Twisted Vows

The Ex-Factor

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Las Vegas pulsed like it never slept. The skyline glimmered through the glass walls of the penthouse, mirroring the electricity coiled tight in Kian Thorne’s chest.

She lay there, tangled in white sheets and soft shadows, her body half-turned away from him, hair a mess of auburn silk fanned across his pillows.

Ava Thorne.

It still didn’t sound real. Not when he said it in his head. Not even after last night. Not even after the marriage certificate currently tucked inside the nightstand drawer with the black velvet box he hadn’t even meant to open.

He didn’t believe in fate. Fate was for the weak. The hopeful. The naive. But Ava Monroe? She was none of those things.

She was lightning bottled in skin, defiance with lips made for sin. And last night, he’d tasted every inch of that storm.

Kian rose from the bed slowly, muscles sore, skin still humming from the chaos they’d unleashed. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, naked and unashamed, letting the cool glass soothe the fire still simmering under his skin.

He couldn’t get the sounds out of his head—her breathless moans, her whispered curses, the way she begged and fought in the same breath. Ava didn’t make love. She battled. Clawed. Commanded.

And he loved every second of it.

Two Months Ago

He hadn’t meant to notice her at the Thorne Foundation gala. Not really. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. A last-minute press invite. No PR-approved background check. No filters. Just a crimson dress and eyes that dared him to bite.

Their first conversation had started with teeth. Her voice? Sharp. Her tone? Lethal. She'd challenged him within two sentences, called out the ethics of his latest energy merger, and accused him of building empires off manipulation.

He should’ve walked away.

Instead, he bought her a drink. Then another.

By midnight, she was pressed against the wall of the balcony, the Vegas skyline behind them and her hands gripping his jacket like she was trying not to fall. Her lips were addictive. Her laugh? Worse.

He remembered her whispering, "You’re trouble."

He’d replied, "You’re a goddamn disaster."

Vegas, Three Weeks Ago

The afterparty had turned into a blur—champagne, tequila, too many hands, too few inhibitions. But all Kian could remember clearly was Ava.

The way she danced in that little black dress, laughing with strangers, her hair loose and wild, her eyes magnetic. He couldn’t stay away. Every man in the room looked at her. But only he touched.

He’d pulled her into his lap in a corner booth, and she hadn’t resisted. Her body fit against his like a second skin. Her lips tasted like citrus and danger. When she kissed him, she did it with her entire soul—like she wanted to erase every woman he’d ever touched.

Then came the dare.

"Marry me," he’d said, half-joking, half-drunk.

Ava had tilted her head, pupils blown wide, lipstick smeared from his mouth.

"You won’t do it," she’d whispered.

He smirked. "Try me."

They were in a Vegas chapel twenty minutes later.

She wore a silky white robe from the hotel and nothing else. He threw on a tuxedo jacket over his bare chest. The officiant had raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The witnesses were a passed-out groomsman from another wedding and a stripper named Mercy.

The kiss had been carnal.

The ride back to the penthouse? A blur of wandering hands, laughter, and whispered obscenities.

When they burst through the doors, he’d backed her against the marble wall, his mouth on her neck, hands sliding beneath the robe. She’d gasped his name, nails dragging across his back.

"You’re not my type," she’d breathed.

"You’re exactly mine," he’d growled, lifting her in his arms and carrying her straight to the bed.

Their first time had been raw and frantic.

But it hadn’t started that way.

He’d taken his time undressing her, layer by sinful layer. Her robe had slipped from her shoulders like liquid moonlight, revealing a body that made every fiber of him tighten. He hadn’t just looked—he’d stared. Devoured.

She pushed his jacket off, fingers fumbling with his waistband, but he caught her wrists.

“Not yet,” he said, voice husky.

He pressed her into the mattress, trailing kisses from her collarbone to the curve of her breasts, teasing her n*****s with his tongue until she arched beneath him. Her breath hitched when he whispered how much he wanted to ruin her.

Then he slid down, slow and deliberate, kissing the inside of her thigh before his mouth found her heat. She writhed under him, moaning shamelessly as he licked and sucked with maddening precision.

She came hard, shaking, gasping his name like it was a sin.

He didn’t stop.

When she begged, he climbed back up, kissed her deep, and only then did he let her unbuckle his belt.

Their bodies met in a crash of sweat and skin. His tie wrapped around her wrists, her legs around his waist. He slid into her inch by inch, both of them cursing at how good it felt—how perfect.

She clenched around him, eyes dark with need.

He thrust into her hard, deep, relentless, swallowing every sound she made. She met him stroke for stroke, hips rising, nails digging into his back, screaming into his mouth.

They’d made it to the floor, then the bar, then the bed again.

Ava kissed like she hated him. Screamed like she loved him. Bit his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

It was a fever dream.

He hadn’t wanted it to end.

Now

Kian poured two fingers of whiskey and downed it in a single, silent swallow. The sting grounded him. The memories did not.

He hadn’t planned to marry her.

He hadn’t planned to kiss her outside that bar in Vegas, or to press her against a wall in the alley, hands fisting in her hair while she moaned into his mouth like she wanted to own him.

He hadn’t planned to say I do in front of a drunk Elvis impersonator, or to pull her against him later, on a hotel bed, and claim her like he already had a right to.

But he had. Over and over again.

And now, watching her chest rise and fall under the white silk sheet, he realized something brutal.

He didn’t regret a single second.

“Awake?” he asked quietly, turning to look at her.

Ava blinked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded but alert. “Barely.”

“You didn’t sleep,” he said.

“Not really.” Her gaze dropped to the messy sheets. “Neither did you.”

He smirked, the same dangerous glint that had made her heart race and her pulse quicken during the gala. “I don’t do sleep.”

Ava’s mind raced. Last night, their ‘marriage’ had been a stage performance — but behind closed doors, the stakes were terrifyingly real. They were bound together by a contract none of them wanted, but neither could escape. And now, whispers from the past threatened to shatter their fragile alliance.

Her phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

She grabbed it, frowning as a text notification popped up:

Unknown Number: We need to talk. About Kian. Tonight.

Her breath caught.

Kian’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the message. “Who was that?”

“No one,” she said quickly, locking the phone.

“Don’t lie to me, Ava. Secrets are dangerous.”

She stared at him, the fight in her burning brighter than ever. “You want to talk about secrets? What about the woman who almost destroyed everything you have?”

Kian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t bring her up.”

“She’s still out there. Watching. Waiting.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I think she’s coming for me.”

The night came faster than Ava expected, bringing with it a storm both outside the city and inside her heart. The rain hammered against the glass walls of the penthouse, thunder roaring like an angry beast in the distance.

A knock echoed through the hallway.

Kian opened the door to reveal a tall woman, all sharp edges and icy beauty. Her name was Selene, Kian’s ex-fiancée and the ghost haunting every corner of their twisted lives.

Her hair was a cascade of raven waves, eyes like glaciers cutting through the tension. She smiled—cold, calculating.

“Ava,” Selene said smoothly, stepping inside as if she owned the place.

“Selene,” Ava replied, voice steady despite the fire burning in her chest.

Kian’s arm snaked around Ava’s waist protectively. “What are you doing here?”

Selene’s eyes flicked to Ava, then back to Kian. “I’m here to remind you both that the past never really dies.”

Ava felt the temperature drop as Selene moved closer, her perfume a sharp contrast to the rain’s freshness.

“You didn’t tell her everything,” Selene said, voice dripping with venom. “About the business deal. About the promises you broke.”

Kian’s eyes darkened. “Enough.”

“No,” Selene snapped. “She deserves to know the truth.”

Tensions ignited like gunpowder.

Ava faced Selene squarely. “What truth?”

Selene’s smile twisted. “The truth that Kian was never the perfect heir. That beneath the empire lies a man who gambles with more than just money—he gambles with people’s lives.”

Kian’s hand clenched into a fist. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Selene’s gaze hardened. “The truth always finds a way out, Ava. Just like I did.”

The storm outside matched the storm inside the room. Ava’s mind reeled—was Kian really the man she thought she was marrying, or a dangerous stranger hiding behind a mask of control?

Selene took a step closer to Ava. “Don’t trust him. He’ll break you.”

Kian’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Get out.”

Selene’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t back down. “Not until you answer for what you did to me.”

Ava’s heart hammered. Was she a pawn or a player in this deadly game?

Suddenly, Kian grabbed Selene by the arm and pushed her toward the door with brutal force.

“Leave. Now.”

Selene hesitated, shooting Ava one last look—half warning, half promise—and then vanished into the rain-soaked night.

The door slammed shut.

Ava turned to Kian, anger and hurt flooding through her veins.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kian’s face was a mask of conflicted emotions, something raw and vulnerable flickering beneath the steel.

“I wanted to protect you,” he said quietly.

“Protect me?” Ava laughed bitterly. “From the truth?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “There are things you don’t understand. Things I can’t explain—not yet.”

Their eyes locked, the silence thick and suffocating.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” Ava whispered.

Kian’s hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “Then don’t. Not yet.”

As the rain continued to pound the city, Ava realized the fight wasn’t over—it had just begun.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the anger and betrayal, a dangerous desire burned.

For Kian.

For the man behind the empire.

For the twisted vows they both couldn’t escape.