Vows Of Vengeance
Chapter One
The chapel was filled with white lilies and poison.
My fingers were wrapped around a bouquet that felt more like a weapon than flowers. As the wedding march echoed through the lavish halls of the Steele Estate, I walked slowly, purposefully, each step dragging the weight of ten years’ worth of pain and hatred.
People stared with admiration. Some whispered, “She’s so lucky.” Others said, “She’s so beautiful.” But none of them knew the truth behind my painted smile.
I was marrying the man who ruined my life.
Or so I thought.
Damon Steele stood at the altar like a god carved out of ice—tall, sharp, untouchable. His jet-black tuxedo hugged his frame like a second skin, and his gray eyes, cold and unreadable, never left me as I approached him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He just watched me like a man already suspicious of the bride walking toward him.
Good.
Let him wonder. Let him feel uneasy.
This wasn’t love.
This was war.
My heart thudded inside my chest, but not from excitement. No, this was fury. A quiet, boiling rage that had lived in me since the night my father died in a car crash that was too perfect, too planned to be an accident.
And all roads led to one name—Damon Steele.
Ten years ago, my father, Miguel Cruz, was the lead scientist for one of Damon’s companies. A man of principles. A man who refused to sell his research for blood money. A week later, he was dead. The police called it an accident.
I called it murder.
And now, here I was, marrying the devil who I believed signed the order.
“For better or worse,” the priest said.
I clenched my jaw.
Much worse.
“For richer or poorer.”
You’ll be poorer when I burn everything you own.
“In sickness and in health.”
Hope you enjoy the pain, Mr. Steele.
“Do you, Alina Cruz, take Damon Steele to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
My gaze flicked up to him.
He looked so calm, so bored—as if marrying me was just another business merger.
“I do,” I said sweetly, hiding the venom behind my voice.
His lips twitched. “I do,” he echoed.
And then came the kiss.
His mouth brushed against mine, brief, calculated, devoid of emotion. The cameras flashed. Guests clapped. Champagne glasses clinked.
And just like that, I became Alina Steele.
Mrs. Damon Steele.
The wife of my father’s killer.
🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕
The reception was grand. Gold chandeliers dripped light like melted stars, and violins played soft music in the background as elites gossiped over wine and caviar.
I barely touched my plate. My stomach was twisted with disgust—and fear. What if he found out? What if he suspected I didn’t love him? What if I blew my cover too soon?
“Smile,” Damon said beside me, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as glass.
I blinked and turned toward him. “Hmm?”
“People are watching.” He lifted his champagne glass. “Let them think we’re happy.”
I smiled through gritted teeth and clinked my glass against his.
“To new beginnings,” he said, eyes glittering.
“To beautiful endings,” I replied.
He paused, amused. “Is that a threat, Mrs. Steele?”
“A toast,” I answered, meeting his gaze. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Too late,” he muttered, and his smile faded.
🎕🎕🎕🎕🎕
Hours later, we were alone.
The bridal suite was enormous, draped in ivory and silver, soaked in rose petals and soft candlelight. A bed built for kings stood in the center, mocking me. I sat at the vanity, removing my earrings, watching him through the mirror.
Damon removed his jacket and loosened his tie, still quiet.
He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t soft. He was watching me the way a wolf watches a deer.
Except this deer had teeth.
“You haven’t said much all night,” I said, not looking at him.
“I’m not a fan of weddings.”
“Strange, considering you just had one.”
His reflection stepped behind me. I felt his presence before he even touched me—dangerous, magnetic, cold.
His fingers brushed my bare shoulder. “You looked beautiful today.”
I stiffened. “Thank you.”
“But beauty,” he whispered, “can be very deceiving.”
I turned to face him fully. “What are you trying to say?”
He tilted his head, studying me. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “why a woman like you would agree to marry a man like me.”
My heart raced. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m ruthless. Cold. My reputation isn’t exactly husband material.”
“You’re rich. Powerful. Some girls like monsters.”
“Do you?”
“I married one, didn’t I?”
For a moment, the air between us thickened with tension. Then, he smiled—a dark, knowing smile.
I rose from the chair, walking past him toward the bed.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I didn’t marry you for your charm.”
“And I didn’t marry you for your innocence,” he shot back, voice low. “Because you don’t have any, do you, Alina?”
I froze mid-step.
“What?”
He took slow steps toward me, each one heavy with intent. He stopped just a breath away.
“You came into my life like a lamb,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “But your eyes… they carry shadows.”
My throat dried. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” He leaned closer. “You think I don’t see it? The way you flinch when I touch you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You think I don’t notice the hate you hide under your pretty lashes?”
My blood turned to ice.
“You think I don’t know what you're doing?” he whispered against my ear.
Then he pulled back, eyes burning into mine.
“This isn’t a fairytale, Mrs. Steele.” He gave a small, mocking smile. “It’s war.”
