His Redemption

Author's Note

His Redemption is book 1 in The Archangels series. This is a series I'm really passionate about and took a lot of time planning and outlining. I hope you guys like the plot as much as I do.

A few trigger warnings include mentions of violence and abuse (nothing gory however), mental health issues and substance abuse.

This book is intended as a New Adult romance book so proceed with caution.

Below is a little something to help introduce you to the characters.

⟡ Ellie ⟡

"Are you pregnant, Eleanor?"

My head whips right like someone just slapped me. Only to find my ex-best friend giving me a derisive smile. My stomach sours and I do wish someone had slapped me. At least, I wouldn't be dealing with this.

"Excuse me?" I mumble, frowning at her in confusion.

"I mean, it's a nice exhibit. I will give you that." She continues, eying the place like it personally offended her. "But blue and pink. Really? If I didn't know better, I'd say this is a gender reveal party."

That's the thing about public invitations. Anyone can show up. Sure, my art exhibit was meant for high-end society, considering that's the community I live in. But I would have preferred if the guest list was a bit more controlled. And this is exactly why.

I bust my ass, trying to find the perfect outdoor venue with a beautiful lake and scenery. Spend months painting all sorts of art and canvases. Carefully curate the flower arrangements and string lights with pastel color theme. Only for people like Clara Williams to show up and ask if this were a gender reveal party.

"You know better, yet you had to ask the dumb question." I reply calmly, folding my arms at my chest.

Clara shrugs, her smile remaining in place. "It would be smart. A two in one event. Art exhibit slash—"

"You're looking a shade too green, Clara. Are you jealous by any chance?"

That deep voice. It curls around my ribcage like smoke and settles somewhere uncomfortably in my stomach. I know a hint of that voice. I just can't put my finger on it. And the way my shoulders tighten instinctively tells me I won't like the answer.

I watch as Clara's smug smile dissolves slowly off her face, replaced by a nervous expression.

"Raphael," she says, laughing awkwardly.

Raphael?

I turn around at that. And I regret my wish from earlier.

Careful what you wish for couldn't be any more sardonic at this moment.

Because a slap doesn't compare to the ice water bucket that was just dumped down my back.

I stare at the man standing there, glorious in a casual charcoal suit. Hand tucked into the pocket of his dress pants as he stares down at me.

Haunted eyes bore into my soul. Hazel eyes. The same shade I haven't used in any of my pallets or canvases for the past ten years.

My lips part slightly but no words come out.

"What are you doing here?" Clara asks, voicing the question for the both of us. Because apparently, tongue-tied is a thing and it just happened to me.

Raphael ignores her, his eyes fixed on my face.

"Congratulations." He mutters nonchalantly. "It's a beautiful exhibit."

The world narrows down to this moment. And I find myself experiencing things I only read about in books. What was the expression? My vision tunneled? Black invades the periphery of my vision while my eyes remain transfixed on the man who broke my heart ten years ago. I hear his words but I don't comprehend. My panic usually comes in all sorts of flavors and in all shades of color.

But this is new.

This white hot noise in my ears and in my head. I haven't felt that before.

"You need to leave." I say, finally finding my voice.

I blink and everything comes back to me. The water rippling in the lake. The chatter of people and clinking of glass in the background. And finally, finally a breeze sweeps against my shoulders, cooling down my skin.

I turn on my heel and walk away, not chancing a glance behind me. I push past Clara, dismissing her offended gasp as I put as much distance between us as possible.

That was a ghost.

I just saw a ghost.

That's all Raphael Lancaster is.

Lifting the tulle of my dress off the ground, I walk in purposeful strides, seeking my father out. I stop in the middle of the garden and scan the area around for broad shoulders and a head of salt-and-pepper hair.

I inhale deeply when I find him, standing with some of his business associates, gesturing animatedly around as he speaks. The soft lilt in his voice soothes my nerves and I find myself reaching for his arm as I approach him.

My dad does a double take when I hook my arm through his. He smiles at me and pulls me closer to his side.

"There she is." He says, looking back at his companions. "My pride and joy."

Dad plants a kiss on the top of my head, causing tears to well up in my eyes. But I blink them quickly away and put a smile on my face that doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Your father speaks highly of you, Eleanor." One of the men says, extending a hand for me to shake. "And I can see exactly why."

"Thank you." I reply, but my voice sounds weak and small even to my own ears.

I can feel my dad's gaze drilling a hole in my temple. He looks back at the guests and excuses himself, gently leading me away towards the drinks station.

"One Aperol Spritz, please." He tells the bartender before facing me. "You look pale, Nelly."

I sigh but a resigned laugh escapes me.

"You can tell, huh?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood. "Your job as a dad must be exhausting."

"It's anything but." Dad replies, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. "It's the best job in the whole wide world. Now, tell me who stole the light from my girl's eyes."

"I—"

"Why is there a family reunion without me?" Lauren quips, coming to stop next to dad. "Where is my hug?"

I laugh at her pouty expression, grateful for the little interruption. I didn't know what to say to my father anyway. I'm too old to be scared of ghosts and to complain about nightmares.

As if the thought has gravity of its own, my gaze coasts beyond my twin sister and lands on Raphael. He's standing at the edge of the lake, a drink in his hand. But he's only looking at it without drinking.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, his head turns in my direction and his eyes find mine. The moment our gazes lock, I look away and bury my face in my dad's chest.

"Nelly, make space." My sister says, but I don't look up.

"There's enough space for both of you." My dad chuckles, wrapping his other arm around her.

Despite the warmth of my family, my mind wanders towards the man at the edge of the lake.

Why is he back? Why today out of all days?

It's been ten years. Why does it feel like my chest is being crushed all over again?

In the middle of my reverie, I don't see what's happening on the other end of the garden until it's too late.

I pull away from my dad abruptly and sprint towards the huge canvas. That is, as much as my high heels and long dress allow me to sprint. I barely make it there before a number of people are knocked back into the canvas and they come crashing down on it, splinting it in half.

My heart cracks with it. Right down the middle.

I put a hand to my mouth, holding back a sob. My father and sister are hot on my heels and they both stop next to me, anchoring me with their hands on my shoulders.

I watch as people I barely know— two men and a woman— collect themselves and stand up. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths and it takes everything in me to keep my tears at bay.

"We're really sorry." The woman approaches me tentatively. "We didn't mean to... someone knocked into us out of nowhere."

I don't see her. I don't feel her hand brushing my arm. I don't notice my dad trying to pull me back.

All I see is the broken canvas and the painting I spent the longest amount of time working on. It's the same canvas I was hoping would sell for the most amount of money to help my dad's business. Now, it's in shambles.

I kneel down in front of it, uncaring for my dress or heels digging into the soil. I try to put it back together but it's too heavy and there's only so much my arms can contain.

Then I decide to pull it up one half at a time. I can feel a dozen eyes on my back. The silence is deafening. But no one attempts to help me.

Shock, I guess.

Not until a shadow moves around me and grabs the other half of the canvas. I look up only to find Raphael there, pulling the wooden piece up and using a tree trunk to keep it upright.

A sob breaks out of me at the sight. And suddenly my arms feel iron laden and my strength leaves me. The other half slips out of my hands and I can't pull myself up.

Raphael appears in front of me again, his hazel gaze meeting mine for a brief moment. Pulling the other half up, he struggles a bit to lift it but manages to successfully prop it next to the other one.

Tears stream down my face as I feel a pair of hands settle on my shoulders. I look up to find my father smiling ruefully at me. Wrapping his arms around me, he slowly pulls me back to my feet.

"It's okay, Tinker Bell." My dad whispers against my hair. "Everything will be okay."

My fingers dig into the sleeve of his black blazer and I don't dare look up as I try to regulate my breathing. I chance a glance at the canvas while Raphael tries to approximate the edges as much as possible.

But no matter what he does, the chasm is there.

The damage is done.

__________________________

Lauren is my twin.

But we're nothing alike.

We don't look the same. We don't behave the same. Not even our voices sound alike.

So leave it to Lauren to know how to rectify a situation. While I stand and stare at the damaged painting, she redirects the crowd and reminds everyone that the food and drinks are free.

And who doesn't love free stuff?

I feel someone behind me and my muscles lock up, knowing just by the change in air who it is.

"You didn't leave." I say before he could even speak.

"I can't." Raphael replies, stopping right next to me.

I look up at him, the height difference striking even with my ten inch heels on.

"When did you come back?" I ask next, facing forward as well.

"Last month."

"Why are you here?"

"It's your exhibit."

I turn towards him and glare at his profile.

"I find it hard to believe that you vanish for ten years and then decide to show up because it's my exhibit."

Raphael heaves a silent sigh before facing me. "I need to talk to you, Ellie."

A humorless laugh escapes me. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you."

"Ellie—"

"It's Eleanor to you." I cut in directly, making sure my voice is as icy as the feeling spreading across my chest. "Or better yet don't say my name at all."

"I know you're upset." He starts, taking a tentative step towards me. When I take a step back, a flicker of hurt crossed his eyes but he masks it just as fast as it appeared. Raphael clears his throat and maintains a safe distance. "I get it. But this is really important. If you'd just let me explain—"

"No." I answer with finality. "Nothing you say will change what happened. And I will never forgive you. So save it."

I turn to leave but his next words stop me dead in my tracks.

"You kept that place." He notes.

And I don't need to look at him to know what he's talking about. My eyes immediately snap to the damaged painting. The landscape stares back at me. Scraped in half but still beautiful. Still vibrant like I intended it to be.

A blue lake glistens in the evening sun, reflecting the trees surrounding it on its surface. A field of tulips in various colors camouflaging the lake.

I look at him and that haunted look is back in his eyes.

"It's just a landscape." I try to keep my voice from wavering.

"You know it's not." He says, staring at the painting now. "But they weren't tulips."

"Excuse me?"

"They were larkspur."

Raphael's gaze settles back on me. Heavy and unyielding. My heart sinks and a fresh pang of pain rips through my chest.

I stare up at him and I can't help the tear that slips down my cheek. His hands clench into fists by his sides but he remains rooted in place.

I hate myself.

I hate him for ripping open wounds he had no business seeing.

"I don't want to see you again." I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. "And I definitely do not want to talk to you."

I don't wait for a response from him. I turn on my heel and walk away.

As if on cue, my dad and Lauren approach me with stiff expressions on their faces.

"Did you talk to him?" Lauren asks and I frown.

"Not exactly." I reply, my gaze jumping between both of them.

My dad and Lauren exchange another look before staring back at me.

"What?" I ask, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Nothing." My dad is first to speak. "We just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Lauren clears her throat and nudges him with her elbow.

"I don't think it's the time or place, Laurie." My dad tries to whisper but his words travel to me anyway.

"What's wrong?" My panic rises to a new level and I step forward, clutching my dad's forearm. "Is it... is it the—"

"You can say it, Nelly." My dad prods, giving me a small smile. "It's a disease not a taboo."

"Is it that?"

"No." He replies, placing a hand over mine. "It's not my dementia. It's the business."

"Let me ask the agent what has been sold so far." I suggest, scanning the place for the person in charge of keeping tabs on sales. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

My dad tugs on my hand and pulls my attention back to him. "There's an offer on the table. Someone wants to help but they have conditions."

Talk about crushing hope.

"What conditions?"

My dad hesitates but he takes in a deep breath before talking. "There's this businessman that offered to help. But his one condition is that you marry his son."

I laugh at that. "What's this, the 1960's?"

When my father's expression becomes more solemn, all the color drains out of my face. And there's no amount of pastel pinks or blues that can save me.

"You're serious." I say, my voice shaking.

"You don't have to agree, Nelly." My dad reassures me, his grip tightening on me. "And no one will hold it against you. You know I'd never trade either of you for the world. Business be damned."

I swallow thickly. My father's love has always been unconditional, his dedication to us unwavering. I know that without him having to say it. But this still sounds ridiculous to me.

"Who is it?" I question, my heart stuttering in my chest.

"It's him."

My eyes follow my dad's line of sight. And I finally find my sales agent.

"Mason?" I turn back to my dad, tone incredulous.

My father only shakes his head.

"It's the one shaking Mason's hand." Lauren interjects, giving me a sheepish look.

I look back in Mason's direction, my heart plummeting to the pits of my stomach.

Because the one shaking his hand is no other than the ghost.

Raphael Lancaster.