N’s hands trembled as she took the offered glass.

“It’s... it’s fine,” Y/N lied, her voice unconvincing. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

Giana tilted her head knowingly. “And yet you’re out here, looking like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing back toward Harry before lowering her voice. “Silas said some things.”

“Shocker,” Giana muttered, rolling her eyes. “That man’s like a snake in a suit.”

“It was more than just his usual insults or condescension,” Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly. “He threatened Harry. Said... said he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. And he hinted that the Italians are involved.”

Giana’s expression hardened instantly, her grip tightening on her glass. “That bastard. What did Harry say about it?”

“I haven’t told him,” Y/N admitted, looking down at her champagne. “Not yet. I didn’t want to ruin tonight. But... I’m scared, Giana.”

Her friend placed a comforting hand on her arm. “You have to tell him, Y/N. Harry’s smart, but he needs to know what he’s up against. And Silas? He’s dangerous. If he’s working with your father’s people—”

“I know,” Y/N interrupted, her voice firm despite the fear in her eyes. “I’ll tell Harry. Just... not right now. He has enough to deal with tonight.”

Giana sighed but didn’t press further. Instead, she leaned against the railing beside Y/N, gazing out into the dark. “Just promise me you won’t wait too long. The last thing we need is for Silas to catch him off guard.”

Y/N nodded silently, her thoughts already racing ahead to what she would say to Harry. But as the night stretched on, the uneasy feeling in her chest refused to leave.

Y/N finally slipped away from the lingering chatter and made her way upstairs to the privacy of her room. The heels she’d worn all evening pinched at her feet, and she sighed with relief as she kicked them off by the door. Her hands went to her earrings, unclasping them and placing them carefully on the dresser before making her way to the vanity.

Sitting down, she stared at her reflection in the ornate mirror. The woman looking back at her was a bride, but she didn’t feel like one—not in the traditional sense. She had gone through the motions, smiled for the pictures, danced under the twinkling lights, and accepted the congratulations of strangers who barely knew her. But deep inside, she still felt like the same girl who had grown up surrounded by shadows and duty, never quite sure where she belonged.

She grabbed a makeup wipe and began the methodical task of removing the layers from her face. As the foundation and mascara disappeared, the real Y/N emerged—a woman who still carried doubt, but also resilience.

She changed into a pair of soft, loose-fitting pajamas, letting out a small sigh of comfort. Just as she was running a brush through her hair, there was a light knock on the door, followed by the creak of it opening.

Harry stood in the doorway, his tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand, his other resting casually on the doorframe. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, giving him a relaxed, disheveled look that was both endearing and frustratingly attractive.

He offered her a soft, almost teasing smile. “So, Mrs. Styles,” he began, the title rolling off his tongue with an unfamiliar ease, “are you officially moving into our bedroom, or are you planning to stay in here?”

Y/N paused, the brush halting mid-stroke through her hair. She placed it down on the vanity, turning to face him. “I didn’t realize that was up for debate,” she said lightly, her tone cautious yet laced with a small hint of humor.

Harry stepped further into the room, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Well,” he drawled, “it is our wedding night. Feels a bit odd, doesn’t it? The bride and groom sleeping in separate rooms.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, fidgeting slightly. “I just thought... maybe we’d take things slow,” she admitted. “I mean, this whole thing—it’s been a whirlwind. And with everything going on—”

“Y/N,” Harry interrupted gently, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not pushing you for anything. If you want space, it’s yours. But I thought we might try to be... I don’t know... less like strangers.”

She looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat at the raw honesty in his eyes. There was no teasing now, no walls. Just Harry, standing there with his tie undone and his heart in his hand, offering it cautiously.

“I’ll move in,” she said softly after a pause. “But don’t expect me to be unpacked by morning.”

Harry’s lips curved into a small, almost relieved smile. He raised his glass slightly in acknowledgment. “Fair enough.”

/N pushed open the heavy oak door to Harry's bedroom, the quiet creak of the hinges breaking the silence. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the polished furniture. It smelled faintly of whiskey and cedarwood, a distinctly masculine scent that was undeniably his.

She hesitated on the threshold, her gaze sweeping the space that now felt more intimate than ever. It wasn’t just his room—it was his sanctuary. Stepping inside felt intrusive, but she reminded herself of his earlier words.

"We can't keep living like strangers, Y/N.”

Y/N closed the door softly behind her and took a deep breath. The marriage was done. Their lives were now intertwined, whether she liked it or not. She moved further into the room, her fingers grazing the edge of a leather armchair. Everything about the space screamed Harry—calculated, refined, and yet carrying an undercurrent of something darker.

It was strange being there, surrounded by him but still feeling so distant. Yet she knew this was the beginning of whatever they were supposed to become. If they were to survive this arrangement, she’d have to find a way to bridge the gap between them.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap, and waited.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, remembering how the cool silk of her wedding dress keep brushing against her skin earlier. She let out a quiet sigh, unsure if it was exhaustion or apprehension that had settled so heavily in her chest.

The door clicked open behind her, and she didn’t have to turn to know it was him. Harry’s presence was unmistakable—a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the room even before he spoke.

“You are already in pijamas”. he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with the faintest trace of an accent that seemed sharper when he was tired.

“I wasn’t sure where…” she trailed off, motioning vaguely to the room. “Where I’m supposed to be.”

Harry stepped inside, shutting the door with a deliberate finality. “Here,” he said simply. “You’re supposed to be here.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say. There was a weight to his words, like they carried more meaning than he was willing to reveal.

He crossed the room, his movements unhurried but purposeful, and leaned against the dresser, arms folded across his chest. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, thick and charged.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Y/N finally said, breaking the quiet. She looked up at him, her expression guarded but curious. “Sharing a room with someone you barely know.”

Harry’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Strange, yes. But not impossible.”

His gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the ever-present coolness in his eyes softened, just a fraction. “We’ll get used to it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “We have to.”

Y/N studied him, trying to decipher the man behind the sharp suits and sharper words. He was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve—but she’d been given no choice.

She pulled back the covers, sliding in and settling against the pillows, acutely aware of how quiet the room was. Harry remained where he was, watching the city lights through the window, the amber glow of the whiskey catching the faint light.

“You don’t have to stay over there,” she said after a moment, surprising herself with her own boldness.

Harry glanced at her, one brow arching slightly. “Are you inviting me to bed already, love?”

Heat crept up her neck, and she quickly clarified, “I just meant—if we’re trying to make this work, we should at least act like we’re… married.” The word felt foreign on her tongue.

Harry stood slowly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now. He shrugged off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease, and Y/N looked away, feeling the sudden intimacy of the moment settle over her like a blanket.

He climbed into the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. For a few seconds, neither of them moved, the distance between them feeling like both a chasm and the thinnest thread.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Y/N said softly, keeping her eyes on the ceiling.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

Silence enveloped them again, but this time, it felt different—less oppressive, more like the first tentative step toward something neither of them fully understood yet.

Y/N woke to the soft golden light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. For a moment, she lay still, her body half-buried in the cool, crisp sheets. She blinked slowly, taking in the unfamiliar space—the high ceilings, the faint scent of cedar, the lingering shadows of the night before.

Then her gaze shifted, and she saw him.

Harry sat at the foot of the bed, his back to her, already dressed in tailored trousers. His broad shoulders were bare, the muscles in his back tense, as if carrying the weight of the world. His crisp white shirt hung neatly over the chair beside him, but he hadn’t put it on yet.

He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely. The way he sat—so still, so deliberate—told her his thoughts were miles away. The tension in his posture made her chest tighten. This was a man accustomed to carrying burdens silently, without complaint.

Y/N turned her head slightly on the pillow, watching him without making a sound. She didn’t want to disturb him, didn’t want to break whatever spell had him so deeply entrenched in his mind. But even in silence, his presence was magnetic, drawing her in.

The minutes stretched, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Was it their marriage? The delicate alliance they now represented? Or something darker, something tied to the shadows of his world?

She shifted slightly, and the rustle of the sheets caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes locking onto hers.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and steady, but there was a faint trace of something softer—relief, maybe?

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she replied, her voice still husky with sleep. She sat up, pulling the covers around her shoulders, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. “You seemed… lost in thought.”

Harry turned slightly, enough for her to see the faintest smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “I’m always lost in thought, Y/N. It’s the nature of my work.”

He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on his thighs as he studied her. For a moment, the weight of his attention made her breath catch.

“You should sleep in,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “It’s what newlyweds are supposed to do.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile. “And what about you? Do you not follow tradition?”

Harry let out a quiet chuckle, though it lacked true humor. “Tradition isn’t a luxury I can afford.”

He stood then, pulling on his shirt with smooth, practiced movements. As he buttoned it, his voice softened. “There’s a lot to do today. Meetings. Plans to finalize.”

Y/N watched him, feeling the gulf between them widen and shrink all at once. He was so composed, so controlled, and yet, there were cracks—tiny moments where she thought she could glimpse the man beneath the veneer.

“Do you ever stop?” she asked quietly, surprising even herself.

Harry paused, his hands stilling on the last button. He met her eyes, and for a moment, she thought he might actually answer.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up again, and he said, “Not in this life.”

And with that, he turned toward the door, leaving her to wonder just how much of him she’d ever truly be allowed to see.