Bound By His Vows

The Man Behind The Vows

Morning light spilled through the tall glass windows, painting the room in gold I couldn’t feel.

The sheets were cold.

His side of the bed untouched.

For a moment, I let myself believe it had all been a dream.

But the ring on my finger said otherwise.

I slipped out of bed, wearing one of the silk robes the maid had laid out. Every step echoed through the mansion—his mansion. The place felt more like a museum than a home: sharp edges, silent halls, and not a single picture that suggested warmth.

Then I heard him.

Damien’s voice carried from the study downstairs—low, composed, dangerous. “Sell everything connected to Carter Holdings. I don’t want the name on my records by sunset.”

Carter Holdings. My father’s company.

My chest tightened.

I lingered in the doorway, watching him through the half-open glass. He was all control—sleeves rolled up, tie undone, that same icy calm. He looked like sin wrapped in Armani.

“You promised to help my father’s company,” I said before I could stop myself.

He looked up, eyes slicing through me. “I promised to make sure you never go hungry. I said nothing about your father’s mistakes.”

“Damien—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice like frost. “Don’t pretend this marriage makes us equals. You’re here because I let you be.”

The words stung more than I expected.

But instead of breaking, something inside me hardened.

“You think power makes you untouchable,” I whispered. “But it doesn’t. It just makes you lonely.”

His jaw twitched, but he said nothing. Only the ticking clock dared to move.

---

Later that day, I explored the mansion’s east wing—my so-called half of the cage. Dustless perfection, marble floors, cold elegance. Then I found it: a locked room with a single nameplate carved into the door.

Elena.

I didn’t know who she was.

But the way his name was written beneath hers—D. Blackwood—made my stomach twist.

Before I could touch the handle, his voice came from behind me.

“Don’t ever go in there.”

I jumped. “I—I wasn’t—”

He stepped closer, eyes unreadable. “That door stays locked for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“Because ghosts don’t like company,” he murmured, brushing past me.

And just like that, he was gone.

---

That night, sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the name Elena and the cold fire in Damien’s eyes.

Who was she?

A lover?

A wife before me?

Or the reason for his revenge?

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number:

> You don’t know who you married, Amelia. Be careful.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Before I could type back, the door creaked open. Damien stood there, shirt undone, eyes darker than usual.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He studied me for a long moment. The tension between us crackled, sharp and magnetic.

“Then stop thinking so loud,” he muttered, stepping inside.

He didn’t touch me, but his presence filled the room. I could smell the faint trace of whiskey, see the exhaustion hiding behind his strength.

“Why did you marry me, really?” I asked.

He exhaled, almost laughing. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper near my ear. “Because sometimes revenge needs a witness.”

The words hit deeper than a slap.

By the time I blinked, he was already gone.

---

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, every thought tangled in his voice.

Revenge.

Ghosts.

Secrets.

And somewhere between fear and curiosity, I realized something terrifying:

I wasn’t just falling into his world.

I was starting to fall for the man behind the vows.