Bound to the Billionaire's Vow

CHAPTER 5

The Shift I Didn't Ask For

Alina's POV | First Person

I had nightmares again.

Same room, same breathless panic. But this time, I wasn’t running from my past.

I was sitting across from Dominic, and he was looking at me not coldly, not cruelly but like he saw something I didn’t even see in myself.

And for some reason, I got scared.

I woke up in his bed. Alone, of course. He’d slept in the guest room again, like always. That was part of the agreement. No strings, no closeness, no pretending behind closed doors.

But he’d made me tea last night.

Not a big deal, right?

Except it kind of was. Because Dominic Blackwell doesn’t do soft.

I pushed the sheets off and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

So... sue me.

I poured coffee and tried not to overthink anything.

But then he walked in.

Hair slightly messy. Shirt half buttoned. And no warning whatsoever.

Good morning, he said, voice low and sleepy.

Why did that sound so illegal?

I blinked. Hi.

He paused by the fridge, looking at the hoodie I was wearing. Is that mine?

No, I lied.

He smirked. Liar.

I sipped my coffee. You left it. I adopted it. It has a new home now.

He actually laughed. Not a chuckle a real, caught off guard laugh that made something flutter in my chest like wings.

Fine, he said, grabbing a bottle of water. You can keep it. It suits you.

Did it just get hot in here?

We stood in a weird, quiet rhythm after that him scrolling through emails on his phone, me pretending not to notice him being way too attractive for someone who claimed not to believe in love.

Then he spoke. My mother wants us over for dinner tonight.

I froze mid sip. Wait. What?

She thinks it’s time you two bond.

Bond, I repeated, like the word was in another language. As in talk? Laugh? Pretend I’m her daughter-in-law?

He gave me a look. You are my daughter-in-law.

I narrowed my eyes. In what world?

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. In every world that involves a $500 million merger. So yes, Mrs. Blackwell, you’ll be smiling, nodding, and pretending to be deeply in love.

Fantastic, I said dryly. Should I also bring a fake baby bump?

Don’t tempt me.

I gasped. You wouldn’t.

He raised a brow. I absolutely would.You’re a monster.And you married me.

Touché.

The dinner was a disaster. Obviously.

Dominic’s mother, Sylvia Blackwell, was elegance and judgment wrapped in Chanel. She eyed me like a lab experiment she didn’t remember authorizing.

While neatly stabbing a piece of asparagus, she asked, So, how did you two meet again?

I opened my mouth, but Dominic cut in smoothly. At a gallery showing. Alina was admiring a painting I was about to buy.

Sylvia smiled tightly. Ah. And you fell in love at first sight?

Something like that, I mumbled.

Dominic placed a hand on my thigh under the table.

I jumped. It was warm. Firm. A little too possessive.

He leaned closer and whispered, Try not to look like you’re being held hostage.

I am being held hostage, I hissed back.

His thumb moved, slowly stroking just above my knee.

I forgot how to breathe.

Sylvia watched us like a hawk. Well, marriage changes people. For better or worse.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I just smiled.

After dinner, we walked out into the garden, leaving Sylvia to her post-meal brandy.

The night air was cool. My legs were shaky.

You handled that well, Dominic said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

She hates me.

She hates everyone.

Comforting.

He stopped and looked at me. You don’t have to prove anything to her. Or to anyone.

I folded my arms. Except to you, right?

His jaw flexed. I didn’t mean it like that.

We stared at each other for a long, confusing second.

Then I said it. I’m tired, Dominic.

He frowned. Tired?

Tired of pretending. Of smiling for cameras. Of dodging your ex and playing dress-up for people who’d rather see me gone.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softly: You think I don’t see that?

I turned away. I think you don’t care.

He grabbed my arm gently, but firmly and made me face him.

I do care.

I blinked. Why?

Because you didn’t flinch.

What?

The night we signed the papers, he said, his voice lower now. You were terrified, I could tell. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry. You didn’t beg. You signed them like someone who had nothing left to lose. And I saw something in you that night.

Pity?

No. Strength.

I laughed bitterly. I don’t feel strong.

Maybe not yet, he said. But you will.

I swallowed hard.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Not because of the nightmares. But because of what he’d said.

Because of the way his hand had lingered on mine when we stepped into the elevator. Because I caught him looking at me like I wasn’t just part of a deal, but someone else.

I curled up on the balcony with a blanket wrapped around me, the city lights stretching out like a promise I didn’t trust. I didn’t ask for this. Not the marriage. Not the silence. Not the feeling that I had to walk through fire just to make it through each day. None of it was mine. And yet here I was.

But for the f

irst time, I wasn’t sure I wanted out.

Because maybe just maybe Dominic Blackwell wasn’t the monster I thought he was.

And maybe I wasn’t as broken as I feared.