Shattered Vows

Chapter 2: Signed in Blood

Ava

I didn’t sleep.

The night stretched endless, every tick of the old grandfather clock in the hallway echoing like a countdown. I paced my bedroom, then the empty halls, then the frost laced garden behind the house, coat pulled tight against the cold. My mind replayed his words on a merciless loop.

Because you hate me. And hate is far more reliable than love.

Bastard.

By dawn, the decision had carved itself into my bones.

I would say yes.

Not because I wanted to.

Not because I had forgiven even a fraction of what he’d done.

But because my father’s hands shook when he poured coffee that morning, and the stack of final notices on the kitchen counter had grown thicker overnight. Because pride was a luxury we could no longer afford. And because, deep down in a place I didn’t want to name, I wanted to see Alexander Voss up close when his perfect control finally cracked.

I was dressed and waiting in the living room when the doorbell rang at exactly nine a.m. Punctual. Of course he was.

My father hovered behind me as I opened the door.

Alexander stood on the threshold in a navy suit today, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, no tie. The winter light caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look even more untouchable. His driver waited by the black Maybach idling at the curb.

“Good morning, Miss Harper,” he said, voice smooth as glass. His gaze flicked over me (taking in the fitted black trousers, silk blouse, and hair pulled back severely). Armor again. “Have you come to a decision?”

I stepped aside. “Come in.”

He entered, filling the space with that quiet, overwhelming presence. My father mumbled something about making coffee and vanished toward the kitchen.

Alexander didn’t sit. He simply stood in the center of the room, hands in his coat pockets, waiting.

“I’ll do it,” I said. The words tasted like ash. “But on my terms.”

One dark brow lifted. “Your terms?”

“I want everything in writing. Ironclad. Debts cleared the day we signed the marriage license. My father’s medical bills are covered indefinitely. A trust fund for him that you can’t touch, ever. And when this is over (whenever I say it’s over), I walk away with ten million in my own account. No negotiations.”

He studied me for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, the corner of his mouth curved (just slightly). Approval? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.

“Done.”

I blinked. “Just like that?”

“I expected nothing less from you, Ava.” He reached into his coat and produced a thick leather folder. “My legal team drafted the contract last night. All your demands are already included.”

Of course they were. He’d known I’d say yes.

He moved to the coffee table, opened the folder, and laid out two copies of the agreement side by side. The paper was heavy and expensive. The Voss Enterprises letterhead glinted in gold.

I sat, picked up the pen he offered (Montblanc, naturally), and scanned the pages. Everything was there, worded with ruthless precision. Separate residences within the same penthouse. There is no expectation of physical intimacy. Public appearances are limited to twelve major events per year. Divorce was initiated by either party after one year with no fault assigned.

My hand hovered over the signature line.

Alexander stood behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of him through my blouse. Not touching. Never touching. But near enough to remind me how easily he could.

“Second thoughts?” he murmured.

I signed before I could have third ones. My name flowed across the page in bold black ink.

Ava Elizabeth Harper.

I pushed one copy toward him. He signed beneath my name with a swift, elegant stroke.

Alexander Voss.

There it was. Bound together by ink and mutual loathing.

He gathered his copy and slid it back into the folder. “The license will be expedited. We marry in ten days (a quiet civil ceremony). Press release goes out the following week announcing our ‘whirlwind romance.’”

“Ten days,” I repeated. My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.

He nodded. “You’ll move into the penthouse this weekend. My assistant will handle the arrangements.”

I stood abruptly, needing distance. “Separate bedrooms, remember?”

“Of course.” His eyes darkened as they met mine. “I’m a man of my word.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him.

My father returned then, carrying a tray with shaking hands. Alexander accepted a coffee politely, exchanged a few quiet words with him about the debt transfer schedule, and then turned back to me.

“One more thing,” he said. “Tonight there’s a charity gala. Voss Enterprises is hosting. You’ll attend as my fiancée. The ring will be delivered this afternoon.”

Already planned. Every detail.

I lifted my chin. “And if I refuse?”

His smile was slow, lethal. “You won’t.”

He was right. I couldn’t.

After he left, the house felt too quiet. Too empty. I stared at the remaining contract copy on the table until the words blurred.

Ten days until I became Mrs. Alexander Voss.

Ten days until I stepped into the cage I’d just signed my name to.

And somewhere beneath the dread and fury, that dark spark flared brighter.

Because now I had access.

To his world.

To his secrets.

To him.

Let the games begin.

To be continued…